The Windy Sunday
Yesterday was really, really windy. I once heard in an environmental psychology class that some winds have an interesting impact on society. Certain winds, for example, seem to correlate with higher crime rates and increased feelings of unrest/dissatisfaction. My mom is a preschool teacher and she swears that she notices a difference in her kids on windy days. They seem more squirmy. Whether all this is true or just coincidence, wind is an odd element. It can be destructively strong and yet it is invisible. Maybe that's why I like it. It's mysterious and exciting, but cleansing. As though it's blowing away all the stuff that doesn't--and shouldn't--"stick" around.
So yesterday, while it was very windy, I felt unsettled. I'm not blaming the wind--there were many things that contributed to the way I felt yesterday. Some of it has to do with school starting this week. Some of it has to do with some general angst about the future finances. Some of it with sad dreams I had about my late dog. Maybe the wind had something to do with it, maybe it didn't. But I felt so unsettled that I wanted to do something I only do when I'm feeling very stressed or very confused. I wanted to play the piano.
Many of my friends might not know this about me, but the piano is (or has been) a big part of my life. I started taking lessons when I was 8 years old and continued until the end of high school. I competed in state competitions, participated in talent shows and played at school functions. I was in countless recitals. And I hated every minute of it until the end of Junior High. Prior to that, I fought my mother constantly about practicing (thirty minutes every day) and about my stupid lessons. But then something just clicked when I was 13. I liked it. Or rather, it just wasn't so bad anymore. As time went on I grew to love it and then to to rely on it as a sort of stress-relieving activity. When I did my year abroad in England I felt so attached to practicing that I snuck into the practice rooms set aside only for music majors. I just couldn't imagine NOT playing. Sometimes at night if I couldn't sleep, I would go into the student union and use their piano in the main hall. But that was only at night, and it was during those nights time that I realized I liked playing the piano best when I was alone. Maybe that was why I hated piano earlier in life--I always had to play for people.
Now that live without a piano of my own, alone time with one is so rare that I hardly play. But sometimes--without trying to sound dramatic--my fingers kind of ache for it. That was what happened yesterday evening. I didn't even care that my dad was home. I just wanted to play.
But then....I got home and my dad seemed kind of lonely (my mom was out of town). He had pizza and that look parents get when they want to feed their kids. He had the fireplace going in the family room and he was watching one of my favorite movies. I ended up not playing the piano but there was something nice about watching Serenity with my dad.
Today there is less wind. But I still want a quiet empty room with a big grand piano in it.
So yesterday, while it was very windy, I felt unsettled. I'm not blaming the wind--there were many things that contributed to the way I felt yesterday. Some of it has to do with school starting this week. Some of it has to do with some general angst about the future finances. Some of it with sad dreams I had about my late dog. Maybe the wind had something to do with it, maybe it didn't. But I felt so unsettled that I wanted to do something I only do when I'm feeling very stressed or very confused. I wanted to play the piano.
Many of my friends might not know this about me, but the piano is (or has been) a big part of my life. I started taking lessons when I was 8 years old and continued until the end of high school. I competed in state competitions, participated in talent shows and played at school functions. I was in countless recitals. And I hated every minute of it until the end of Junior High. Prior to that, I fought my mother constantly about practicing (thirty minutes every day) and about my stupid lessons. But then something just clicked when I was 13. I liked it. Or rather, it just wasn't so bad anymore. As time went on I grew to love it and then to to rely on it as a sort of stress-relieving activity. When I did my year abroad in England I felt so attached to practicing that I snuck into the practice rooms set aside only for music majors. I just couldn't imagine NOT playing. Sometimes at night if I couldn't sleep, I would go into the student union and use their piano in the main hall. But that was only at night, and it was during those nights time that I realized I liked playing the piano best when I was alone. Maybe that was why I hated piano earlier in life--I always had to play for people.
Now that live without a piano of my own, alone time with one is so rare that I hardly play. But sometimes--without trying to sound dramatic--my fingers kind of ache for it. That was what happened yesterday evening. I didn't even care that my dad was home. I just wanted to play.
But then....I got home and my dad seemed kind of lonely (my mom was out of town). He had pizza and that look parents get when they want to feed their kids. He had the fireplace going in the family room and he was watching one of my favorite movies. I ended up not playing the piano but there was something nice about watching Serenity with my dad.
Today there is less wind. But I still want a quiet empty room with a big grand piano in it.
posted by Follow the Frog at 4:10 PM
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