I'm sitting at my desk taking notes on ethics in archives and I have the classical station playing in the other room (one of the rare moments when I'm not listening to NPR). A piano sonata by Beethoven is playing, and it's taking me back to all my years of piano lessons and practice. Right now those memories are filling me with conflicting feelings. Often when I hear piano music I miss playing, but for some reason the particular piece I just heard reminds me of waiting for my weekly lesson in college and hearing music come from the other piano professor's studio. My professor was always running fifteen minutes late, without fail, so I would sit there in the hall full of dread and anticipation over my upcoming lesson. My first couple years at college were rough when it came to piano, because I didn't practice long or well enough. I didn't have enough time to practice, and piano had become an obligatory chore (I was on scholarship for it) rather than something I enjoyed. I have this great fear of disappointing people, and every week I felt like a big disappointment for my professor.
But then I think back to high school, when I enjoyed piano more. I also played the cello, and when I look back I think it's crazy how almost every day of the week I had some music-related activity to go to. One day was my piano lesson, another was my cello lesson, Sunday evening was youth symphony, and often there was some other rehearsal for an ensemble group thrown in there as well. Plus practicing, of course.
And now I don't play any music at all. I played the piano a tiny bit at my grandparents house this last weekend, and that was the first time I'd touched a piano since August. It's kinda sad.