Last month I made the choice to exchange the news-cycle for a healthier arpeggio with the purchase of a piano.
Where the city asks for masks, gloves, and distance, the piano has a welcoming energy that invites presence. The square footage of a New York City apartment also creates a special closeness.
Learning a musical skill is fascinating, in that you begin to hear your environment anew. Overnight bodega gossip echoes in the key of C and you realize that the MTA is the proprietor of sharps.
In a few months, a conspicuous endeavor to charm dinner guests has become a kind of therapy. An instrument’s ask for symbiosis creates an awareness of hidden realities, like how often we hold our breath.
Under masks, before decision, and in the moment, we’re always breathing, or not. Initially alarming, this discovery leads to a healing process that you didn’t know you needed.
Owning a piano is a centering experience, as its gravity rearranges your furniture, schedule, and the triggering voices to which you previously gave energy.
Today I find myself practicing breath, with the piano a visual reminder to play life at my pace. Entertaining guests is still the vision, though the journey to this goal is surprisingly inward.
