i first tried playing guitar to impress a boy,
and because i was tired of practicing scales on the piano for hours on end.
it could have been the start of something delightful,
except i realized too quickly
that the boy wasn't worth my adoration,
that playing guitar made practicing piano too difficult, too painful, and
that i wasn't quite ready to relinquish my ivory keys just yet.
(also, i had a recital in a few weeks and not following through simply was not an option.)
so i gave the guitar back and tried to forget about that short-lived venture.
when i first came to college, i tried to cleave my future from my past, and
distanced myself from all the things that had previously defined me.
(besides, i couldn't exactly transport my upright the two thousand miles to my new dorm,
and i didn't like the way the pianos here sounded, felt, or smelled,
even if they looked and were constructed like my own yamaha.)
so i pretended i hadn't spent the last decade of my life scheduling around
practice sessions and lessons and traveling for competitions.
and i told myself:
maybe my life would be different if i had dealt with the challenges
of always being the new kid in town,
of never caring about "normal things"
of feeling tolerated but not included or accepted --
maybe my life would be different if i had dealt with those challenges by
screaming until someone listened (instead of seeing how quietly,
how gently
i could press the piano keys and still consistently illicit a response from the
most constant structure in my life).
and i told myself:
maybe my outlook would be brighter if the constants in my life
included people and places and a sense of "home" rather than
the persistent need to find a place to practice and someone to teach me
new techniques
new songs
new theories
new ways to escape the knowledge that my reality is only temporary.
and i told myself:
maybe i would be happier if i didn't have to grow up so fast.
i thought it'd be harder than it was to walk away, but
each day it became easier to walk past pianos without stopping,
without wondering:
would this keyboard feel "right" beneath my my fingertips?
would this piano feel like home?
pianists can be identified by their hands:
long fingers, short nails, but
what really gives them [us] away are their [our] hypothenar muscles:
that bit of flesh responsible for pinky movements, which
hints at tightly harnessed power in pianists, but
slopes gently from knuckle to wrist in everyone else
(because no one uses that digit the way they [we] do).
i thought i'd feel more grief as i watched the definition in those muscles disappear,
as i lost my piano hands.
i picked up a guitar again because i was tired of feeling let down by the people in my life
(it's not their fault i hold unreasonably high expectations), and because
i was tired of the exhaustion i encountered when i sat down on a piano bench seeking
a respite from the frenzied flux of life and experienced disconnect in lieu of familiarity, and
left the bench feeling more tense than when i had arrived, and because
i thought:
maybe my anchor was not a particular instrument, but rather the creation of sounds.
i picked up a guitar again because novelty breeds excitement, and because
sometimes excitement matures to passion, and because
i thought:
passion is a worthy pursuit.
there are grooves on my fingertips now that
weren't there before, and tomorrow when i'm typing, left-handed
keystrokes will tingle my palm, and part of me will wonder:
how desensitized are my fingertips becoming?
how soon will these grooves turn into calluses?
(how will this affect my piano playing?)
guitarists can be identified by their hands:
the toughened calluses capping each fingertip.
i thought i'd feel more excitement as i watched the calluses emerge.
meanwhile, i do relish
in the sharp jolts that radiate from my fingertips when i press too hard, and
in the acquisition of new strum patterns and fingerpicking techniques, and
in the increased ease and fluidity with which i can execute chord progressions.
and maybe nothing's changed and i haven't learned anything at all, because i can't help but think that
being able to play a bar chord would somehow revolutionize my life.
and maybe that's a silly hope, but it doesn't stop me from trying until the
ridges on my fingers seem more permanent than any relationship or home i've ever held dear.
