Just yesterday, we walked inside the home of our new piano teacher and she guided us to her piano room.
My daughter, Lil’ J was just excited as I was, though you could visibly see her thrill radiating off of her. I kept mine a little more contained.
Searching for a piano teacher wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. In Utah everyone seemed to know how to play piano, or teach piano. I thought when it came time to learn I’d easily find someone at my church who taught. But my requests were met with crickets.
Finally I asked where people learned piano, since quite a few people had their kids learning. A few people recommended the same woman so I contacted her right away. She had a waiting list. But I was find waiting.
Meanwhile I reached out in my homeschooling groups to see where else people took piano lessons and got a few more leads but none that panned out.
Our names came up from the waiting list after just a few weeks and I was so excited I asked if we could start that next day.
So there we were, my daughter at the piano learning how to sit and recognize the difference between low and high keys, long and short notes. Every now and then I had to remind her to listen carefully to instructions but overall she did fine. Let’s be honest though, bringing her there for lessons was really just a ruse to get my foot in the door for my own lesson. I finally stuck the goal on my dream board to achieve in my 30s.
My daughter’s half hour was up and it was my turn. At this point it was hard for me to keep my excitement contained. Our teacher was honest and told me she’d never taught an adult before, so she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep me as a student. The oldest person she’d taught was a teen.
“Well I’m a teen at heart!” I wanted to say. But instead I said I had to start somewhere. I explained my understanding of music, my hazy recollection of reading notes, but my basic knowledge of the music language thanks to my experience playing the oboe.
I felt a little bit dorky following the instructions she’d just given to my daughter a few minutes before. Back straight, wrists relaxed… But I was finally getting started on a goal I’ve had for many many years–Learning piano.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down at a piano, looked at my hands and cursed them for not understanding how to play. Then wondering if perhaps some innate natural ability would come out of me if I only tried…
So my prodigy dream was dead. But hey, we can’t all be Beethoven.
I invested in a few apps and YouTube videos but never did my best at follow through. I’ve been so angry with myself for not starting earlier.–When I was younger, had more brainpower and time. Wishing I had asked my parents for piano lessons instead of cheerleading uniforms. Kicking myself for not investing in this talent before I had kids so maybe I could teach them myself. Maybe I could have been great.
So many shoulda coulda wouldas.
But you know what? It is never too late to be what you might have been.
So here I was, at my first real lesson playing Mary Had a Little Lamb.
My teacher said next week she’d have an adult book for me to work from, and that after a while we’d probably be learning together.
I don’t care how many nursery rhymes I have to play, if I’m using both my hands and all my fingers, I’m on a roll as far as I’m concerned.
Let this be an example to anyone who thinks they are too old, or don’t have the time, or has been investing in their children’s development and not their own. Last year I danced on stage at a dance recital between a performance of 5-year-olds ok? I take this challenging myself thing seriously.
I’ll leave you with a cute quote I found and love that describes this life event perfectly:
“It’s never too late to start something new. To do all the things you’ve been longing to do.” – Dallas Clayton
Now to buy a keyboard!