Learning to Play the Piano, a lesson in slowing down

The journey started when I was seven. I took lessons for a couple years, then quit when I thought my older brother was advancing faster than me (another story for another day…). I took a semester of piano in college as an elective and enjoyed it, but other things got in the way of pursuing further- a girlfriend at the time, a party or two (again, another story for another day…). Years passed.

Three months ago, my parents gifted me their old upright piano- the same piano I played almost thirty years ago. Just prior to the quarantine, it was carefully carried from my parent’s house into our front room. After some searching, I found my music books from college and opened the most beginner book I had to page one. Each morning, I set a timer for 25 minutes and play.

Slowly but surely, what once had been learned came back. Playing unlocked a different part of my brain- I could feel the challenge of connecting the notes together, finding the rhythm, the pace- syncing it all together to create music. It was helpful that the songs were familiar- from Jingle Bells to When the Saints Go Marching In. At least, that was the case until last Thursday, when I crossed into new territory. I had successfully played through the well-known Little Brown Jug, turned the page and before me was a song I had never seen or heard.

The song was Raisins and Almonds. Dotted quarter notes were introduced; a minor key and counter rhythms were displayed before me like a foreign language. The book kindly included a compact disc (remember those?) to give you an idea of how it’s supposed to sound.

At first, as I listened to the track, I tried to play along. But all too quickly, my fingers fell behind, the counter rhythms were missed and more than a few curse words were uttered. So I turned off the CD and tried on my own, but the pieces still weren't fitting. I started feeling like I was wasting time. Aren’t there other things I should be doing? Isn’t this supposed to be fun? One practice stretched into two where I felt like nothing was working.

It was just a few mornings ago that I sat down at the piano and reminded myself of the basics. I took a deep breath and started with my right hand. I slowed down the tempo and repeated each phrase until I got it. Then I did the same with my left hand. Then I slowed down even further and tried the hands together, repeating until it felt right- then I picked up the pace. Slowly, but surely, I was moving through the song.

In a world that moves so quickly, I often forget the power of slowing down. I’m quick to jump to something new; I’m quick to distract myself when something’s not working. But to slow things down is to see the inner workings- the mechanics of a challenge. And slowing down provides the space of possibility- the possibility of adjusting, adapting, of change. Slowing down offers us the opportunity to grow.

This morning, I was able to play Raisins and Almonds at full speed with the recording. When I turned the page, I saw that Scarborough Fair was next. And after a cursory look at the music, I have a feeling I’ll be slowing this one down too.