About three months ago, I started taking piano lessons.
it's always been a dream of mine to learn the piano.
Before taking the lessons, I could plunker out a few hymns and songs--but I was self taught and had bad habits.
So I finally put my foot down.
I was going to take some lessons!
And who the heck cared if I was 21 years old!?
And now, here I am, three months later, and I'm playing the same songs as a six year old!
It is hard--and sometimes I get frustrated.
How come I suck at this? This is little kid music!
But then I keep practicing, and I get just a little better each time.
I see my piano teacher every week.
(p.s. she is 15! and she is a prodigy child!)
I walk nervously across the street to see her, afraid that I'll mess up, or she'll laugh at me and compare me to the six year olds that are playing the song perfectly: probably with their eyes closed with no mistakes.
Every week, with butterflies in my stomach, I play for her.
I yearn for my fingers to play it perfectly and to prove how hard I've practiced.
But I seem to always mess up in front of her.
I guess that's how it goes.
But she encourages me every time, and tells me I did such a good job.
And I smile, and feel proud and accomplished--just like a six year old would.
And then I run home to tell Taylor how good (or bad) I did at piano practice that day, and I tell him everything I learned.
Like scales! I had no idea that each scale was played so differently!
As each new week comes, I feel the same frustration.
Frustrated that my dang fingers can't seem to get this new music right.
But every week, my piano teacher tells me "Wow! You did such a great job!"
I smile that six year old smile and feel that six year old pride,
and then skip home to tell Taylor about practice all over again.