Piano

Most of you who know me also know that I play this beautiful instrument right here...

I have excellent parents who decided that it was important for me to learn to play the piano as a child. 
My child fingers and my child patience liked the piano about equally at the beginning, and that was near zilch... I used to always ask how old I had to be before I could quit piano. "When you're in college," my mother would say firmly. In other words, I was going to be playing the piano forever. For many years it was rather boring, but stuck with it in spite of that, and when I was close to giving up, excellent teachers came into my life who inspired and challenged me not to stop. 
So I didn't stop. And I learned to love the sensation I got when feeling flowed straight from my heart, through my body, out my fingers, and into the familiar white keys. I learned to love it. It became almost my whole life.
During middle school, I found close to 2 hours of every day to practice my piano. Those three or so years of practicing like a maniac are responsible for most of the talent I have today. 
People told me I was really good, but I knew better: I was just good enough to begin to comprehend the distance between me and excellence. I was determined to cross that gulf if I could.

Then high school came. And that meant Williamsburg. And that meant plenty of homework. As a result, piano fell a little bit by the wayside. It wasn't so bad at the beginning, but it slipped further and further away until, when I bumped face-first into this question, it shocked me: what are you going to do about piano? I couldn't believe it. Was it really possible? My mother was handing me an opportunity to quit piano, and I'm not even in college yet. Are you going to practice or are you going to quit? You can't just go on not practicing and saying you'll do it later. Here was my childhood wish. It prettymuch landed in my lap: I could quit piano. Today. And never have to practice again. No more boring scales, no more painfully dull Hanon exercises for my fingers, no more fingering or sharps and flats. I could quit piano. 
Then the other side hit. I could quit piano, and give up the thing that had been my life for years. I could give up the feeling of pure expression that I was sometimes able to attain through music. I could give up the progress I had attained--I could give up the struggle to cross the gulf between my level and excellence. Was I going to give up?

I thought long and hard about this question. I never felt as though I had time for piano--that's why I let it slip in the first place. But I have been taught that for the important things, there will always be time, if you make it. 
No, I decided. I'm not willing to give up the piano. I'm not a quitter. I'll stick with it, and not only that, but I'll get really good. I won't just practice, I will excel. I'll hit it hard for my last months at home, and go out with a bang, in stead of just letting it peter out and die. 

It was late when my mom asked for my decision. I told her I wasn't going to quit. She looked at the clock. "It's nine-thirty," she said. "Go practice until your brothers get to bed." 

So I voluntarily went to the piano, something I hadn't done for quite some time, and sat down and began to play finger exercises. And I took a look at my fingers. 

I realized something. 
I have a pianist's fingers. Almost 10 years of playing has given me thin, quick fingers that know the keys. A reminder of the great things I can do and have done, a reminder not to give up. A reminder that I'm not a quitter. In that moment, I realized I knew I would never be able to leave piano behind. It's so much a part of me that it has become a part of my body. I have a pianist's fingers.