Returning to an Old Friend

by Jon Aaron

When we moved to Chicago, I decided to bring my digital piano, an instrument that had been sitting in a conveniently hidden spot, rarely played since my days in New York. I had purchased it almost 20 years ago and, frankly, had barely touched it. Years earlier, I had moved my Steinway grand from Boston to New York, but eventually sold it after two relocations. I wasn't playing it very much.

Though I went to music school and was a reasonably accomplished pianist, my playing virtually stopped when I started my career in the music business. Interestingly, I didn't miss it. I would occasionally sit at the keyboard, but it was always frustrating, and eventually I just let it go. The keyboard gathered dust.

When planning our move to Chicago, I thought the change might inspire me to return to playing. So I set up the digital piano in my new office, curious to see if I could give it new life. Unfortunately, time had taken its toll on the mechanics and its clunkiness was anything but inspiring.

Then, about a month ago, I met the husband of a friend, an academic and former piano major. He gently scolded me for having stopped playing and suggested I that use my U-Chicago Affiliate ID to unlock a practice room at the beautiful performing arts center, where a suite of grand pianos await.

Now, most days. I take the 15-minute walk to the center and I practice for one or two hours. It's become a discipline and an important emotional outlet in my life.

Most importantly, I've let go of expectations, based on how I used to be able to play, some 45-50 years ago. This had been a huge obstacle in my taking it up again. Ironically, letting expectations undermine our practice is contrary to everything I teach. Now, I'm giving my technique the time it needs to revive, without any fixed goal. I am finding joy in what I can do, now. I'm discovering delight in merely practicing.

I recognize that my earlier discipline, when I practiced 4 to 5 hours a day as a young man, has had a lasting impact. This informed my approach to meditation. Commitment, loyalty, patience, and determination are fundamental parts of any practice.

Now, it’s my discipline of meditation that is supporting my piano practice. I can find joy in movement of my hands, and in working through a particularly difficult passage. When I return the next day, that passage remains challenging. I simply accept it, and begin again. The music lives in my head, but not necessarily in my fingers. And that's okay.

The world is a mess, with uncertainty and heartbreak everywhere. I can get lost obsessing over the inhumanity and indecency of fellow humans. I tip into despair at times. But Bach is Bach, Schubert is Schubert, and Chopin is Chopin. Art is what sustains us, and if we let that go, we are truley lost.