Playing the Piano

No this isn't mine...I wish it was

Sometimes I get asked why I play the piano. I’m never know how to answer this question because I’m not really sure myself. Yes I get a lot of enjoyment out of it but I don’t suppose that’s the only reason. I know it isn’t the reason I started playing. I guess to know why I play now I have to know why I started, but I didn’t choose to start, that was decided for me and I just carried it on. I don’t remember a time now when I didn’t play. That in itself is a bit scary. Sometimes I think that I’m playing these days because I always have and it seems more normal to play than it does to not play, but then I remember all the fun times I’ve had sat at my piano I know that there is more. I just can’t pinpoint it. I like writing music, I’m not very good at it and nothing I’ve ever written has been worth playing ever again, but I like doing it. Perhaps at some point I’ll actually get good.

There is a lot of satisfaction in spending hours sat at my piano; working away at a piece of music I think is far above my playing talent. I work and you work and somehow it all just comes together and I can play it, when I never thought I’d be able to. Sometimes it even sounds pretty. I don’t suppose my neighbours appreciate it so much, hearing the same line from the same piece over and over again, interjected with swearing and shouting at the composer for making everything so darn fiddly. I should really ask them sometime. But, when I finally get it right, I mean really right, it’s like nothing else. It makes me feel kinda special, because I can do things, even when they’re hard. The neighbours might even appreciate listening to my playing once it sounds good.

So, if anyone reading this has ever wanted to know why I play so much, I guess that’s the best reason I can come up with. It takes me away from the world a little bit and lets my mind be totally free, riding on the wind with the music I’m making, bringing momentary peace to a rather jumbled world.