As you may know, I am taking piano lessons. Today my teacher, after listening to me play a song, suggested that I take a dance aerobics at the gym where we both belong.
Not because I’m chunky and out of shape (although I am). But because I apparently just don’t feel or hear the rhythm of the music. I can read the notes, but I can’t get the rhythm.
This is not how I imagined my foray into the world of music would be. I pictured sitting in class, learning the notes,and discovering that I am a natural player. I would amaze my friends and colleagues with my ability to pick up everything from Elton John to Mozart. At holiday gatherings, I’d sit at the piano and start a carol singalong.
Instead I am plugging away at “Down in the Valley” and have such bad rhythm that my teacher thinks I need a type of physical therapy.
Am I tempted to quit? Sure.
Am I going to? No.
For one reason, as bad as I am, I enjoy the piano.
But for another, it is good to struggle every so often. I have been working in the writing field so long that many of the skills seem natural to me; I don’t always understand how students can find essay writing or researching difficult. Being a failure at piano helps me be more sympathetic and understanding when students are frustrated in the research process.
And if you see a chunky girl out of step at aerobics at the Bellevue Y, do me a favor and just look away.