Even as a young man, I still distinctly remember the day I quit piano. Though I can’t tell you how old I was exactly, I remember where I was, how it happened, and most of all, how it felt.
I was sitting at the piano, and I’d just finished up a lesson. I hadn’t practiced at all in the week since my piano teacher had stopped by last, and it was apparent to all parties involved. So, instead of moving on and learning a different song or concept, I was instructed to practice the same piece as the week before, and my piano teacher left.
I remember feeling angry. Not necessarily at anyone in particular, just anger. Maybe I was mad at myself for not practicing, or maybe I was mad at my teacher for knowing I didn’t practice. But in any case, my piano lessons didn’t inspire joy anymore. There was a time when they did. Earlier in my experience with the piano, it was hard to keep me off it. I used to love old Peanuts comics, and when my piano teacher dropped off the sheet music to Vincent Guaraldi’s “Linus and Lucy”, I was hooked. I remember playing it constantly. I’d practice up until bedtime, the same song over and over before my parents tucked me in. I remember sitting straight up in bed to tell my Mom how excited I was to show my teacher how much I practiced and how well I was doing.
But eventually it was time to move on from the excitement and familiarity of the Peanuts theme, and my instructor started nudging me toward more advanced concepts. Being young and eager to learn, I remember being excited the first few tries. Then the difficulty spike settled in. Different types of chord structures and more complex musical theory concepts didn’t come as easily to me as the early fundamentals of piano. I no longer saw quick improvement after only short stints of practice. Being as young as I was, instead of the challenge building determination as it might do for me now, it began to frustrate me. I started avoiding practice, and instead of looking forward to lessons I started feeling anxious when they approached.
All of these negative feelings came to a head the day I quit piano. I remember marching up to my mom and telling her I wanted to quit. I expected her to be angry with me, to tell me that I’d already put so much time in so it was foolish to give up now. Instead, she seemed sad, maybe slightly disappointed, and told me that one day I’d understand why I should’ve kept going.
What I failed to understand as a child, and what I still cannot fully grasp until I have children myself, was why my Mom wasn’t angry with me. She knew I wasn’t getting as much out of piano as I used to, but she could also see the potential in me that I couldn’t see for myself. She knew how much I’d loved to play, but didn’t know how to help me break through the wall. Most of all, she knew how much joy I left on the table by giving up then, and it hurt her in a way I couldn’t understand.
The worst part of it all is that she was absolutely right. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a song on the radio and wished I could sit down at the piano and play it through. The best I can do right now is plink along to the melody. Instead, I’m left wishing I’d stuck with it fifteen years ago. Obviously I can’t go back in time and fix this problem for myself, but I can certainly do my best to offer a solution to the next generation of musicians.
My Music Bridge was created to be an instrumental part in that solution. We designed the app to help make practice time more engaging for young students, so sitting down at their instrument is fun instead of frustrating. Speaking of frustration, we’ve accounted for that as well. Our mascot Moe the Monkey will offer words of encouragement to struggling students as they try to work their way through challenging concepts. Parents, already you’ve invested plenty into your children’s musical experience. Whether it be having bought or rented an instrument, contracted an instructor for strong advice and guidance, or juggled schedules to fit in those practice and instruction sessions. Take the extra step and don’t let your children fall into the same preventable pitfalls I fell into all those years ago, and save them from the regrets that so many experience with music.
