Love and Hate

When I was young my parents were set on having me learn piano, they tried several different teachers that all had different methods of teaching in an attempt to spark my interest. My parents tried every enticement they could think of from showing me how proud they are of me to paying me for each song I learned. But for some reason I could not get passed the fact that I hated piano lessons. Not because I didn’t want to learn how to play or that I wasn’t interested, but because I hated the way I was treated. I still remember my second piano teacher, Mr. Murdock, he was great guy with a great sense of humor. I was twelve years old and I would do anything to get out of piano lessons. I would painstakingly practice all week in an effort to not make a mistake during his teaching appointment, but every week without fail he would playfully hit me or get my pressure points in a way that would send chills down my body every time I hit the wrong key or didn’t hit his expectations.
Over time my parents noticed that I didn’t enjoy the lessons with him but I still had a desire to learn the piano. In an effort to keep hope alive my parents got me a new teach, Mr. Hart, he was a much younger teacher that clearly loved teaching piano and was very patient with my mistakes. I envied his skill on the piano and wished one day I would be able to play like him, he was my piano idol. But every month he would hold exercise lessons at his house for all his students to attend, I remember my first time, I was so excited to meet new friends learning the piano, but to my surprise and utter disappointment, when I arrived I was many years older than any of the other students there. I soon found out that I had been placed with in the lower level group, Mr. Hart would always be encouraging and say, “soon you will be in the upper level group with people your age, just keep practicing”. It relieved only some of my anxiety. I was the fourteen year old with all the ten year olds. It was embarrassing and discouraging. I shortly thereafter quit taking piano lessons. I have only recently realized that I love the piano and music, why did I ever stop? Was it that fact that I was willing to say goodbye to the thing I loved in order to get rid of the thing I hated.
Why is life like that? Always pros with cons, always taking the bad with the good. We must always weigh the options of what is worth it to us. Like when a ten year old sees the ice cream truck drive by, he must make the split second decision of running to mom to beg for 85 cents in and blitzing back to the street in a hope that you were not too late. If only the ice cream truck would stop and wait for you. Why does it seem like they drive away so fast? I just wanted a kiwi strawberry popsicle.
I’m not talking about the great achievements that require intense, dedicated, disciplined, hard work. I can find no better feeling than when one dedicates their entire focus to the accomplishment of a dream and finding the peace and satisfaction of finally accomplishing that dream. I’m talking about those times that we say goodbye to those things that we love because the thing that we hate most gets in our way.
But now that I look back I always wonder if I could have kept learning piano. I wonder if I would have told the piano teachers how I felt things would have changed. If those things I hated about learning piano had gone away, I could have continued my piano education and actually hit my potential of becoming a great pianist.
Is it possible to have a life where we do not have to say goodbye to the things we love so much in order to get rid of the things we hate most?