Inferior

When he sat down at the new piano and began playing – a lovely improvised piece that somewhat resembled Pachelbel’s Canon – I fought back the tears, swallowed my pride for the millionth time, and smiled back when finished.

Having our own piano had been a dream of ours since we were engaged, lazily imagining what our future home would look like. I’d finally accepted that moving to a bigger house wasn’t going to happen any time soon, and began rearranging our current one to make room for the instrument I knew it was time to find.

I began taking lessons from a neighbor back in elementary school. When I sit down to any piano and close my eyes, I can still hear the ticking of her metronome and smell that fresh green scent of a room filled with plants and flowers that I used to water whenever she went on vacation. I loved playing the piano. I loved every little thing about it, from its shiny keys to the mysterious pedals I couldn’t reach to the music I played over and over again to get it just right.

When we moved away, my mom bought me a little keyboard, and I spent hours playing that, too. It wasn’t quite the same, and I never got any better, so I’ve often wished I could take lessons and play again.

Two years ago I resolved to make music a bigger part of my life, but with a new baby that year the resolution got punted down the road a bit. So obviously I was thrilled when the piano was purchased, frustrated by the snowstorm that delayed its delivery, elated by its arrival. I told my parents who happened to be in town that the first song I planned to play on it would be Pachelbel’s Canon. I found what looked like a simple score on the internet and tried to remember how to read music after so many years. I worked on it here and there, in between cringing smiling at the dissonant tones of the boys’ first delighted attempts. I was excited that it sounded less halting as dinnertime approached.

When Jonathan got home, though, I didn’t proudly show him what I’d been playing. I just told him that I’d been working on it. “That’s great,” he replied, enthusiastically, before sitting down himself.

In that moment, watching my husband’s fingers fly over the piano, smoothly improvising my chosen piece, I remembered what has held me back. This feeling I’ve had for years. Decades.

Inferiority.

I’ve never felt good enough at doing what I really love. I’ve always been fine. In the chorus for musical theatre, but never a lead role. In the semifinals for dance competitions (once I passed the newbie level), but rarely the finals or the ribbons. Instead of looking for role models and trying to figure out how to get there, I always told myself that I lacked the talent they had and allowed myself to remain average.

I thought maybe the piano was a good place to start over. Put in the effort. Maybe I could be better than average. Better than fine. And it couldn’t hurt anyone if I tried. (Well, except perhaps the boys who would have to listen to me practice during the day. But little people like repetition, right? Right.)

My resolve was so shaken, though, listening to Jonathan play. He has the talent and the training. He could sit down and just play the song I’d worked at all afternoon.

It is awful to live with a daily reminder of my own inferiority.

But this little guy hopped up on the piano the next morning and started playing each key from the lowest note to the highest.

As he methodically tapped away, I realized that I have to be a better role model for him. I want him to see me struggle to learn something. To get better after practicing over and over again. I want him to share the joy with me as we play songs together in a year that I can’t play yet. I want him to learn now, so much sooner than I did, that it isn’t just about natural talent. We have to work to get what we want, and it doesn’t matter if others are better now or even if they will always be better. The only competition worth having is with yourself.

So I bought myself a beginner piano book. And Sebastian asked me to “play it again, please” when I successfully played “Jingle Bells” and “When the Saints Go Marching in” and “Brahms’ Lullaby.” When I played “Alouette,” he said it was his turn, and after playing eight or ten random notes, beamed up at me and said, “I played it, too!”

Which reminded me that though I want to teach him about perseverance and setting goals and all of that, he is the one who is going to teach me what I most need to learn:

Confidence.

*****

Postscript: I actually bought myself two piano books. The song at the end of level 2? Pachelbel’s Canon.