Creekside Garden

I have been ruminating on the idea of beginning. I know I have talked about it here on the blog before, but it has been tantalizing me.

Beginnings are the terrifying first steps of trying something new. A new hobby, a new skill, and even a new friendship. They are awkward and clumsy. Watching my son learn how to roll, crawl, and stand will eventually turn into him running. Everything beautiful had to start somewhere. Every first step creates the possibility of a second.

Birth is a beginning. A picture of how messy and painful and weird beginnings can be. Yet, in-spite of how hard birth is, it is also powerfully beautiful. Life stepping out to fulfill a God-given purpose.

A silent piano invites beginning. Begging for fingers to dance down its ivory keys and press the pedals. Notes are held close, ready to be released into the air. Awaiting the touch of a curious child, the hand of a master, the ear of an audience.

I took some piano lessons as a child, I loved it. My teacher, Ms. Diane, taught me to play by using music I was interested in. She nurtured my curiosity and guided my skills. I was in the middle of learning “Fur Elise” when she fell very sick and passed away suddenly. At her funeral we released balloons into the sky. My hand let go of the string and watched the balloon float away, the end of a fun chapter.

My mom knew I loved piano lessons and started sending me to the only other teacher in town. Ms. Deb. I lost all enjoyment for the piano. Her house smelled like cat urine, her fake fingernails were long and clacked on the keys, and she was traditional. I went from the middle of Fur Elise back to the very first steps of Twinkle Little Star. Ms. Diane made me feel like I was good at the piano, Ms. Deb made me feel like everything I ever learned was wrong. I wanted to learn how to play the piano for fun, it became unrewarding work.

Around the same time, my parents took in some children in need of a home. The house was bursting at the seams with life, my piano was re-homed to salvage a few more square inches of priceless space.

Funny thing is, around 10 years later, the only music I can still play is the first half of Fur Elise.

Today, in our home here by the creek, a beautiful little spinet piano sat silent during the daytime for many months. At night Ben would come home and bring it to life with a mashup of his favorite songs. Now, tiny little fingers reach up and tap on the keys several times a day, his little ears are delighted with the noise.

A piano sits silent unt il someone decides to try.

Perhaps I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and learn how to play, for real this time.

A piano is silent. A canvas stands blank. Books lie unopened. People avoid interaction. Dreams simply anticipate the first attempt.

Potential surrounds us. Opportunities we don’t pursue because of fear or the mess of beginnings.

I am the worst at this. I get scared, I doubt myself, I say that I can live without it. I make excuses. Fear chokes me out.

I have never regretted starting something new. I have regretted not trying.

What silent piano have you been avoiding?

What stands in the way of you starting?

Let’s talk about it in the comments! Maybe we can encourage one another to try something new.