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Lisa's |
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“Practice makes perfect,” so the saying
goes. Well, it takes more
than practice to reach so-called perfection.
Talent combined with practice makes perfect, but it sounds fairer
when we proclaim that solely practice does the trick.
So, I’ll humor the old adage with a little story of my own.
When I believed practice, and practice alone, was the answer. Once upon a time I was in high school.
A classmate named Theresa invited me to her home to study
together. There, in the
middle of the family room, was a gorgeous grand piano.
I walked over and carefully touched it, stunned by its beauty.
Theresa began to play; I listened intently.
Flipping through the seemingly endless sheet music, I happened to
notice “Chances Are.” Upon
declaring my fondness for the song, my friend played it effortlessly;
each note an extension of her very being.
I felt complete admiration, and as much as I hate to admit, more
than a hint of jealousy. As a child, I was given piano lessons for a very
short time. My instructor
was involved in a motorcycle accident, and basically, the lessons ended.
Over the next year or so, I had a few more here and there;
however, nothing consistent, diminishing overall interest on my part.
For the next eight or nine years, our upright piano blended in
with the other pieces of furniture in the living room.
There, but unseen. Retired. After leaving Theresa’s home that day and
returning to my own, I couldn’t help but notice the forgotten piano. It seemed to have doubled in size while I was gone; it was a
striking and captivating temptation.
At that moment, ambition prevailed and my mission was crystal
clear. I promised myself
that I would practice that piano until I could eventually play
“Chances Are” on Theresa’s grand piano.
I remembered where “middle C” was, and a few other basics.
The next day, I borrowed the sheet music and photocopied it at
the library. I placed the
song in the bench, and there it would remain until I was ready to face
the music. I began studying simple books borrowed from the library and
convinced my parents to have the piano tuned, although I doubt any of us
would have noticed the difference. I became wrapped up in practicing, easily
spending two hours per evening at the piano.
As if this wasn’t enough, I added a good hour of practice time
each morning. I found the
task extremely difficult, but kept going.
As the months progressed, I was playing as well as could be
expected and figured the time had finally arrived to wrestle with
“Chances Are.” Although
the sheet music silently intimidated me, it enticed me at the same time.
I practiced that song until I heard it in my sleep.
And then I practiced more. One day, I informed Theresa that I had a
surprise to share with her. I
walked to her house and approached the grand piano where I played
“Chances Are” almost as smoothly as silk.
I’d like to think Johnny Mathis would have been proud to sing
along. More important than
hearing Theresa’s applause was following through on a promise I made
to myself. Several years ago, I opened a fortune cookie and
laughed at the message inside that stated it was a good time for me to
take piano lessons. So I
did. Besides from
“Chances Are,” my playing wasn’t so good.
As a matter of fact, it sounded quite a bit less than mediocre.
I practiced a couple of hours per day without any remarkable
progression and began dreading my weekly lessons.
My instructor played so fantastically; how dare she!
After several months of total frustration, I gave up the lessons,
realizing that practice didn’t make anywhere near perfect in this
case. Upon completion of
the final lesson, I handed my instructor an article I had written.
She called me the next evening and said, “I wish I could write
like you.” Valuable lessons learned are sometimes entirely
different than the ones originally sought. In retrospect, the piano taught me well.
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