Piano Lessons and Self Doubt

When I was maybe around ten years old my mother decided to put me into piano lessons. If I remember correctly, my sister's friend had gone to the very same piano teacher, and she was very skilled at playing both the piano and the horn. While I had grown up singing, both inside the church and in productions, I had never learned how to properly read music, so the exercises I would begin doing with my instructor would set me up for basic understanding of how the notes on the paper correlated with the keys on the piano.

 

Before I learned anything, however, I first had to get to her house. This wasn’t a problem per say, because my mom certainly was going to drive me there, but there was an anxiety that accompanied me on the way to my piano teacher’s place. The only way I could justify this anxiety would be to say that it was a fear of the unknown; thinking that maybe she might not like me, that maybe I wouldn’t be good enough. This of course, looking back now, was an obviously silly notion, because I was going there for her to teach me how to be good at the piano. Why would the teacher expect me to have any skills beyond the basics?

 

We finally arrived there and the house had a distinct smell, not bad or good, just different. My fear trailed behind me as I sat down at the piano bench and my instructor began to explain her program to both me and my mom. She began telling me how some children start out very young, perhaps as a method to explain to me that anyone could learn to play. This however, was not how I took it. I instantly began to imagine a 5 year old child who played marvelously at the piano, who knew so much more than I currently knew about the large and mysterious musical instrument that sat before me. In all honesty I think this is what set me up for failure. I instantly felt inadequate, thinking to myself that I should have started younger, that I would never be as good as the children who already had five years on me.

 

The problem was that no one knew that this was what I was thinking at the time, that I had instantly internalized a feeling of inadequacy. The teacher may have very well thought that her words were going to be an encouragement to me, but I had taken it the completely opposite direction. In my mind, I had already come to the conclusion that I could never be good enough.

 

Since the lesson was an hour long, my mom was going to perhaps go shopping or do some other such errands to preoccupy her time before she would come back to pick me up once the lesson was over. I remember the feeling of dread that I felt as I was left with this kind, yet unfamiliar lady. My instructor had a strong personality. She probably needed one in order to keep five year olds on task, but it didn’t help any with my levels of intimidation.

 

I remember her asking me questions, trying to get a feel for what I did already know about the piano. She asked me if I knew what kind of piano she had, and showed me three silhouetted drawing of different pianos with the names underneath. I stared at the pictures and looked back at the large instrument before me, but none of the outlines seemed to quite match up. I ventured a guess, but I was wrong. “Perhaps this will help” she said, as she opened the top to reveal the strings and hammers. The half-opened lid now matched the silhouette of the grand piano, which was what it was. After that she taught me the proper form and placement of my fingers, and where to find middle C. This was all good and well, and by the end of the lesson she had given me a short assignment to practice and memorize over the course of the week.

By the time my mom returned I was feeling slightly less on edge. Over the next few weeks, I worked on the different piano assignments that my instructor had given me, and returned to her house every Saturday for one hour to show her what I had learned. The assignments had been relatively easy, I had little difficulty, and I was beginning to expect praise and encouragement from her.

 

One particular week however, I ended up not getting as much practice in as I should have. I don’t know if it was because my school homework had taken up too much of my time, or if I simply slacked off. Nonetheless, sometime throughout the week I had decided that I had practiced enough, and went back to my instructor to show her what I had learned, despite the fact that I was not fully prepared.

 

As soon as I returned to her house for the lesson I sat down and showed her the exercise I had been given. My fingers fumbled over the keys a bit more this time, and it was obvious to my instructor that I hadn’t spent an adequate amount of time to learn the song. She gave me one more chance to play it through again to see if I could get it right a second time, but I had no luck and struggled with the same parts that had given me some trouble before.

 

“Did you practice this week?”

“Yes” I said, because I did, just not very much.

“I want you to work on this one more week and spend more time actually practicing it.”

And with that, my lesson was over. I had failed this week and would have to do the same exercise that I really didn’t want to have to do over again.

 

The following days I felt dejected. The lesson was still giving me difficulty and I was afraid to go back and fail again. I bet her five year old students didn’t have to redo assignments. I bet her five year old students were way better than me.

 

As the next appointment with my teacher got closer and closer throughout the week, I felt more and more anxiety. I couldn’t do this, I thought. I would never be good enough. The night before my meeting with my instructor I sat crying on the couch, and my mom asked me multiple times why I was crying after I refused to tell her. Eventually I caved. “I don’t want to go back to my piano lesson.” Oh was that all? My mom didn’t understand why I felt the way I did about my situation, but she didn’t want to push me into something that I didn’t want to do. My problem was that I did want to learn how to play, but I was just so afraid of disappointing my teacher again that my fear of her disapproval overshadowed my desire to learn. If I didn’t have to face the feeling of inadequacy, then I wanted to avoid it. The only way I could do that was to not go back.

My mom called her that night to cancel my lessons.  My mom said my teacher didn’t understand why I would quit, she said I had been doing well so far. This came as a surprise to me. I still felt a pang of regret but the relief I felt, knowing I didn’t have to go back, was even stronger.

Looking back, I really do wish I had stuck it out with my piano lessons. I still love music and try my hand at learning some songs by ear, but knowing how to properly play would have really benefitted me. As a child, I knew deep down that I wanted to learn, but I let my fear get the best of me. As I’ve matured I have faced other similar situations, but have since tried to swallow my fear so as to not be held back by it. I still feel anxiety when it comes facing the unknown, but I know now that if I can stand my ground, usually the benefits outweigh the fear. I certainly regret not sticking with my piano lessons, but I think that the experience taught me something that I never would have learned had I never dealt with such a situation. I now understand the concept of a missed opportunity, and as opportunities arise in my life today, I try to put my fear aside and take a chance. Most often it turns into a great experience, and may even transform into something that I love.