When I was in grad school, my friend Joshua Dienstag mused that he would like to learn piano, but wondered if he could ever be great, given that he would be starting at the ripe old age of 25. I said perhaps you couldn't be great, but maybe it would be fun to learn it anyhow. To which Joshua replied that he didn't want to bother doing anything that he couldn't be great at.
I assume by now Joshua has mellowed in his unyielding commitment to greatness, and has discovered some things that are worth doing for their own sake, regardless of one's superiority at them or lack thereof. But I confess that I am nagged by a related anxiety as I do something as humbling (if not humiliating) as take up playing cello in my mid-40s. Learning this thing is hard! There is so much to think about at one time! When I try to think about my left hand position and not gripping too hard with my thumb and the proper intonation and my bow hold and the angle of my bow and not playing over the fingerboard, I feel like I'm trying to walk a tightrope and juggle fire and sing the Queen of the Night's aria all at the same time. And then when Cheryl (my teacher) reminds me of something else to think about, like keeping my right elbow down or making more contact with the strings or using less bow, she might as well suggest that I spin plates on my nose at the same time. I feel like my head is going to explode. So why am I doing this ridiculous thing?
1. I love making music. It's bliss, baby, pure and simple, at those moments when it works. Today I played a tiny chamber piece with Sasha (12, on clarinet) and Rafie (10, on cello), and it sounded so good, and I was part of it. Now whenever I hear some gorgeous music (like the Elgar Cello Concerto, which we listened to in the car yesterday), I think, "I get to play that someday."
2. I like the steep part of the learning curve: it's so fun to be able to do something today that I couldn't do yesterday. Every time I sit down to practice, I get a sense of accomplishment, something in short supply in my other career as Sisyphus, I mean home-school mom.
3. It seems like a good idea to teach an old dog new tricks. I hear that creaky old brains are rejuvenated by learning foreign languages and musical instruments.
4. John Holt inspired me. Years ago, my friend Denise told me she was going to homeschool her son. Since he was only a year old at the time, it seemed like a premature conclusion, and a very odd one, too. I couldn't imagine why she would want him to opt out of something as neat as school! Rather than explain it, she tossed me two battered books by John Holt, which immediately remapped my brain. It took me a while longer to come around to actually homeschooling my own kids, but I was instantly taken by John Holt's critique of schooling and his wonder at what kids' minds could do if they were allowed to follow their interests. Anyway, many years later, someone told me that John Holt had written a book on learning to play cello. I think he was 50 when he started, and he became a passionate and very serious (if amateur) cellist, playing and rehearsing for 4 or 5 hours a day for the rest of his life. His book on the subject (Never Too Late) is a great refutation of the Suzuki model of music education, that you must start young or some vital window will close forever.
5. Rafie inspired me. My son Rafie took up cello at age 9, and took off like a rocket. I've been in awe of his musical instincts and his talent and his enthusiasm, and just wanted to do something as cool as he does. Now that he's 18 months ahead of me in learning cello and just an awesome musician, it seems there's no danger of treading on his heels. He gets to laugh (gently, please) at my beginner status.
So here I am, practicing daily. I have been playing for about a month. I'm still such a cello-baby. I'll try to write about it here, though probably not daily!
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