My Key to Comfort

A secret escape

My typical Saturday mornings consist of a few extra hours of sleep, a slightly more extravagant breakfast, a leisurely atmosphere, and a chance to delve into my favorite pastime. These days, when the house is quiet and empty, enable me to close my bedroom door, sit on my wooden stool, unplug my laptop’s charger, and replace it with the plug to my Casio keyboard. On the floor in front of my feet are piles of music books and sheet music, like my own library. The keyboard is in the back corner of my bedroom, so I feel as if I am as far away from the core of the house as possible. Here, I can clear my mind.

I discovered the piano at five years old and learned from a professional until I was eleven. It took six years for me to grow bored of repetitive lessons, but only one year after that to realize that I missed making music. Since then, I have become my own teacher, digging up old sheet music from my mother’s collection and scouring the Internet for anything I can find.

At first glance, a new song just looks like a page filled with meaningless lines and symbols. They must be dissected line by line, note by note. I often catch myself staring at the page in front of me, fingers motionless in “Middle C” position. For that period of time, I am completely focused, and every other thought floats away. Slowly, what was once a jumbled mess begins to make sense. Like solving a math problem that seems impossible, or finding the right words for an essay, the pieces eventually come together. An answer is finally reached: a recognizable song. The process is sometimes tedious and drawn-out, but for me, that makes it all the more enjoyable. My reward is satisfaction, pleasure, fulfillment, a state where I am perfectly content.

When I tell people that I play the piano, I love explaining to them why they never knew this about me. Sometimes, I feel like I need an escape from reality, somewhere far away from the stresses of everyday life. Surprisingly enough, playing the piano in my own bedroom provides that escape. I can forget about the homework that lingers in my backpack on my bed, my cross country schedule becomes nonexistent, and the text message awaiting me is unimportant. Whether I am having a fantastic day, or a never-ending Wednesday, there is always a song that mirrors my emotions. Sometimes, on those extra-frustrating days, I may need to bang the keys a little extra hard. Nevertheless, I always leave my piano stool in a better mood than when I sat down. I can then go about my day a bit more satisfied because I finally perfected that one pesky part of a song, or I found a new tune that I cannot wait to learn. I allow myself to reenter reality in a more peaceful and confident state of mind, ready to face whatever comes my way.

Despite my love for the piano, I do not perform, and I have never taken part in a concert. My explanation is not stage fright or anxiety, but rather secrecy. Even many of my closest friends have never heard me play. This way, the piano has become the only activity in my life that is not judged, scored, timed, or graded. I think it is important to realize that some things should be done without praise from others, because personal gratification is the most meaningful.