Despair

These are random thoughts that are going through my mind as I stare at the computer, or the piano, or the book I'm trying to read, and getting nothing done:

I want to die.
I don't want to eat anymore.
I hate everyone.
I hope I get killed in a car accident.
I don't want to do this anymore.
I'm stuck.
I'm in a wilderness -- not a lovely, wild one, but a scary, threatening one.
Will this nightmare ever end?
I am so angry.

It's not just my dad dying. It's everything.

Piano Helps, But ...

Piano, and music in general, have been wonderful, but they've been, in many ways, an escape. I was suicidal when I joined PWJ last January, and I was able to seize on this wonderful resource. My piano-playing is better than ever, and I love practicing. But when I'm not practicing?

I don't want to think. I don't want to read or write because that will cause me to think. And if I let myself think, I fall even further into despair. So I listen to music. Lots and lots of blues, but also gospel blues and bluesy rock. And the music fills my brain so that I don't have to think.

Or if I do think, I'm listening for chord changes and riffs. I'm listening for ideas of what I can do in my own playing.

Not that I'll ever play for anyone but myself and my headphones.

All Wrong

Life has just turned out all wrong, and I am not sure where I went wrong.

No, that's not true. I can point to all the places I went wrong--all the bad decisions, all the major decisions made on an impulse, all the other major decisions made from a place of despair.

It's as if despair and depression have been my constant companion for so much of my life, eating away at what should be joy and peace.

And here I am. I feel like all I have is piano. Prayer feels empty. Exercise is mindless. Reading and writing are off-limits. I have lots of acquaintances that I like, but they are all context-dependent -- my volleyball mom friends, my church friends, my neighborhood friends. But none of them are close friends. I live in this private, silent, lonely hell. And now my daddy is gone and I don't know what to do. Though I am glad I still have my mom -- I stayed with her for the whole time my dad was dying, and I didn't want to leave her, even after he was gone.

I guess I'll just keep practicing.

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The Rusty Lock and Key

I'm in a room. There's a door in front of me. On the other side of that door is a whole world of adventure and imagination and joy and delight, but for the moment, I'm locked in this gray little room. The door itself has a lock that is all rusted. I've tried to open it in the past, but I've never gotten very far. Sometimes I try to scrape the rust off the lock. I also have a rusty old key that I occasionally try to polish. Each time, after I've made a little progress, I'll put it into the keyhole in hopes of opening the door. It turns a half a millimeter or so, but the brief excitement at my progress dies quickly when I realize, once again, the lock isn't opening. I set the old key aside, and from there I can forget about the door, the lock, and the world outside, for months—years, even. But then something happens—I hear birdsong, or I catch a glimpse of color—and I pick up the key and start picking away at the stubborn rust. That dark little room is my ...

Dance of the Digits

Note: I've expanded significantly on this post over at my other blog, A Sort of Notebook . I am loving Liszt. I love the way my hands have to "share" the melody. I have so much to write on that, but I'm borrowing a computer and don't have enough time to do it justice. Suffice it to say that I've practiced three and a half wonderful hours today, and about two hours on Liszt alone. What I find wonderful about Liszt is that it pushes one hand hard, but not too hard. Then the other hand gets a turn to be pushed. But it's never both at the same time, and never one hand for too long. It's hard to explain. When I have more time to write, I'll word things rather more eloquently, I'm sure. All I can say now is that my fingers feel like they're dancing a wonderful, graceful dance. I've been trying to "play with my body," as my piano teacher says to do, so all of me is dancing. And Standchen, though it still need a lot of work (like, um...

The Amazing Practice Tracker 2.0: Leveling Up My Piano Game

(Apologies for the cheesy clip art. I needed to come up with something, or the Blogger template would show a fuzzy, overly-enlarged snippet of the first chart below.) When I showed my husband my piano practice tracker, he said I should market and sell it. Ha. It’s not for sale, but I’m excited to share how this tool has transformed my practice—and why it might inspire all three of my readers. Since my last post about the Amazing Practice Tracker, I’ve made it even better. Here’s a peek at how it works, using my June data. All The Pretty Colors, All the Pretty Winners My tracker now sparkles with color: darker shades for active pieces, lighter ones for maintenance, technique, and sight-reading. Each day, the piece I practice most gets a bright yellow highlight—a little “gold medal,” if you will. (Click image for a slightly larger view.) A leaderboard automatically shows the day’s top piece and time. And if that isn't enough, I keep track of the month's leaders--specifically, ho...

Picking Up the Pieces

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