The Best Weekend of My Life?

So maybe this weekend wasn't the best weekend of my life. There was the weekend I gave birth to my daughter. The weekend I got married. And the six-month “weekend” I spent thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail.

Still, this past weekend was pretty darn good.

My daughter was working or going to friends' graduation parties, and my husband was away on a business trip, so I had the whole house to myself.

And it was glorious.

I practiced piano for over two hours Friday night. Nearly three hours on Sunday.

And Saturday?

Three hundred and thirty-seven minutes.

More than five and a half hours.

At least twice what I would normally practice on a Saturday.

I finished the day feeling almost euphoric. Intensely alive. When I walked, I felt like I was floating. My heart felt so light, it was like a helium balloon lifting the rest of me along with it.

I don't even know how to explain this weekend. So much of it I don't want to explain because it was my private weekend. I don't want to let the rest of the world in on it. It was almost sacred, this time of communion with the piano and all of the wonderful music I practiced and played.

But I did come away with something important. I got a clear sense of who I am—or who I want to become—as a musician.

I've been circling that question for more than two years now, but this weekend, it felt like I finally landed on it.

How do I articulate what I discovered? I don't know yet. For now, I just want to hold the dream close. Safe.

But I will write about it at some point, probably here. Probably soon.

At this moment, I think I may be happier musically than I've ever felt. Life isn't so great in a few other areas, but at the piano? It's as good as it's ever been. I have direction, my mind feels sharp, and my hands and fingers feel at the top of their game.

I have to leave for work soon, but I'm already looking forward to the moment I can return home and play again.

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