Once upon a time, there was a girl who was truly disciplined in her daily piano practise. It’s because she loved piano more than anything, so she would constantly spend time learning its arts. As she grew older, she practised less and less, and one day, she found herself struggling to keep it up. She knew it was important, and she certainly always felt wonderful after practising, but she still fought herself to practise.
What is it with practising?
When I first started playing, I couldn’t get enough of the piano. I would practise some days for almost five hours without getting bored or fatigued. I truly fell in love with the piano. Confession: I even named my piano Henry in the hopes that if I ever found a man for me, he’d be as dedicated to me as Henry. Henry was always there to hear my sorrows or successes, but then I got older and stopped going to Henry all the time.
I guess it’s the same as a real relationship in that it takes dedication, but I never thought I’d be saying I am in a relationship with my piano. It’s true though. Henry does demand my attention sometimes, and I’m all the better for it, so I suppose I am in a relationship with my piano. Anyone else feel the same way?