I am taking piano lessons for the first time in over fifteen years. Sometimes the muscles in my fingers remember what to do, and other times I feel like a toddler learning to descend a flight of stairs. I find myself compiling a list of excuses for missing my Wednesday lesson for no other reason than my stomach is churning the entire 24-hours prior, and my armpits are sweating. I’m worried my teacher will think I should be farther along, will scoff at my fumbling through Bach and Tchaikovsky, or will look at me with pity before refusing to teach me.
But today we talked about a recital. A recital! This terrifies me because 1. I’ve never played in a piano recital before, even as a child and 2. My repertoire is limited. As in I am one step above “Chopsticks”. I have a recurring nightmare where I am on a stage and I have no idea what I am supposed to be performing. What if this has become my reality? Also, will the list of performers include fifteen eleven-year-olds and then me, a thirty-nine-year-old mommy turned wannabe concert pianist? It’s just too much. This has moved to the number one reason on my list of reasons to skip my lesson next week. I have seven more days to drive myself crazy. –er.