Grand Obsession: A Piano Odyssey by Perri Knize

How ironic that such silliness, such lightness of heart, is being ground down into turgid constipation by my insistence on getting every note right. I do see that my reverence is killing my love for the piano, my desire to play, the music itself. I think: I bet Mozart would not care a whit if every note is right. And then I think: So why should I?

A small revolution lights up my brain. Why, indeed, should I care? Who am I playing for, if not for me? If playing is not fun, then why am I doing it? What would a few wrong notes cost me, anyway? It´s not like the empty pews paid $50 each to hear me play.

The sky cracks open with lightning and a torrent comes down in a sudden rush, breaching the windowsills, sending me running to staunch the flood, slamming the windows shut as fast as I can. Thunder booms and shakes the church; the sky becomes a sheet of water. The charge of negative ions refreshes me, lifts my mood. I shudder with delight.

Suddenly I feel electrified. I have nothing to lose by playing Mozart in the spirit of Mozart, that is, with love, playfulness, irreverence. Give up the idea of right notes. Just play! Be playful in your playing! I almost say aloud.

I begin the sonata again, this time at a swift tempo, the way I hear the work in my head, launching myself into the music with verve and feeling. My fingers fly - I throw them at the keyboard as a painter might dash pigment against a canvas, willing to see whatever magic might arrange itself on its own. Thunder crashes again. The music sweeps me up into its arms, spins me about. Mozart and I alone in this church, we are having a blast together. My hands know these notes, as well they should; all I have to do is get out of the way. I feel infected with a new attitude, a thrilling bravado. I laugh aloud. And I play not a single wrong note.

As I play the last chord of the pages I have worked through so far, I am overtaken with wonder. Why were all the notes right this time? An idea creeps into my mind: You have been living your life the same way you have been learning this sonata. I´ve been dour, self-denying, punitive for any infraction, withholding joy, chaining myself to a perfectionistic ideal. Just as I get in the way of my hands, I realize, so too do I get in the way of my soul. Hands know how to play, and soul knows how to live, if only I will trust them. What happens if I get out of my own way? I don´t yet fully trust myself. But for just a moment, I trusted Mozart.
 

The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown

I learned about the inextricable connection between joy and gratitude, and how things that I take for granted, like rest and play, are as vital to our health as nutrition and exercise.

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I now see that cultivating a Wholehearted life is not like trying to reach a destination. It´s like walking toward a star in the sky. We never really arrive, but we certainly know that we're heading in the right direction.

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Our culture is quick to dismiss quiet, ordinary, hardworking men and women. In many instances, we equate ordinary with boring or, even more dangerous, ordinary has become synonymous with meaningless.

I think I learned the most about the value of ordinary from interviewing men and women who have experienced tremendous loss such as the loss of a child, violence, genocide, and trauma. The memories that they held most sacred were the ordinary, everyday moments. It was clear that their most precious memories were forged from a collection of ordinary moments, and their hope for others is that they would stop long enough to be grateful for those moments and the joy they bring.