One of my fondest memories from when I was a little kid was the first time I sat down at the piano; I was seven years old. Music has a magic that is extremely hard to put into words.
A few after years after beginning piano, my father (sensing my enjoyment in music) encouraged me to join the school orchestra. I played violin in the orchestra for two years, and at the end of my sixth grade year a decision had to be made. Did I want to continue playing violin in junior high? Did I want violin to become just as much a part of my life as both the piano and voice had? In short, was I ready to commit?
I ended up dropping the violin for good, all because to a sudden revelation that struck me one day in orchestra rehearsal. I was looking at the music we were supposed to be playing for the next concert, and I remembered being a tiny kid and grinning while I practiced for my piano lesson. I remembered all the precious constructive criticism given to me by my piano teacher, the many times I’d gone over a few measures of a new piece, trying so hard to bring them up to tempo. And I remembered the wonderful feeling of accompanying a choir, the sensation of piano and voice flowing in smooth harmony. I realized that I loved to play the piano so much more than the violin. Maybe I was just playing the violin to make others happy; I don’t think I’ll ever really know.
But the reason doesn’t matter so much. What I’d done horribly wrong was to ignore what my thoughts were trying to tell me. I’d known all along that I didn’t enjoy playing the violin, but I had still disregarded the feelings of the child in the mirror, the one person who would be with me for the rest of my life.
There will always be people who will try to persuade you to do this or that, and they probably have no idea of the impact “this or that” could have in the future. You don’t have a clue either, but your heart will figure it out in the end. Listen to what it tells you; your heart knows what it’s doing, even if you don’t.
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