Just holding the damn violin correctly is a bitch. Other instruments that I have attempted to learn were nothing like this; the ukulele, pick it up and strum. Even the piano is easier though there are a lot more strings attached.
The violin: you twist yourself into a pretzel learning to hold it. Then there’s the bow hold. My fingers feel like they need a chiropractic adjustment after ten minutes of practice.
If you are five years old, it’s probably a snap; at sixty-five, it’s crazy.
I have always wanted to play a musical instrument. I’ve tried several, piano, guitar, ukulele, even the harmonica. None of them resonated with me. Every time I see someone playing the violin, it looks like such an interested thing to do. I finally listened to my urge and started taking lessons.
Dreams rarely hit us over the head. Dreams come like wisps of smoke until we sigh and breath them away, left only with a sense of longing that we can’t quite identify.
Why the violin instead of something easier? Why at sixty-five instead of twenty-five? God knows. I only know that when I was at the music store and the clerk opened the case of my rental violin, I felt like a kid on Christmas day. I felt as if I had come home to something long missing from my life. For the first twenty four hours, I couldn’t even touch it. I would just open the case and look at it.
Will I learn to play? Can I endure the frustration and practice it will take? Is this a passing fancy? Is it too hard? These are questions we use to squash our dreams. Then we find life tasteless, like unseasoned food.
Plain and Simple Advice
I saw a child yesterday with a t-shirt that read: Don’t wish for it; work for it. Good advice. First, you have to listen to your dreams.