Perfection is impossible, but we strive for it. Never do we walk along the beach looking for broken seashells. We seek perfectly shaped sand dollars, round and unblemished by the sea. Practice makes perfect. This old proverb dates back to the mid-1500’s.
As a kid, I hated to practice the piano. But I did.
That metronome bored into my brain – tick, tick, TICK! My teacher banged on the piano when she played, shaking the floor and vibrating the bench where we sat thigh to thigh. No matter how well I played Waltzing Matilda at home in the living room, I couldn’t replicate it in her garage turned piano studio… She made me nervous, and she smelled of eggs.
I recently attended a writing seminar in Eureka Springs hosted by writer Crescent Dragonwagon. Fearless Writing in the Ozarks. It was an Aha(!) event—part writing, part therapy, part slumber party. The class is different each time, based upon the dynamic energy of the people involved. We drafted off one another like race cars. One story led to another. And another.
I left Fearless inspired with new ideas, new skills. But perhaps the most important thing I realized was writing takes practice, like any other worthwhile endeavor—training for a marathon, stretching into a yoga pose, playing a musical instrument.
Making straight A’s in English or writing a decent haiku in 7th grade doesn’t exempt me from practice.
Writing practice is writing every day without a purpose. Writing for fun. Writing something no one will ever see. A poem, random thoughts, observations, a Christmas list. Anything. Just show up. For fifteen minutes. The mind becomes free and clear to do ‘real’ writing.
Today is Day 20 of my practice. Already I find I don’t need a gimmick to motivate myself to practice write. Practice writing motivates me.
Yesterday my closet exploded as I excavated last year’s crumpled Christmas wrapping paper. Moving a box overhead, sheet music rained down. Piano sheet music—White Christmas.
There was a time I practiced playing that song…
Our piano has been silent for years, more of an object d’art. It currently displays my nativity scene. Maybe I’ll start practicing the piano again too?
Maybe.
