Gobsmacked by All I Didn't Know
As a child I took piano lessons from the wonderful Dominican sisters for five years until I was about twelve. At home I practiced on the massive upright black piano that for years stood sentry to our living room. I learned the basics and even played the organ at church for a few years— at weekday masses or the very early Sunday Mass when not too many folks were there.
In later years my piano playing became infrequent. I was thrilled when my husband surprised me with a baby grand piano as a birthday present. Ten years later, after he died and I had relocated to Washington, DC, I had a small keyboard and occasionally served as the substitute pianist with the gospel group at Christ House Sunday Church service. If I had a piece of music in front of me that wasn’t too hard and had no more than three sharps or flats, I could play it. I just skipped the notes I didn’t know. Eventually I realized I knew nothing about what is called music theory, but I didn’t care because, after all, I could play.
This past Christmas I received the gift of a quality electronic piano from my second husband. It now sits proudly in my office as a regal neighbor to my computer and monitor. I immediately started practicing, pulling out the very old music books I still had, including the John Thompson Third Grade Book published in 1938 (price $1.25) and some beginning adult music books I had picked up along the way. I made the decision this time to learn something about music theory, especially about the scales, majors, and minors. I had started to become curious about what it meant when a piece of music was described as being in a specific key.
As soon as I started studying and practicing, I bumped into a new language: intervals; steps; pitch; key; signature; tonic, dominant, subdominant, I, IV, and V chords; major and minor scales; arpeggios; and more. Let me tell you that the shock of starting to see the vast material— that I didn’t know existed— could not have been greater if I just found out aliens were living and hiding among us. How could I have thought I knew anything about music? It was as though I had a new filter, actually more like a kaleidoscope, to see and hear the same thing, but now there was so much more—a richness, depth, and brilliance I never imagined. I quickly saw that playing the piano was so much more than finding the note and playing it, which, till then, had been the total of my musical understanding. The idea that I can actually train my ear to appreciate all this when I play or listen to music and be able to distinguish major from minor keys makes me shake my head in disbelief. Though I am already deeply challenged by all I don’t know, I feel confident my work will help me to hear, enjoy, understand, and make music more beautiful than I can even imagine today. What happened next surprised me.
This precipitous change in my understanding of music jolted my mind. It left me feeling a little off-balance and seeking something secure to grab on to. Instead, all I had to hold onto were questions. What if there are other parts of my life about which I think I know everything, or at least enough, and in fact barely know anything? How would I even know if this were so? Could this unrecognized ignorance apply to my views about other cultures, politics, or even my faith? And, thinking more narrowly, what about my views about those who stand on the opposite side from me of the many divides of our day? It’s easier not deal with these questions, but I’m glad my musical journey made me ponder them.
To grow as a musician, I first had to admit I know only part of the story. I guess that’s how it is for all of us if we want to grow. We first have to admit that we don’t know and understand everything. Only then can we open our minds and hearts and really listen—to our conscience, our history, the stories of others, and our God. It is my hope that my musical training will make me able to perceive more of these reverberations.
SUGGESTIONS:
Have you ever had an experience like I just described, when you had your mind blown open by realizing how much you didn’t know? Reflect on how you reacted to this experience and what you learned.
My recent effort to learn about piano and music theory has really challenged me. It’s hard! I can practically hear my brain synapses trying to find new connections and snapping into action--it feels like it has to be good for my brain. I recall something similar when I started studying Spanish at age 50—I had no concept of the complexity and thought all I had to do was find a Spanish word to replace each English word. Another example is a close friend who started aikido in her fifties and found it mentally and physically demanding, but also liberating and deeply satisfying. These activities that challenge the brain are always listed as ways to prevent Alzheimer’s Disease (along with meaningful personal connections, healthy eating, exercise, and avoidance of tobacco). I encourage you to try something new—perhaps writing, playing word games, learning a brand new hobby, or becoming creative with art, drama, or, yes, music.
Check out this list of “Top Ten Late Bloomers of All Time.” My favorite is Grandma Moses. She had to stop embroidering at age 75 because of arthritis in her hands—instead she took up painting, became world famous, and painted until close to her death at 101. It’s never too late to try something new. You may find yourself having fun, being more healthy, meeting new people, and hopefully making the world a better place.
P.S. Don’t forget to sign up for my monthly blog or follow me on Facebook or Donna Chacko on Twitter. If my message helps you in any way, please consider sharing it with others.
Dr. Donna Chacko promotes health of body, mind, and spirit through her website (serenityandhealth.com), her blog, and programs at her church. She is the author of the award-winning book and Amazon best-seller Pilgrimage: A Doctor’s Healing Journey (Luminare Press, 2021). You can read her full bio here.