The Cello
My Mom is coming for a visit next week. I’m having a hard time resisting the strong urge to hide some things from her. Not bad things, nor things I’m ashamed of. Just things that reveal who I am.
Like the cello. A couple of weeks ago, I rented a cello. I’ve never played cello before in my life. The only instrument I’ve ever played is piano, and I haven’t played piano very much in the last 25 years. I rented a cello because I like the way the cello sounds, and for the past year, I’ve had this nagging thought at the back of my head that maybe I’d like to learn to play the cello.
In the past, I usually ignored those niggling little ideas like that, the ones that seem stupid and pointless and self-indulgent. I don’t have time to learn the cello, I’m too busy. What’s the point, anyway? I’ll never be very good. I’m never going to perform. And I’d stick that dream in the drawer with all the other dreams, and lock it up tight. Then I’d have another drink to forget it all.
I don’t drink anymore, so it’s harder to forget those silly little dreams. That drawer of denied dreams got too full, and it exploded all over me. The mid-life crisis may be a cliché, but waking up at 40 and realizing that you don’t know whose life you’re in is a pretty disorienting experience.
So now, I try to listen to those little dreams. Okay, so even now it takes me a while, but a year is shorter than forever. I rented a cello and I bought a couple of books and began to teach myself the cello. Why am I teaching myself? Because it took a couple of weeks for me to be willing to ask for help from a teacher.
Taking lessons from someone makes me feel vulnerable. This little dream is fragile; it wouldn’t take much criticism for it to just curl up and die. I grew up in an environment where fragile little dreams weren’t nurtured into being. Instead, my mother told me all the reasons my dream was impractical, unattainable, and not really what I wanted, anyway. I learned to hide those dreams.
While my instinctive reaction is to find some closet to tuck the cello away in when she comes to visit, I keep reminding myself that I’m a grown-up now. I don’t need her to validate my dreams, and I don’t need anything from her to chase my dreams. So, I’m going to leave the cello out. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go so far as to actually pick it up and play it while she’s here, but just leaving it out will be a step forward into the light.
It’s so hard to turn loose of those old defenses.
Like the cello. A couple of weeks ago, I rented a cello. I’ve never played cello before in my life. The only instrument I’ve ever played is piano, and I haven’t played piano very much in the last 25 years. I rented a cello because I like the way the cello sounds, and for the past year, I’ve had this nagging thought at the back of my head that maybe I’d like to learn to play the cello.
In the past, I usually ignored those niggling little ideas like that, the ones that seem stupid and pointless and self-indulgent. I don’t have time to learn the cello, I’m too busy. What’s the point, anyway? I’ll never be very good. I’m never going to perform. And I’d stick that dream in the drawer with all the other dreams, and lock it up tight. Then I’d have another drink to forget it all.
I don’t drink anymore, so it’s harder to forget those silly little dreams. That drawer of denied dreams got too full, and it exploded all over me. The mid-life crisis may be a cliché, but waking up at 40 and realizing that you don’t know whose life you’re in is a pretty disorienting experience.
So now, I try to listen to those little dreams. Okay, so even now it takes me a while, but a year is shorter than forever. I rented a cello and I bought a couple of books and began to teach myself the cello. Why am I teaching myself? Because it took a couple of weeks for me to be willing to ask for help from a teacher.
Taking lessons from someone makes me feel vulnerable. This little dream is fragile; it wouldn’t take much criticism for it to just curl up and die. I grew up in an environment where fragile little dreams weren’t nurtured into being. Instead, my mother told me all the reasons my dream was impractical, unattainable, and not really what I wanted, anyway. I learned to hide those dreams.
While my instinctive reaction is to find some closet to tuck the cello away in when she comes to visit, I keep reminding myself that I’m a grown-up now. I don’t need her to validate my dreams, and I don’t need anything from her to chase my dreams. So, I’m going to leave the cello out. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go so far as to actually pick it up and play it while she’s here, but just leaving it out will be a step forward into the light.
It’s so hard to turn loose of those old defenses.
posted by WritingMom at 9:06 PM
2 Comments:
Lord I understand. My parents are never able to accept ME, they just want some former-christian-college-going me to tell them that I agree with everthing they believe. Obviously, I disagree with everything. :D
Harder for me than the lack of acceptance is that they seem to take disagreement with them as personal rejection of them.
Thanks for dropping by!
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