June 19, 2005 at 4:13 PM

Yearning

I don't know if I'll ever be like my professional violinist friends.

They tell me that they practice about four hours each day, and even that sometimes doesn't feel like enough for them.

There was a time when I told myself that I would persevere in practicing at least an hour every day. Even if it killed me.

I tried and tried, but I only burned myself out. I was like a runner waiting for my second wind, feeling my muscles aching and throbbing and telling me to stop even as I pushed on in the faith that, if I persevered long enough, I would be rewarded with a renewed burst of energy.

It never happened.

Instead, I found myself growing increasingly dissatisfied with my playing until I was forced to admit to myself that I just couldn't practice that long, that hard.

So I put my violin in its case and left it there. And it stayed there. For days and weeks.

And then, one night, in the silent darkness, I felt a yearning to play. It was an urge that came inexplicably, unbidden. Perhaps it was an agglomeration of memories of past loves and half-forgotten disappointments. Perhaps it was the loneliness, or just the biting silence of night. Perhaps it was restlessness. Perhaps it was grief. Perhaps it was nothing.

What was clear to me, however, was that my fingers yearned to touch my violin with the trembling excited expectation of one about to explore his lover for the first time after a prolonged separation, or an absence of years.

Suddenly, my violin felt more familiar to me that it ever was before. It yielded to my touch as if it, too, waited expectantly so long for this moment.

And so I played.

As lovers always are, it wasn't perfect --but it was divine. The music that came forth was imperfect, yes, but nevertheless full and rich, forged as it was in the heat of yearning and tempered by the loving acceptance of its own shortcomings.

It was an act altogether nasty, brutish, and short --altogether human yet, at least in its yearning, divine.

______________
INTERLUDE: It's midnight Philippine time, and I've just gone through three hours of Writer's Hell translating portions of a Filipino textbook into English. Thirteen pages down, about a hundred more to go. I needed to do some creative writing before I bust. Still, everthing I said holds true. Pardon the cheesiness.

Please be to my faults a little blind.

From Pauline Lerner
Posted on June 20, 2005 at 3:28 AM

I'm so glad you had such a good time playing your violin again. Maybe you just needed to take a break from it for a while. I hope you have many more good experiences with your violin.

From Carley Anderson
Posted on June 20, 2005 at 4:02 PM

Sometimes it's not the qauntity of practice, as the quality. Thank you for your honesty. It's encouraging to know that other people struggle like I do.

From Timothy James Dimacali
Posted on June 21, 2005 at 7:43 AM

Thanks for the encouragement, Pauline and Carley :-)

I discovered my own practicing pace, but of course I'm slowly building it up whenever time permits.

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June 19, 2005 at 4:13 PM

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