Playing music has been a part of my life for 50+ years, and I have been lucky enough to arrange things so I get to do it pretty darn often.
Every now and then, though, there’s a lull. Usually, it’s brought on by random accidents of events and scheduling – I may go several days with hardly any playing. This causes anxiety in a very subtle way. I’m nervous, slightly disoriented, and can’t figure out why.
Noodling on instruments at home helps some, but does not cure this feeling of being “off” and disconnected.
Then, something arises – a rehearsal, a jam or a gig, and I am reminded anew how an important part of my well-being is satisfied by playing music. For those moments, I’m not a creaky, old, tubby wreck. Instead, I am light on my feet – perhaps my feet don’t always even have to touch the ground. I am piloting an exciting vehicle, sometimes at very high speeds, and my fingers move over the controls with comforting familiarity and confidence. I am Han Solo, dodging the enemy’s X-Wing fighters with breathtaking alacrity.
My internal battery indicator goes from “low” to “full” during this time.
In rehearsals, I get to take exhilarating chances, and learn what works and what doesn’t. Slowly the difficult becomes easier. In performances, I get to apply the lessons from rehearsal and try to pilot this crazy craft close to the edge of my abilities. If it goes well, then thrills are shared with the audience. If it doesn’t, well, I got to share my best effort.
I know darn well there will come a time when I can’t play, and dread that day. Anytime I bump or cut a finger, or notice a twinge in my wrist or arm, I’m worried this could be that time. I have broken my wrist twice, but that was decades ago. The 2 months or so out of commission would be very scary indeed, and I don’t heal like I did decades ago.
I don’t dwell on it, though. Why waste time imagining pain you don’t yet have?
