When my cousin was visiting a little over a year ago, she found Moon River, from the classic movie Breakfast at Tiffany's, out of a piano songbook and tried to learn it. I liked that song too, so at the beginning of last year I made it a goal to learn a song on the piano, which I hadn't done since I was a child. My structure was that I had to play the song once a day, sometimes it turned into more, but at least once. And after a few months I did learn the song.
My cousin didn't have a piano, but she got a keyboard for Christmas and it came with a music book. There were a couple songs in there that I really enjoyed (the keyboard could play the songs by itself). One of the songs I liked was Canon in D by Pachelbel. I checked out the score from the library, and started to learn it, but it was much longer than Moon River and soon I needed to return the music.
I recently checked the score out again and I haven't been playing often, but occasionally I try. Today while I was waiting for my food to bake I sat down at the piano and worked on it.
Last Sunday, I saw a writing instructor at the co-op. She recently got a piano and said she was spending too much time playing it. Such is life - when we don't have the enthusiasm to play piano or (insert your activity here), we lament that we can't get ourselves to do it, and then when we are instinctively drawn to something, we think we should be doing something else.
I was reminded of visiting my brother when he lived in Japan. I had nothing to write in my journal. Here I was in this foreign country with new experiences, and I had nothing to say. Instead I just kept doing these random doodles that I would color. Sometimes I tried to force myself to write something, but I just kept returning to the doodles.
Now I look back on that journal and love those doodles. I didn't have words then. It was fine.
I could say the same thing for many aspects of my life - playing guitar, exercising, camping...the beauty is to be grateful for the inspiration when we have it and to let go of it when it's gone. To allow space for such things, but not to force them.
I think carving the space is the hardest part, sometimes that space sits empty and you don't know why it is there.
We don't have much understanding of the importance of space. It doesn't matter if someone has a one, two or three car garage - it will get filled. It doesn't matter how big someone's closet is - it will get filled. The field will get planted or paved. The valley will get houses or industry. The soul will get words, and judgements and values.
And then sometimes you hide the little spaces that you carve out in your life,
because you know if they are hidden
no one can fill them.