Onward and Upward
In conservatory, we used to play games with fate. Late at night, in the dorm, we’d wonder aloud whether or not we’d want to go on living if we lost the ability to play or lost our hearing. (Usually we said no.) We’d consider whether we’d rather lose a leg or a finger. (Easy one: a leg.)
But now my hearing has really deteriorated. I had a bunch of earaches when I was little, and my mother, bless her, is sort of out-of-sight, out-of-mind. She wouldn’t take me to the doctor until I was awake for three days straight. And then, god bless her, she would find me sitting awake at 4am and, in total shock, wonder what I was doing up.
*sigh*
So in middle school, my friends could talk in the hallways or at lunch, but I could never join in. I could hear all the noise, but I couldn’t hear their words: they were blurry. In college, I had to take extra time to teach myself what a line sounded like before I could hear it, but it was no big deal. Now I realized I probably used my “mental ear” to supply that which my real ear could not.
About six years ago, I took an ear training test, where you listen to a bass, tenor, alto, and soprano line all at the same time and then write down the notes. The bass wasn’t there. I only got to listen about four times, and the first two were spent going, “Shit! There’s NO bass! Wtf?”
Then a few weeks ago, at my niece’s house, my best friend kept turning the TV down to where you can’t hear it at all. I kept thinking, “But it’s music! She should hear the music!” I politely kept quiet, but last night I confirmed that everyone could hear it except me.
The piano is pretty loud, and my piano has a loud bass, plus I have a wood floor. I don’t think my students have been affected much, although it’s possible they might have some odd balance issues, easily correctable. I do know I’ve been saying, “I can’t hear that!” more and more, when it comes to bringing out the melody.
Moving On
So I was just sitting here this morning and looking at my piano, which is about to be packed up and moved away, and thinking about how, even though I’ll miss playing so much it hurts, I’m so glad that writing dropped into my life. I’m kinda glad the universe kept pushing me away from the piano, gradually. I mean, there are obstacles, there are signs, and then sometimes the universe has to use sheer force, LOL.
You might’ve alternately heard me say that I’m taking a year off from the piano. Um, you know, not really. It’s hard to let go. I’ve always known this is an issue but I’ve always been in denial and ignored it. I decided to be a pianist from the first time I played one. It’s been the most important thing in my life for almost my whole life. I loved teaching it, too; I wasn’t one of the ones who taught just so they had time to practice.
But this might be a permanent goodbye, as inconceivable as that seems. I suppose, once I get health insurance, there’s always hearing aids, but I don’t see how that could adjust things as finely as a musician needs them to be adjusted. I don’t know.
There is life after music, an identity after piano, and joy beyond learning and performing a piece. I’m in love with story more than I ever was with music, I think. Just walking into a bookstore makes me happy: it’s like a spiritual experience for me. One of my piano teachers used to say that I “ate music” like it was part of my daily sustenance, and I feel the same way about all story: books, movies, plays, anything.
I’m just hoping that somehow, on the other side of this year, I’ll figure out how to be someone other than a pianist. Music is almost how I view the world. So now, I guess, I get to view the world as story. That’s pretty cool.
In the end, I would tell my younger self that if I couldn’t hear, I’d definitely want to live. There’s a lot of cool stuff left. I’m lucky that I’ve had two great loves in my life: music and words.
So today I face it, grieve, and move on. Probably can’t be done in a day, LOL, but who knows?
Ever have to mourn the loss of part of your identity? The loss of something you love that’s deeply a part of you? That, one would’ve said, IS you? Do you… become someone else? How does that work? LOL… I feel pretty clueless, here.
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Natasha Fondren is a writer traveling the U.S. in a camper with her four cats and husband. She spends summers camped near her niece, because, well, her niece is her favorite girl on the planet.
This has post has such a feeling of sadness attached to it. On one hand I feel so bad for you, but on the other, you are so brave and resilient for going through life, being a musician, AND not being able to hear the way so many others can. I feel bad that you are letting go of something that gives you so much joy, but at the same time, I sense that you have gained a peace from it that you can live with. Good for you! I wish you all the best in everything you do…..
Rachel, it did happen so gradually, and I kinda knew it was coming at some point, even though I chose to ignore it. I think I’ve been starting the detachment process for some time, but this morning, I was feeling a little down about it. My pianos are leaving in a week, put in storage! I won’t have them! That’s just… I don’t know. Like missing a limb!
No, I’ve never lost anything nearly like that. I’ve been lucky. I’ve observed that life has a cruel habit of knowing exactly what to take from people to hurt them the most. I’m glad you feel you can move on to writing, but it must be tough.
Isn’t that the truth, Eric? But seriously, I do think I love writing more. So it’s a good thing.
This is so heartfelt. I can’t even imagine coming to the realization that something that is so much a part of you might be gone forever, and on top of that, being accepting of it.
I can’t think of anything equally important that I’d have to give up — nothing compares. Sports injuries have limited me, but I can still do most things.
Check out the hearing aids when you can. My grandmother is a wonderful pianist (my mom says she could have gone on to be a concert pianist but raised the kids instead) and she can’t hear ANYTHING without her hearing aids. I’d hate for you to say goodbye completely.
Finally, I couldn’t help but think of Mozart while reading your post.
Really, Melanie? I keep worrying it will be like “fake” hearing, that it won’t be real or something. Does she play with them and everything?
PS: You’re thinking of Beethoven.
She does. She’s 82 so now the only public playing she does is for church and accompanying high school concerts. She sounds good to me.
PS – I almost googled that to make sure… oops!
Not that it means anything in terms of this, but I’ve had reduced hearing in my right ear my entire life. I can’t understand if someone whispers in that ear, and it even makes a difference which side I’m lying on when watching TV (if my ear is covered).
That is so cool, Melanie! That makes me feel good.
It is so cool that you mention that about your ear, just because it’s nice not to be alone.
Just two weeks ago, I couldn’t tell if my headphones were broke or if it was my ears, so I was switching them around and listening and making a spectacle of myself when a student walked up, LOL!
Like Melanie, I thought of Mozart. I’m glad you have writing, too. I woke up the other morning, eager to write my next scene. That’s a great way to wake up, instead of having to drive to a job that you dislike. I’ve done that before, and it’s soul-eating.
I’ve had a mastectomy, and that’s a loss in a different way. But I go on. I’m not who I was before, but I’m okay with who I am now.
That is the BEST feeling, Edie! I remember, once, telling someone that the only reason I bothered getting out of bed in the morning was so I could practice. Now I do it more and more to write.
I totally know what you mean by soul-eating, though, DEFINITELY! Teaching the ones who didn’t practice? Horrid. The ones who did? Wonderful. But no one has time to practice these days.
I can’t imagine what a mastectomy would be like. Definitely a loss. I hope to be okay with me after I change, too.
The movie Mr. Holland’s Opus came to mind while reading this.
I’m so sorry about your hearing but I do know that hearing aids can do wonderful things so I will keep my fingers crossed for you.
And I’m certain piano will come back into your life. Things that we love have a way of returning to us, no matter the circumstances.
That’s a great movie, Nadine! I need to listen to you and Melanie (Gosh, I’ve said that twice in one week! You two are like my gurus!) and try that. Once I get health insurance, I’m there!
I was actually thinking of taking up the violin. I’ve always wanted to play the cello, but violin might travel a little better.
*bows to Spy*
LOL! It’s true! You two are keeping me sane this week… you just don’t know it! I keep thinking, “They got through a huge move, you can do it too!”
Wow. I am utterly without words, my friend. Except that you’re right: there IS life beyond something that means so much, you can’t imagine life without it. Be open; it could be the start of something amazing.
Susan, I keep telling myself that. My mantra is that amazing things are going to happen once I leave. I hope so! I dearly hope so!
Isn’t there some way you could keep both piano and writing? I mean, I know hearing aids are expensive, but surely there’s some kind of program, or perhaps you could claim disability to get state assistance? Argh! It’s so awful and sad (and very frustrating, no doubt) to have what’s likely not an insurmountable obstacle to playing piano again and you can’t afford to try it!
And you can play a keyboard. They are small, relatively inexpensive and compact. Great for traveling.
Written, awww, I’m sure the time will come when I can try hearing aids. Not right now, but hopefully soon! I’m positive I’ll play again. How seriously I’ll play will probably depend on how well I can hear.
No keyboards, though! LOL! I’m a pianist.
Hugs and sympathy, hon. Having to let go of something you love is definitely tough.
For me, it was school and academia. Not learning — I’ve always done that more on my own than in class and I still do — but formal schooling with a degree at the end. My goal had been a PhD, a college-level position and research since I was about fourteen or so. It didn’t work out that way, though, although I struggled with it for a lot longer than most people would’ve.
I had two issues working against me. One was that my memory is wonky. I’m great with the big picture, larger concepts, seeing how things fit together and cause-and-effect and chains of reasoning, but memorizing discrete data items takes me like ten times as much effort as it does normal people. Names and dates, multiplication facts, math and scientific formulas, foreign language vocabulary — anything like that, the stuff you have to Just Memorize, was agony for me in school, and still is. I’ve lived at the same address for over ten years now and I still have to look up my own phone number at times, or ask my husband if he’s nearby when I’m filling out a form.
No one noticed when I was young. I even had the same teacher in both 3rd and 5th grade; she called me “the absent-minded professor” but it never hit her exactly what kinds of things I was having problems with, as opposed to the ones I aced. In 4th grade, when I still didn’t know my multiplication tables, my mom decided to “help” me. She made me some flashcards and said I’d learn the 1s, 2s and 3s today, the 4s, 5s and 6s tomorrow, then 7s, 8s and 9s, then 10s, 11s and 12s, and there you go — problem solved in four days. Umm, right. What I learned during that period was mostly how to hide from my mom, until she finally gave up. :/
I took physics in high school as a sophomore (youngest person in the class — most of the others were seniors, with a few juniors) and had an awful time with all the forumulas, until the mid-term, when our teacher wrote all the formulas on the blackboard for us. He didn’t label any of them, didn’t identify any of the variables, but they were there. That was enough. I aced the test, and was one of only two students who got the extra credit question (which required a multi-stage solution using a number of formulas, rather than just plug and pop).
I have an awesome CPU — I’m incredibly “Gifted” for whatever that’s worth, and test out in the low genius range — but my read/write head is wonky. The processor is first rate but info storage and retrieval is incredibly glitchy.
I ended up at a community college, although one of the best ones in the country by an accident of geography, and it took me fourteen years to get my AA. And when I did, it was in history, not physics or chemistry or anything like that, which had always been my dream when I was younger. I just couldn’t handle all the math and memorization. I was about halfway through by the time I figured out what the problem actually was — OMG, I can’t memorize! Duh! And a little longer to work out how to deal with it — spending lots of shorter periods during the day working on something, going over and over it until I finally had it. Longer study sessions train short-term memory. Many shorter ones, with at least a few hours in between, train long-term, which was what I needed. I was in a math class at the time, and I found that if I did all the problems for a unit, instead of just the “every third one” assigned, and the relevant problems at the end of the chapter, and the ones at the end of the section, and the example problems, then did all the unit problems again, then dug up a different math text for the same subject in the library and did all those, I could do well on the exam, if I studied right up to it. Long-term retention was still iffy, though, and with math and science, everything builds on the previous lessons, for years. For ever. That’s when I gave up on physics and switched to history.
At the same time, though, issue number two was growing. I’d always had a hard time with weird sicknesses, where I felt awful with some low-level nausea and a lot of fatigue, which just hung on and on, for a week or two. Ironically, catching up in school after one of those was easier in college than in junior high and high school; the lower levels are all about hitting you with piles and piles of tiny little assignments, boring, useless busy-work that took up a lot of time, whereas in college you’re more likely to have a bunch of classes which require only two or three exams and a term paper. (I loved those.
) After I got married and transferred up to university, though, the “illnesses” got worse; I was out for a month at a time, twice, trashing the semester I was in the middle of both times. My husband finally made an appointment for me with a therapist, and I got someone who actually had a clue.
I’d been treated for depression before, but had never had anyone competent enough to figure out that I was bipolar. Even the therapist who was amazed at how up and bouncy I was in one session, and how down and blah at the next, never got the hint. [eyeroll] By the time I found a sharp therapist, who guessed “bipolar” and referred me to a psychiatrist who confirmed it, I was in my mid-thirties and still had a couple of years to go on my BA. Let’s see, how long to the PhD now…?
I was still pushing for it, though, sure that now, finally, knowing what the problem was (and boy, did that feel good!) we’d be able to fix it in a year or so and then I could hit the ground running. I asked my P-doc about it and he told me right out that going back to school at that point would be “an expensive mistake.” I said all right and looked ahead to when everything was worked out and I was stable.
No such luck. I’m one of the lucky people who just doesn’t respond well to any of the meds or cocktails. I was with my P-doc for about three years, trying every medication and combination of dosages, going home with pursefuls of sample packs of pills so new my insurance wouldn’t pay for them. The best he was ever able to achieve was to stabilize me at a low-level depression. I didn’t feel like cutting my wrists, but I didn’t feel like doing anything else, either.
I finally gave up on school. If I hadn’t had the memory problem, I’d have had my doctorate and been established in teaching and writing before the bipolar disorder got really bad. (It’s progressive — looking back, I can see early signs of it when I was in elementary school, but it wasn’t debilitating then.) If I’d had to, I could’ve retired from most of the teaching and just focused on books and articles. Or if I weren’t bipolar, I could’ve gotten my doctorate later on and gone on into academia anyway — I had teachers willing to vouch for me, and the history teacher I TAed for was the department head and said I had a job there whenever I finished my own studies. One or the other I could’ve handled, but not both.
So I let it go. It took a long time, a lot of frustration and pain and money, but I finally let it go. I’m lucky enough to have a husband who supports me utterly, even though our lives aren’t following the plans we made before we got married. I’m not with my P-doc anymore; I’d rather just deal with the lows on my own, and have the other periods when I’m normal, or when I’m on a wonderfully productive high, to balance out the bad times. I can do things again, even if not all the time. I can write at my own pace, and if I take a week or a month or a season off, well, that’s the price for the good times, and there’s no boss watching the clock every morning and tapping their foot.
I still regret it sometimes, and sometimes I still feel like a failure. I beat it back, though, or ride it out, and most of the time I’m at peace with where I am. I was supposed to be some kind of child prodigy and that didn’t work out, but the Now of my life isn’t too bad.
Angie
Angie, you never told me all that before! I had a student with what you call a “wonky” memory. (Is that it’s official term, LOL?) I confess, it took me several months before I believed that she just wasn’t practicing. We’d memorize something, and then the next week we’d memorize it again, and that would go on for MONTHS. I finally understood, but the Guild judge made some snarky comment about how she’d only memorized two pieces all year. I was like, but she worked REALLY HARD to memorize those two pieces!
I struggled with recurring mono and then CFS/FM in college and beyond. It derailed my plans for about 10 years. I actually had to make a goal of “having no goals” in order to get better, LOL.
But the stuff that doesn’t work out tends to lead to better stuff, I think.
I understand about how one feels like a failure even when it’s not logical, LOL, but it sounds like you’ve worked out a life that really works. 
So cool, Angie! Thanks for sharing. I didn’t know any of that about you!
My heart goes out to you. Have no idea what it’s like to wear hearing aids but I know I will one day. Mom took me to an ear doctor when I was 14 because my voice is so loud. He said my hearing was fine except I have masking which means I can’t hear in a crowd because it’s all a jumble. So she just kept yelling at me to lower my voice.
Richmond, maybe that’s what I have. I’ve always heard fine, it’s just when things are together, it’s a jumble, exactly like that!
I can sympathize about the hearing loss. I was whacked in the head with a golf club when I was younger and was told that when I got older I would lose my hearing in that left ear. Sure enough, here I am at 44 with about 90% of my hearing gone in my left ear.
Like you, I have a very hard time trying to listen to conversations in a crowd.
The one thing that I’m missing now, is the ability to walk. My legs are starting to get to the point where walking is becoming a chore.
Whacked in the head with a golf club, G? Was it an accident? Or is there a story attached? Oh man, that would be hard to forgive, no?
Oh G, I can’t imagine losing the ability to walk. There’s something I definitely take for granted.
I’m sorry to hear about that. They do make pretty good hearing aids these days so maybe they will work better than you think. I have pretty bad high frequency hearing loss myself. It runs in my family. but then I’ve never been into playing music really either. I’m sending you good thoughts to get through your current sadness.
Thanks, Charles! I’m embarrassed: it was really just a passing day, when I had to stop and mourn before I moved on. I’m really excited about my new life!
I lost partial hearing in my left ear in a car accident two years ago. It’s incredibly annoying but I’ve learned to lip read. Some voices I can’t hear at all. I’m constantly cupping my ear to hear better. Haven’t turned to a hearing aid yet.
But I’m not a musician. I can imagine it would be worse then.
Seriously, Aimless? I always thought that would be the coolest trick to learn! I’m so sorry about the hearing, though. That’s awful! I know you appreciate music, even if you’re not a musician!
You know I haven’t written anything in about two years. At first there was a whole lot of guilt. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. In time, the guilt ebbed and even though I still think of writing almost daily, and choose to believe that I will finish and publish a book some day, it is not today. Probably not tomorrow either, and I’m okay with that.
If you really miss playing, you can always stop at one of those mall piano stores and start banging away on the keys–until they toss you out! Or check your nearby churches, libraries, etc… to see if they have a piano that needs playing. You might be surprised!
Elizabeth, I’m bringing a stack of books with me! I’m totally going to try that route. Now that I’m leaving my students, I’m suddenly possessed by the desire to play myself!
I’m so sorry about your hearing, Natasha! That’s so sad. You’ll always have music, though. You know so much about it, and you have such a wonderful appreciation for it. I have the music you recommended for me, and it’s all wonderful. Music will always be in your life. And now, writing is, too!
Robin, you’re exactly right! It’s going to be different, but I’m totally okay with that. And I’m excited that writing is becoming a focus, too!
I am so sorry to hear about your piano playing. It’s hard to lose something important to us, even if we know it is because we have a new path to run down. I think that everyone goes through stages where who they used to be sloughs off and they are slowly morphed into a new identity. Whether it’s slowly or quickly, it happens for better or worse.
Young people seem to be so open, but I think most of them are very closed and rigid, thus the late night “if I couldn’t hear would I want to live” conversations. I think it’s harder for them to imagine such a change like that. I think that you seem to be handling it very well.
Lauren, you’re right. I like the way you put that: “where who they used be sloughs off and they are slowly morphed into a new identity.” That’s exactly what it’s like! Although we tend to realize in specific moments.
I love the way you put that!
I used to play the piano thinking I might make a career of it, then horses came into my life accompanied by writing. God and the cosmos make changes for us when some things aren’t working like they should. The changes seem really hard to manage at first, and then soon it gets better and you wonder why you didn’t go with the idea to begin with, and wait so long.
Charles Gramlich is correct with the technology of hearing aids. They’re much better now than twenty years ago. Spy, you’ll be fine making your adjustments. My thoughts are sent your way with white healing light.
Barbara, that’s cool! I didn’t know that about you. Btw, I often bookmark places you talk about on your blog for my travels.
It’s true: I do wonder why I waited so long for this!
I’m sorry for your loss but you seem like you have such a strength and wonderful attitude about it. Great post. (This is my first time here.)
Hi Wendy!
Yeah, I was just doing a day of mourning, but I am excited for the future now.
Thanks for stopping by!
This is a wonderful, heartfelt, and heartbreaking post. I’m a little late to the game, but I feel the need to commiserate.
After college, I didn’t write much–this, after planning to get my MFA in creative writing once I graduated. But once I no longer had specific assignments, I didn’t really know what TO write. I’d try and try, but the kind of things I wrote in college (a lot of creative non-fic) weren’t for me anymore.
And I’d been self-identifying as a writer since I was eight.
It hurt a lot. I cried a lot, and I felt lost, because if I wasn’t a writer, what was I?
One night, out of desperation, I sat down and tried to rewrite the “novel” I’d written at age 12, which had always felt sort of unfinished since all copies of it were eventually lost. This was my last chance, I told myself. If this doesn’t take, I give up.
I hand-wrote 25 pages that night.
And that’s how I slowly figured out that I was supposed to be writing Young Adult. It wasn’t that I couldn’t write–it was that I was writing the wrong stuff.
I once was lost, but now I’m found, etc.
Good luck with the transition into full-time writer. I know how you feel about piano–I was a violinist all through school, and it gets in your blood. But if you love writing enough–then that’ll be enough.
Wow, Kristy. Yes, I think there’s something more to it when it’s part of your identity, you know?
I was so lucky to have found the writer bit of me before I lost the pianist bit of me. The journey you went through sounds so much more heartbreaking and difficult.
But that is SO COOL about how you found yourself again! That is WAY cool. I’m going to put that story “in my pocket” and remember it when I’m struggling.
Thanks, Kristy!