I got inked, and I completely neglected to write about it.
So I turned 25 in October, and I got thinking about my life a little bit. Fucking quarter century, man. What have you done? I mean. What have you done???
I’ve seen a lot of shit in my life. Good, bad and ugly. Loved. Lost. Survived heart break. Made a baby. Worked at a place I loved. Worked at a place I hated (with passion.) Worked 3 separate jobs a day, exhausted, yet loving it. Dreamed of being this, that, and the other. Fallen madly in love with a profession one second, and fallen unceremoniously out of love with it the next. Same with boys. When I sat down and really thought about it, I realized how indecisive I had been all my life. Always switching from one thing to the next. Never really knowing who I was. Willing to experiment. Sex. Drugs. Rock and Roll. New religions. Willing to make mistakes; to act now, and think later, regardless of consequences.
I was ever-changing. I was all over the place.
But one thing about me never changed. My love for music. It always twisted to fit the mood that I was in. Filled the awkward silences. Kept me company on lonley nights. It spoke, I listened. It influenced me. Sometimes it broke me. Other times it built me. Music was beautiful to me in a way I still don’t fully understand, and it had saved my life more times than remember.
I come from a family of musicians. My grandmum was a music teacher, so ever since I was little, I would hear students come over and practice their exam peices. I knew them all by heart and would sing along to them. I don’t remember the first time I played a piano; maybe because I’ve been doing it forever? What I mean is, I dont remember someone telling me what I should do. It was instinctive. I must have sat and fiddled about with it until I was able to play something I liked to hear.
Growing up, a recurring question I had asked myself is “What are you good at?” Most of the time, the answer has been “Nothing.” I was a very negative kid, and I always thought I wasn’t good enough to ‘be cool’. I wasn’t good enough for that boy I like to like me back. But looking back, I was good enough. I had this talent, that could save me; that I could escape in to. I was musical. Why did I never see this for the super power that it really was? There’s a period in my life where music took a backseat because of all the other crap going on in my life, but it never left me.
I grew up, joined a band, and started playing piano. Initially I did it for the money. Evetually it became therapy. I’d wait for my gigs, just to get behind the keyboard and let my fingers ‘sing’. I was never that good at communicating with people, I’m very much a loner. I feel very vulnerable when I tell people how I feel about things, which is why playing an instrument was awesome for me. I felt like I could pour out all my emotion love, sadness, lust, anger, just… whatever I couldn’t tell another human being about, in to the song that I was playing. It was emotional release.
It took me 25 years to get my life together. To start thinking positive. To learn to appreciate what I have been given, and to open my eyes and see that I was actually given a pretty decent deal. Music is just hardwired in to my system. Music is my heart. And after my birthday I went and got this done. And I now wear my heart my sleeve.
It just visually explains how I feel about playing the piano. You know how a typewriter takes what’s in your head or your heart, and converts those emotions in to words on paper? The typewriter is the middle man in this process. But for me, words are not my forte. I’m all emotions and thoughts. The piano is my middle man. And the end result? Music.
Sometimes I feel its the only way I can honestly express myself. Pour it all out to no one in particular, no vulnerability.
I’m not the most amazing pianist out there, I’m average, believe me. But the joy I get from playing? The satisfaction? Unbelievable.
I’m thankful for my ears with which I hear music, and thankful for my fingers with which I create it.