I went for a 30 minute walk this morning. When I start gearing up to walk with the doggie (she senses what's about to happen), she follows me from room to room as I dig socks out of the basket, clothes out of the closet, a visor and shoes from the hall closet. She keeps an eye on me as if to say, "OK, just making sure you're not going to forget about me 'cause I gotta go. You can't weenie out 'cause I'm depending on you to go with me around the neighborhood!"
So today, I walked for her. I didn't walk for me because I wasn't motivated. I didn't dislike getting through it, but I didn't feel great about it either. Ho-hum.
Deep thoughts: At the counseling party on Monday, I was asked why on earth I didn't play the piano still (I mean, I did major in "music ed/piano!"). "Music can provide us with a release. Why don't you still play?" Good question. And there is a connection to exercise here, bear with me.
I was no different than any female child, I had dreams. One of those was to be able to play the piano. Once I started taking lessons in 2nd grade, I wasn't allowed to stop until years later. It just so happened that I picked up music quickly and excelled more rapidly than my peers who also took piano lessons. What I didn't know is that my talent was only fuel on the fire of my parents' wrath.
I was no different than any female child, my dreams morphed and changed as I got older. I grew tired and bored of the whole piano thing early on, like many children do. It became a power struggle in our house - practicing. I was expected to practice 30 minutes every day. If I did not, there would be hell to pay. You see, my parents were both exposed to music in their childhoods as well, so the logical thinking is that "We were too lazy to follow our dreams with music, and so between the two of us, our child will be a famous concert pianist: a female Mozart."
"If there is anything we wish to change in the child, we should first examine it and see whether it is not something that could be better changed in ourselves." -Carl Jung
Playing and practicing the piano, I learned through my parents actions, became punishment. I remember many lectures from mom and/or dad relating to this endeavor that went on for hours on end while I stood before one or both of them very still and listened to them berate me, scream at me and tell me why I could never hope to be a cheerleader when I grew up (I needed something reasonable and I was too chubby anyway, they said). I remember getting my ears "boxed," slapped upside the head and spanked over all this. My mom would whip my backside as hard as she could with a metal kitchen spatula, but that's another story.
I understand the concept for "never giving up." But it was killing my spirit. Damn my parents for being too stupid and self-absorbed to be able to see this. The practice, recitals and punishments were making for a very unhappy childhood. My dad actually hurled a big wrench 6 inches away from my foot once out in the driveway because I didn't practice that day. That scared the hell out of me. That taught me several things: be afraid my father's explosive anger, fear physical harm from him and never let my guard down, don't let him see me cry (that seemed to excite him - sicko) and do whatever it took to avoid him "lashing out." So I continued practicing. And I was miserable.
By the time I reached college, I didn't know what else I was cable of doing, so I continued on in the music program, became a music teacher, blah blah blah. Everyone expected me to be the "resident musician." People expected me to do great things with my musical talent.
The I woke up and realized something very important that changed my life. This is not my dream; this is someone else's dream for me! I now need to stop living someone else's dream and start living my own dream. Hmm, don't have a clue what it is, but I need to start looking inward to find it. It's got to be in there somewhere. Sure enough, it was. And I was much happier because I made this change.
I went to a school reunion a few years back. My teachers and adults who were once neighbors/parents of schoolmates asked me if I was still teaching music/playing/singing. No, but I did find my dream and I'm living it, thanks. And everyone made sure to sadly shake their heads in disappointment and declare what a dang shame that was, boy I really have talent that's just going to waste.
Listen, you idiots. Why can't you say instead, "Oh, well, I'm so glad that you did find something that floats your boat, good for you. You go girl!" Well...
"Sometimes the world can be cruel to shiny things." -Lucky, a true hick (voice of Tom Petty) from "King of the Hill"
I haven't touched anything musical in years. I'm not sorry and I don't miss it. Music makes me feel sick. So mom and dad, you plan didn't work. What you taught me is that I hate music. It brings me pain and painful memories. You hurt me, you destroyed my spirit, you took years of happiness and other promising career possibilities away from me.
Back to the blog: Was PE torture for you? We all had it for, what, 30 minutes every day in school or something like that. Were you in competitive sports? Were you forced to run laps as punishment if your team lost the game? Were you forced to run/do pushups/sit-ups until you thought you'd die as punishment for coming in last? I'm begging you, if you ever feel the need to "punish" a child/person with physical activity - STOP!!!! Don't do it. Don't teach them to hate something that it essential to their vitality for the rest of their lives. Don't break their spirit. This applies to many other things, not just physical activity or learning how to play the piano. I learned this lesson, maybe you can learn from it too. Or maybe you learned a similar lesson and can sort it out knowing that you're not alone.
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