There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
~excerpt from: “I Am in Need of Music” by Elizabeth Bishop
I did something “old-fashioned” this weekend. I spent part of my Saturday afternoon at what could be described as a music salon: an intimate, private gathering, historically held in European homes, for performing music, sharing ideas, and fostering intellectual conversation. I was among the youngest of the dozen or so folks there.
I started out as a piano major in college, but it felt too constricting for my 18 year-old self. I didn’t want to spend hours in basement practice rooms or miss going out with my friends in order to attend evening recitals. Plus, performing made me physically sick. I changed my major to education.
But that didn’t mean I could divorce myself from music itself. My soul kept finding it, just in different places. A teacher to student legacy had been planted in me. My longtime teacher had been taught by a teacher who had been taught by a teacher who had been taught by a teacher, etc. all the way back to Beethoven. That was why I was included in the music making on Saturday.
I wasn’t prepared to perform for this illustrious group, but I recognized the privilege of listening to and engaging with them. They tackled difficult music. Many played from memory. Some played flawlessly. They all played with joy. Canes did not deter them. Arthritic hands did not stop them. Their focus was on the music, not their age. The practice and the power of making music was a fountain of youth here.
This curious “salon” of people were thriving- doing what they loved with a commitment to excellence and joy. Some were revisiting pieces they learned decades ago, discovering phrasing or nuances they had missed, much like rereading a book you loved when you were younger and finding entirely different meanings in it.
I left that gathering with role models for aging gracefully and joyfully. (Much better in real life than all the reels and advice columns! ) In addition to experiencing the “magic made by melody” I also came away with valuable insights. Writing a book is not that different from learning to play the piano. It doesn't happen fast, but it does happen with consistency. Actually, most worthwhile endeavors are like that. Not all learning has to start with something new. Rereading, relearning, revisiting works on many levels to deepen our experiences. And this is one I have to remind myself often: Writing doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Same with music. Same with life.