The Pain of Rebuilding Again

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I thought about seriously playing the viola again for at least 2 years before I actually did it. Why? Because I knew just how painful it was going to be. I envisioned horrible scenes in my head of picking up my instrument with bow in hand, creating the most horrible sounds of screeching and squealing... and the squealing was coming from my stomach. Okay, yes, that is a bit of an exaggeration... but you get the idea. I kept in mind that I do have a tendency to make problems worse in my head, so it can't be that big of a deal, can it?

Truly, the idea intimidated me to no end. I really had no idea how to start. Ideas swirled through my head... Do I take lessons? If yes, from whom? Do I really need lessons, after all I did play seriously for 10-12 years and achieve some level of proficiency.... I think... uhhh... hmmmm... just then I started to remember playing 3 octave scales and just how hard they were when I was playing seriously.

But eventually the hunger for that beautiful viola sound started to grumble louder and louder, until I just couldn't not listen any longer... I had to start, and where ever I was, I was there. In the end, it just doesn't matter how bad it's going to be, because I can't change that until I start. After all, playing the viola is an art where you actually have to PLAY.

And on a personal note, I was beginning to run out of solutions in how to rehabilitate myself. For quite a few reasons, I had reached the burn-out point to the extreme. I haven't just hit the wall in my personal life once, or twice, but likely 20 or 30 times. Really, I'm not counting. And I keep going because there is no other option. When you take a beating, you keep going... there are no other alternatives in my mind. The largest beating and most recent was a violent death of a dear and loved one to me, which broke me into a million little pieces. So, what do you do? Pick up the pieces, one at a time. Eventually, things get better... to a degree. You're changed, hopefully stronger, but not without a sacrifice and a scar or two.

I was realizing that no amount of rest and time and talking it out was going to give me my vitality back. All I was doing all day long was output, output, output, output, output. And finally it occurred to me that I need INPUT. And the first thing that came to my mind was music.

More later...



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