Today, I was sorting out my mailbox and some old messages I sent to my crush (during fights) came up. I was terrified. Some messages were awful and just really terrifying that I actually started laughing. (I'm glad he's still my good friend.) Later that evening, I heard a rather heartbreaking (but at the same time funny) story from my mother:
My grandmother takes 気功 lessons (it's a kind of Chinese exercise) and she fell in love with the instructor. The problem was, he didn't like her back. Well, at least not in that kind of way. And to make things worse, it got a bit complicated because my grandma ended up confessing due to jealousy. Two weeks ago, she and the instructor and this other woman (we'll call her Satoko) had lunch together, and the instructor ate Satoko's pickles. My grandma told the instructor not to (it made her jealous for some reason), and he asked her why. Later that day, he called my grandma to tell her he thought she was being a bit mean to Satoko. And that really hurt my grandma. (She also didn't like the fact that the instructor seemed to pay extra attention to Satoko which is probably because she has some mild aftereffects of a stroke.) So she decided to write this looong letter saying how much of a great person she was -- she had never ever been mean to anyone -- and she wrote down all her life time accomplishments, how she had raised three great daughters, how great their husbands were and so on, ending the letter with a list of people she had recruited to the 気功 club and insisting how much she had contributed to the growth of it. She also asked the instructor to "treat all students fairly", confessed her feelings for him (that was the main part actually), and faxed it.
The instructor wrote her back, but he didn't really know how to use the fax machine, and this is where things went out of control. His letter didn't reach my grandma, and so she got really upset and mad and sent more letters and started saying bad things about him behind his back. She was awfully depressed and couldn't do anything by herself. She was thrown into multiple panic attacks -- she would suddenly forget how to stop the fire while she was making tea -- and was getting extremely forgetful in general. So my mom ended up calling the instructor to talk to him and asked him to send the fax again. His response was a bit cold anyway ("I like your bright smile, BUT I am only your instructor; every student is equally important to me"), and my grandma is now so embarrassed that the whole family knows the story (though I don't think she expects it to have reached all the way down to me!) and she just wants a hole to hide in.
When I heard all this from my mother, the first thought that came to my mind was -- wow, maybe I inherited that terrifying-letter-writing gene. But the next thought was, I wonder if I would still fall in love when I'm 85. I have a hard time falling in love even now. I mean, I guess I was kind of obsessive with my crush, but he was really an exception; I'm actually almost sure that I will never be that way with anyone else.
2014年5月25日日曜日
2014年5月24日土曜日
continuing and gaining trust
（大切なのは）当たり前のことを当たり前でないくらいやり続けること
(The important thing is) to continue doing ordinary things for an extraordinary period of time.
- Shinya Miyamoto （宮本慎也）
This habit trains you to have a stronger will. Motivation apparently doesn't last -- your will is the power to continue when you don't have the motivation. Many athletes (such as Ichiro Suzuki and the baseball player above) have achieved their goals not by motivation but by this strong will.
I think continuing certain things under any circumstances also gives you confidence. It's like keeping a promise to yourself. When you keep breaking it, you eventually lose trust in yourself, but if you can keep it every single day, it proves yourself that you're worth trusting -- which means you have confidence.
I've had a vague impression that this kind of confidence has a lot to do with "the power to endure" I had written about in my last post. To endure the current unsatisfying state, you have to believe in your future self -- that she will be better and thus the future will be better. To trust in your future self, you obviously have to trust your current self, and the above habit of continuing seems to be the key.
I've actually been trying to live a disciplined life lately (if that doesn't sound too funny), sticking to several things and making them a habit. I'll report about the results after a couple of months!
(The important thing is) to continue doing ordinary things for an extraordinary period of time.
- Shinya Miyamoto （宮本慎也）
This habit trains you to have a stronger will. Motivation apparently doesn't last -- your will is the power to continue when you don't have the motivation. Many athletes (such as Ichiro Suzuki and the baseball player above) have achieved their goals not by motivation but by this strong will.
I think continuing certain things under any circumstances also gives you confidence. It's like keeping a promise to yourself. When you keep breaking it, you eventually lose trust in yourself, but if you can keep it every single day, it proves yourself that you're worth trusting -- which means you have confidence.
I've had a vague impression that this kind of confidence has a lot to do with "the power to endure" I had written about in my last post. To endure the current unsatisfying state, you have to believe in your future self -- that she will be better and thus the future will be better. To trust in your future self, you obviously have to trust your current self, and the above habit of continuing seems to be the key.
I've actually been trying to live a disciplined life lately (if that doesn't sound too funny), sticking to several things and making them a habit. I'll report about the results after a couple of months!
2014年5月23日金曜日
patience and tolerance
An old draft -- posting because it reminds me of important stuff:
I've noticed lately that it gets harder and harder to stay friends with some people from high school. After all, you're not in the same school anymore. You start going different ways and your perspective changes.
My current best friend O from high school was not my "best friend" when we were in school. We became closer after graduation because our life stages and our basic attitude towards life and work happened to match. We once agreed that other people's happy rosey stories could sometimes be hurtful when your life was not going well, and O has opened up to me even more ever since.
I have a bitter memory from a couple of years ago (which I think I've written about before): I met up with another friend from high school and she made me feel like the ugliest living being on earth. She was happy with a bright career, a caring talented boyfriend, and talked about her future daughter who she hoped would model for her painter husband -- while I, on the other hand, had nothing but a new dream. I wanted to be happy for her; I wanted to stop comparing and just be happy for this happy friend but I couldn't do anything about my ugly feelings.
Obviously, there are ups and downs in life. I'm not going to break a friendship every time I feel left behind. I've noticed that avoiding certain people during certain times is one way to keep peace. But apparently, the reason we compare ourselves with others in the first place is because we're arrogant and we forget to appreciate what we have. I didn't think I exactly lacked appreciation when my heart turned ugly, but I definitely wasn't happy with my own life, which might mean I did lack appreciation.
So why wasn't I happy? The question reminds me of what my professor in grad school said to us in our first Chinese politics class:
勉強の肝は「わからない状態に耐える力」である。今までは何でもすぐに理解できたかもしれないが、勉強が高度になればなるほどわからないことがたくさん出てくる。その時に、性急に答えを求めずに耐えることを覚えなければならない。
What you have to take to heart is "the power to endure when you don't understand". The more complicated your studies become, the more you will encounter things you don't understand. Do not hurry to the answer when that happens; endure the situation.
I guess the important part was that he was talking to students who had always been able to get to answers fairly easily and thus lacked patience. He was warning us that that was not always going to work from now on.
I actually still tend to hurry to get to answers; it's almost like I fear the state of not being able to understand. And maybe that is reflected in my whole attitude towards what I aim in life -- if I want something, I want it now (which ironically shows how lucky I've been). But if I could grow this "power to endure", I will probably appreciate everything I already understand, everything I already have, and be happy even when I can't have what I want.
I've noticed lately that it gets harder and harder to stay friends with some people from high school. After all, you're not in the same school anymore. You start going different ways and your perspective changes.
My current best friend O from high school was not my "best friend" when we were in school. We became closer after graduation because our life stages and our basic attitude towards life and work happened to match. We once agreed that other people's happy rosey stories could sometimes be hurtful when your life was not going well, and O has opened up to me even more ever since.
I have a bitter memory from a couple of years ago (which I think I've written about before): I met up with another friend from high school and she made me feel like the ugliest living being on earth. She was happy with a bright career, a caring talented boyfriend, and talked about her future daughter who she hoped would model for her painter husband -- while I, on the other hand, had nothing but a new dream. I wanted to be happy for her; I wanted to stop comparing and just be happy for this happy friend but I couldn't do anything about my ugly feelings.
Obviously, there are ups and downs in life. I'm not going to break a friendship every time I feel left behind. I've noticed that avoiding certain people during certain times is one way to keep peace. But apparently, the reason we compare ourselves with others in the first place is because we're arrogant and we forget to appreciate what we have. I didn't think I exactly lacked appreciation when my heart turned ugly, but I definitely wasn't happy with my own life, which might mean I did lack appreciation.
So why wasn't I happy? The question reminds me of what my professor in grad school said to us in our first Chinese politics class:
勉強の肝は「わからない状態に耐える力」である。今までは何でもすぐに理解できたかもしれないが、勉強が高度になればなるほどわからないことがたくさん出てくる。その時に、性急に答えを求めずに耐えることを覚えなければならない。
What you have to take to heart is "the power to endure when you don't understand". The more complicated your studies become, the more you will encounter things you don't understand. Do not hurry to the answer when that happens; endure the situation.
I guess the important part was that he was talking to students who had always been able to get to answers fairly easily and thus lacked patience. He was warning us that that was not always going to work from now on.
I actually still tend to hurry to get to answers; it's almost like I fear the state of not being able to understand. And maybe that is reflected in my whole attitude towards what I aim in life -- if I want something, I want it now (which ironically shows how lucky I've been). But if I could grow this "power to endure", I will probably appreciate everything I already understand, everything I already have, and be happy even when I can't have what I want.
2014年5月9日金曜日
sense of worthiness
Tonight, I listened to this talk by Brene Brown, recommended by a friend. I've mentioned her book a couple of posts ago, and what I didn't like in the book, I didn't like in her talk. Frankly speaking, I think she tends to dramatize her so-called breakdown. But maybe that's just because I'm Japanese and sometimes every sentence spoken by an American can sound exaggerated (no offense; it's just a cultural difference). Either way, that's not what I want to write about. Below is breifly what she says (for people like me who aren't really interested in her personal stories but still want to know the essence of her talk in five minutes):
We all live for connection, but there's an obstacle called shame.
Shame = fear of disconnection.
"Is there something about me that if people know or see it they would think I'm not worthy of connection?" The feeling of "I'm not smart/thin/pretty/promoted enough."
But in order to let connection happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen.
People who have a strong sense of love and belonging have a strong sense of worthiness -- they think they are worthy of connection. These people have
1. courage = the ability to tell the story of who they are with all their heart; the courage to be imperfect
2. compassion = the ability to be kind to themseves because we can't practice compassion with others if you can't treat yourself kindly
3. authenticity = the willingness to let go of who they think they should be in order to be who they are
Connection is the result of the above three. Those people with a sense of worthiness embrace vulnerability and believe that what make them vulnerable make them beautiful. They know the necessity of the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees.
The world we live in is a vulnerable world. So we numb vulnerability with addiction and whatnot. But we can't selectively numb feelings without numbing other emotions so we end up numbing joy, gratitude, happiness, everything. We struggle to make the uncertain certain, to perfect ourselves and our children (when in fact, they are wired for struggle when they get here and our role is to tell them they are worthy of love and belonging despite their imperfection), and to pretend that what we do doesn't affect others.
Instead, what we should do is to let ourselves be deeply and vulnerably seen, which means
1. to love with our whole hearts even if there's no guarantee
2. to practice gratitude and lean into joy in those moments when we're wondering: Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this so passionately? Can I be this firece about this? -- just to be able to stop and instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say I'm just so grateful, because to feel so vulnerable means I'm alive.
3. to believe that we're enough. Not when we're perfect, but just the way we are.
...So how do we believe that we're enough? I get it that if we feel worthy, we can allow ourselves to be vulnerable and hence find connection. But how do we believe we're worthy? This was the question I was left with.
The word worthiness hit me strong because the moment I heard it, I knew it was exactly what I lacked when I did what I most regret in my life: sleeping with someone I didn't even like. It was just once, but the regret has haunted me for years. I knew a guy was drooling over me, thought I could use him to make myself feel worthy, and ended up feeling used, probably because I let it happen when deep down my mind was actually saying no. It's the most foolish thing I've ever done, and one of the saddest stories I've ever known -- I was not brought up by parents who loved me only when I was perfect. They always, always loved me, no matter what, and still, I took their love for granted and thought I was not worthy of anyone else's love.
I don't think about it anymore, but when I do the pain is excruciating -- my imperfection regarding this mistake is almost unacceptable, though at some point I realized there was no other choice but to accept it and move on.
As a result, I no longer suffer to find the reason of my worthiness, but I still think it's impossible to love myself unconditionally. I mean, you can't just sleep all day, do whatever you like, and say, well, that's me, I love who I am! I know all I can do is to do what I can, keep doing what I must do to accomplish my dreams, however small or big they may be, and just do my best every day, because that's the only way for me to feel worthy. At least, that was how I lived my life when I was still very young and never knew what it was like to hate myself.
We all live for connection, but there's an obstacle called shame.
Shame = fear of disconnection.
"Is there something about me that if people know or see it they would think I'm not worthy of connection?" The feeling of "I'm not smart/thin/pretty/promoted enough."
But in order to let connection happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen.
People who have a strong sense of love and belonging have a strong sense of worthiness -- they think they are worthy of connection. These people have
1. courage = the ability to tell the story of who they are with all their heart; the courage to be imperfect
2. compassion = the ability to be kind to themseves because we can't practice compassion with others if you can't treat yourself kindly
3. authenticity = the willingness to let go of who they think they should be in order to be who they are
Connection is the result of the above three. Those people with a sense of worthiness embrace vulnerability and believe that what make them vulnerable make them beautiful. They know the necessity of the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees.
The world we live in is a vulnerable world. So we numb vulnerability with addiction and whatnot. But we can't selectively numb feelings without numbing other emotions so we end up numbing joy, gratitude, happiness, everything. We struggle to make the uncertain certain, to perfect ourselves and our children (when in fact, they are wired for struggle when they get here and our role is to tell them they are worthy of love and belonging despite their imperfection), and to pretend that what we do doesn't affect others.
Instead, what we should do is to let ourselves be deeply and vulnerably seen, which means
1. to love with our whole hearts even if there's no guarantee
2. to practice gratitude and lean into joy in those moments when we're wondering: Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this so passionately? Can I be this firece about this? -- just to be able to stop and instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say I'm just so grateful, because to feel so vulnerable means I'm alive.
3. to believe that we're enough. Not when we're perfect, but just the way we are.
...So how do we believe that we're enough? I get it that if we feel worthy, we can allow ourselves to be vulnerable and hence find connection. But how do we believe we're worthy? This was the question I was left with.
The word worthiness hit me strong because the moment I heard it, I knew it was exactly what I lacked when I did what I most regret in my life: sleeping with someone I didn't even like. It was just once, but the regret has haunted me for years. I knew a guy was drooling over me, thought I could use him to make myself feel worthy, and ended up feeling used, probably because I let it happen when deep down my mind was actually saying no. It's the most foolish thing I've ever done, and one of the saddest stories I've ever known -- I was not brought up by parents who loved me only when I was perfect. They always, always loved me, no matter what, and still, I took their love for granted and thought I was not worthy of anyone else's love.
I don't think about it anymore, but when I do the pain is excruciating -- my imperfection regarding this mistake is almost unacceptable, though at some point I realized there was no other choice but to accept it and move on.
As a result, I no longer suffer to find the reason of my worthiness, but I still think it's impossible to love myself unconditionally. I mean, you can't just sleep all day, do whatever you like, and say, well, that's me, I love who I am! I know all I can do is to do what I can, keep doing what I must do to accomplish my dreams, however small or big they may be, and just do my best every day, because that's the only way for me to feel worthy. At least, that was how I lived my life when I was still very young and never knew what it was like to hate myself.
2014年5月5日月曜日
no need to give up
Where there's a will, there's a way
When I was around twenty, I was invited over to my friend's place where she homestayed for just over a year. The hostparents were a young couple with two little kids. They -- especially the father -- didn't hide his strong interest in me when we met. Knowing where I went to school and hearing my English (my friend was American), he seemed to see me as an ideal daughter he wished his own daughter to grow up to be like. When I said I wanted to become a fiction writer, he said it was もったいない meaning "You would be wasting your talents." It gave me a brief shock, because at that time, I was almost willing to give up everything else if I could support myself as a professional writer. It never occured to me that I would be wasting something -- losing other opportunities -- to spend my life (not necessarily my whole life but even part of it) on writing. During the following years, I thought I started seeing what he meant.
While studying to become a doctor can be sometimes tedious, I never feel like I'm wasting my time. If I only help one patient after I become a doctor, that probably wouldn't matter. I studied all this time, just for him. Writing and other artistic jobs, on the other hand, can be more difficult to measure their value. I still sometimes wonder if I'm just wasting my time when I practice my guitar for more than two hours. There's a limit to what you can do in a lifetime. Since you never know if you're going to be good enough, you might as well give up on art altogether unless that's all you can do, just like the father implied. Really?
I came across an inspiring interview today with Ryu Goto, a classical violinist who was known as a prodigy. Does he still play the violin because that's his only choice? No. He holds a Harvard degree as well as a black belt in karate. He tells us all that it's okay to be (overly) ambitious. You don't have to choose one thing and stick only to that (you can listen to the interview here though it's unfortunately in Japanese):
今の時代の我々は、夢を一つもギブアップしなくていい。ちゃんとプランニングをすると、後回しにしないといけないこともあるけれど、ギブアップはしなくていいんだと思う。夢はいろいろあって、どれ一つとしてあきらめたくなかったので、一つ一つこなしていくことにした。０．０１％でも前進していればいつかは夢にたどり着く。死ぬまでに夢を成し遂げることができるのかと疑問に思うこともあったけれど、今のテクノロジーの進歩を考えたら、まぁいいやと思った。夢は僕にとっては夢ではない。夢はいつか起きること。ただ起きるだけ。100％起きる。夢を信じきっているので、何があってもそれはすべて夢への過程。全体像を見ると、すべては肥やしになっている。何があっても前に進んでいる。＜中略＞意志さえあれば方法はあると考えて、時間はかかってもあきらめなくてもいいわけだから、とにかくいつかはそれが完成するので、それまで毎日ただ少しずつ頑張るだけ。
"A dream, to me, is not a dream. It's something that happens. No matter how long it takes -- some things you might have to put on the back burner for a long time -- but as long as you take one step at a time, it's eventually going to happen. You don't have to give up."
When I was around twenty, I was invited over to my friend's place where she homestayed for just over a year. The hostparents were a young couple with two little kids. They -- especially the father -- didn't hide his strong interest in me when we met. Knowing where I went to school and hearing my English (my friend was American), he seemed to see me as an ideal daughter he wished his own daughter to grow up to be like. When I said I wanted to become a fiction writer, he said it was もったいない meaning "You would be wasting your talents." It gave me a brief shock, because at that time, I was almost willing to give up everything else if I could support myself as a professional writer. It never occured to me that I would be wasting something -- losing other opportunities -- to spend my life (not necessarily my whole life but even part of it) on writing. During the following years, I thought I started seeing what he meant.
While studying to become a doctor can be sometimes tedious, I never feel like I'm wasting my time. If I only help one patient after I become a doctor, that probably wouldn't matter. I studied all this time, just for him. Writing and other artistic jobs, on the other hand, can be more difficult to measure their value. I still sometimes wonder if I'm just wasting my time when I practice my guitar for more than two hours. There's a limit to what you can do in a lifetime. Since you never know if you're going to be good enough, you might as well give up on art altogether unless that's all you can do, just like the father implied. Really?
I came across an inspiring interview today with Ryu Goto, a classical violinist who was known as a prodigy. Does he still play the violin because that's his only choice? No. He holds a Harvard degree as well as a black belt in karate. He tells us all that it's okay to be (overly) ambitious. You don't have to choose one thing and stick only to that (you can listen to the interview here though it's unfortunately in Japanese):
今の時代の我々は、夢を一つもギブアップしなくていい。ちゃんとプランニングをすると、後回しにしないといけないこともあるけれど、ギブアップはしなくていいんだと思う。夢はいろいろあって、どれ一つとしてあきらめたくなかったので、一つ一つこなしていくことにした。０．０１％でも前進していればいつかは夢にたどり着く。死ぬまでに夢を成し遂げることができるのかと疑問に思うこともあったけれど、今のテクノロジーの進歩を考えたら、まぁいいやと思った。夢は僕にとっては夢ではない。夢はいつか起きること。ただ起きるだけ。100％起きる。夢を信じきっているので、何があってもそれはすべて夢への過程。全体像を見ると、すべては肥やしになっている。何があっても前に進んでいる。＜中略＞意志さえあれば方法はあると考えて、時間はかかってもあきらめなくてもいいわけだから、とにかくいつかはそれが完成するので、それまで毎日ただ少しずつ頑張るだけ。
"A dream, to me, is not a dream. It's something that happens. No matter how long it takes -- some things you might have to put on the back burner for a long time -- but as long as you take one step at a time, it's eventually going to happen. You don't have to give up."
2014年4月27日日曜日
iron will
"That's not your duty. That's your ambition."
Tonight, I watched The Iron Lady, the movie about Margaret Thatcher. I thought its main focus would be on what she accomplished as a prime minister but it was more about her as also a mother and a wife -- a normal fragile human being with regrets and fears and pain.
The film surely tells us that her priority had always been public service. She always knew what the nation needed, and she had strong faith in what she was doing. No critisizm wavered her courage. She was always correct and brave and just perfect. Regret and fear seemed like the last thing she would feel. But as she suffers dementia and has conversations with her dead husband in her hallucinations, she feels the weight of the sacrifices she had made in order to pursue her career, and also remembers the pain she had to go through when resigning.
Earlier this evening, I had a call from a friend and during the conversation she told me what she felt about med students in general -- they had too much pride and were too cold and superficial. She had a problem with a certain guy in particular who tried to look good in front of everyone. I don't know him in person, but from what I heard from her, it seemed like he didn't have his own mind. He lacked confidence. He reminded me that not knowing what is truly important to you really makes your life complicated and painful.
Thatcher never lacked confidence. She knew what was important to her, to her nation and the people. She acted faithfully to her own principles and still, she faced (at least in the movie) the pain caused by her own choices. After all, being a prime minister was not her duty; it was her ambition. And as satisfied as she was while being in the position, she wonders what all the painful decision-making had been for when she nears the end of her life. All her past accomplishments seemed to fade away before her current regret towards her family (or husband in particular).
The Iron Lady reminded me of another movie about another female political leader -- The Lady (about Aung San Suu Kyi), and I think both women share the same kind of regrets resulting from their iron will. Correct decisions so often seem almost like a mistake in hindsight.
So life is painful either way -- with or without confidence and convictions. If one is destined to regret, probably anyone would rather regret a decision made according to his own principles. But if that means sacrificing the people he loves, perhaps not everyone can be as strong as the two women.
Tonight, I watched The Iron Lady, the movie about Margaret Thatcher. I thought its main focus would be on what she accomplished as a prime minister but it was more about her as also a mother and a wife -- a normal fragile human being with regrets and fears and pain.
The film surely tells us that her priority had always been public service. She always knew what the nation needed, and she had strong faith in what she was doing. No critisizm wavered her courage. She was always correct and brave and just perfect. Regret and fear seemed like the last thing she would feel. But as she suffers dementia and has conversations with her dead husband in her hallucinations, she feels the weight of the sacrifices she had made in order to pursue her career, and also remembers the pain she had to go through when resigning.
Earlier this evening, I had a call from a friend and during the conversation she told me what she felt about med students in general -- they had too much pride and were too cold and superficial. She had a problem with a certain guy in particular who tried to look good in front of everyone. I don't know him in person, but from what I heard from her, it seemed like he didn't have his own mind. He lacked confidence. He reminded me that not knowing what is truly important to you really makes your life complicated and painful.
Thatcher never lacked confidence. She knew what was important to her, to her nation and the people. She acted faithfully to her own principles and still, she faced (at least in the movie) the pain caused by her own choices. After all, being a prime minister was not her duty; it was her ambition. And as satisfied as she was while being in the position, she wonders what all the painful decision-making had been for when she nears the end of her life. All her past accomplishments seemed to fade away before her current regret towards her family (or husband in particular).
The Iron Lady reminded me of another movie about another female political leader -- The Lady (about Aung San Suu Kyi), and I think both women share the same kind of regrets resulting from their iron will. Correct decisions so often seem almost like a mistake in hindsight.
So life is painful either way -- with or without confidence and convictions. If one is destined to regret, probably anyone would rather regret a decision made according to his own principles. But if that means sacrificing the people he loves, perhaps not everyone can be as strong as the two women.
2014年4月19日土曜日
the aesthetics of life
...It was a work of art and it was beautiful because he alone knew of its existence and with his death it would at once cease to be.
- W. Somerset Maugham
April's half way gone and this is my first post of the month. The reason I haven't been writing is simply because I didn't have anything I wanted to write about -- probably because I was busy not only studying neurology but also practicing the guitar.
Surprisingly, this may be the first time I mention my guitar in this blog. Music, for the most part, has always been a big element in my life. The piano was the first thing I said I wanted to take lessons for. I was four years old then, and took lessons till seventeen. I never had any questions about it. It wasn't always fun but I did it because I liked it. I started the guitar a few years before I stopped taking piano lessons. I couldn't bring my piano with me when I moved away from home for university, so I mainly practiced the guitar from then on.
But I was never passionate about it as much as the piano. Maybe because I wasn't so passionate about music itself anymore by the time I graduated high school. Now that I think about it, the reason is pretty clear: I started playing the guitar under the influence of a friend whose music abilities kept reminding me of my own limitations. I just knew I could never be like her. It was not a matter of effort. I didn't have her ears. After ten years, I can now tell the chords if I hear a song, but I can never learn a whole guitar piece by ear. Nor do I have any creativity.
When I realized that, a question that had never bugged me started to raise its head: What's the whole point? If I can play Chopin's Ballad No.1, that's great, but a bunch of other people can play it. They would play it much better than me. So why go through the trouble of learning twenty pages of music? What do I gain? What do I create? What is there to be left if I die tomorrow?
I never put my question into words, but this feeling was probably what drove me away from music and pulled me towards writing instead. When I was writing, I was sometimes intoxicated with my words -- no matter how useless they were, I was creating something and they would still be there if I died tomorrow. I was looking for a meaning in life, meaning of my own existence, meaning for everything. I was almost breathing to explain why I was breathing.
Tonight, as I went through the music sheets with frustration, the same question popped in mind. More clearly than ever. Why do I have to play this when so many other people can do it better? Isn't it just another waste of time? And of course, this question leads me to the ultimate question: why am I living my life? So many people can do so many things better than me. What's the point in me doing it? Can I leave anything behind when I die?
I still have no answer. But right now I don't think it's important anyway. One day, the sun is going to burst and everything will disappear. Or at least, everything will cease to be the way it is today. Nothing is permanent. So what does it matter if I leave nothing behind? The obvious fact is that all we have is this moment. Who cares if a billion other people can play the guitar better than me? I pluck the strings because I want to. It fills my heart with joy and lets me appreciate the moment for what it is. No past, no future. No greed or anxiety. Isn't that enough?
Now I think the aesthetic nature of music also lies in that when the last note turns to silence, the whole piece disappears, leaving nothing solid behind, just like every moment of my life will cease to be with my last breath.
- W. Somerset Maugham
April's half way gone and this is my first post of the month. The reason I haven't been writing is simply because I didn't have anything I wanted to write about -- probably because I was busy not only studying neurology but also practicing the guitar.
Surprisingly, this may be the first time I mention my guitar in this blog. Music, for the most part, has always been a big element in my life. The piano was the first thing I said I wanted to take lessons for. I was four years old then, and took lessons till seventeen. I never had any questions about it. It wasn't always fun but I did it because I liked it. I started the guitar a few years before I stopped taking piano lessons. I couldn't bring my piano with me when I moved away from home for university, so I mainly practiced the guitar from then on.
But I was never passionate about it as much as the piano. Maybe because I wasn't so passionate about music itself anymore by the time I graduated high school. Now that I think about it, the reason is pretty clear: I started playing the guitar under the influence of a friend whose music abilities kept reminding me of my own limitations. I just knew I could never be like her. It was not a matter of effort. I didn't have her ears. After ten years, I can now tell the chords if I hear a song, but I can never learn a whole guitar piece by ear. Nor do I have any creativity.
When I realized that, a question that had never bugged me started to raise its head: What's the whole point? If I can play Chopin's Ballad No.1, that's great, but a bunch of other people can play it. They would play it much better than me. So why go through the trouble of learning twenty pages of music? What do I gain? What do I create? What is there to be left if I die tomorrow?
I never put my question into words, but this feeling was probably what drove me away from music and pulled me towards writing instead. When I was writing, I was sometimes intoxicated with my words -- no matter how useless they were, I was creating something and they would still be there if I died tomorrow. I was looking for a meaning in life, meaning of my own existence, meaning for everything. I was almost breathing to explain why I was breathing.
Tonight, as I went through the music sheets with frustration, the same question popped in mind. More clearly than ever. Why do I have to play this when so many other people can do it better? Isn't it just another waste of time? And of course, this question leads me to the ultimate question: why am I living my life? So many people can do so many things better than me. What's the point in me doing it? Can I leave anything behind when I die?
I still have no answer. But right now I don't think it's important anyway. One day, the sun is going to burst and everything will disappear. Or at least, everything will cease to be the way it is today. Nothing is permanent. So what does it matter if I leave nothing behind? The obvious fact is that all we have is this moment. Who cares if a billion other people can play the guitar better than me? I pluck the strings because I want to. It fills my heart with joy and lets me appreciate the moment for what it is. No past, no future. No greed or anxiety. Isn't that enough?
Now I think the aesthetic nature of music also lies in that when the last note turns to silence, the whole piece disappears, leaving nothing solid behind, just like every moment of my life will cease to be with my last breath.
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