"Why don't you take piano lessons?" my mom said, encouraging me.

"Mom, I don't want to and I don't like piano." I replied, hoping she would drop the fact that I needed to take piano lessons. I didn't want to; piano was so plain. It was such an ordinary instrument. I wanted something different, something cool.

For some time I did not know what to do with myself. I often thought that I had no talent (except for crafting, which I thought didn't count). I wanted a talent, whether it was a sport or if it was music. My parents gave me many ideas that did not interest me too much. Every day I got more devastated with myself. What could I do/ what talent will I want to develop?

My mom asked me one final time if I could just give piano a try, as if this was my last chance. She told me that I could take it for only a few months and decide then if I wanted to continue. I gave in to my mother's offer, knowing that in a few months I wouldn't ever have to take piano or worry about piano again. Although somewhere in me, I didn't know where, told me I'd regret quitting. I pushed that feeling away, not knowing I was saving it for later.

A couple of weeks passed, and I was running through the school halls ten minutes before school got out. I didn't want to be late for my first day of piano. As I ran out to my car, my heart pounded for two reasons: first, because I just got done running, and second, because I was nervous. As my car drove away from the school, I was feeling scared, excited, and everything in between. All I could think about was what my teacher would be like, what they looked like, and the kind of experience I would have.

By the time we pulled into my piano teacher's driveway, I had convinced myself that everything would be fine. As I walked into the house, however, all the excitement I ever had disappeared. The house smelled of strong, unpleasant spice, and I was greeted in a way that I thought was rather strange.


"Hello, girl! How are you today?" I turned to see a grandmother walking my way. Her name was Sister Bigelow. Oh no, I thought. This cannot be her. Girl? What is that supposed to mean? I hesitated before answering.

"G-good." It was then that I realized that these next few months I was about to face were going to be really long.

Days and weeks went by, and I eventually got used to her calling me girl. I still did not enjoy the scent of her house, though. However, I was progressing. I didn't like practicing, but I did it. I slowly advanced; I learned harder songs, and I learned quicker. My teacher and my mom were impressed by my acceleration, as was I. I was starting to enjoy piano. However, as the months passed, that love for piano was only temporary.

People say that no matter what you are learning there will always be the same three stages to the experience you have with it. The first stage is what I had just experienced. You start to like it, even though it is new to you. You are pretty sure that it is something you'd like to continue. Stage two is quite the opposite. After some time, you don't like it anymore. You hate practicing, or working on whatever it is you are learning. You want to quit so bad that you want to get as far away from it as possible. Many say that if you want to be great at something you have to want it enough that you are willing to make it through stage two. Sister Bigelow had a plaque on her wall that said, "If you want to be good, practice until you get it right. If you want to be great, practice until you never get it wrong." If you do make it passed the second stage, something wonderful happens. Not only do you start to like it again, you truly love it. You start to spend your free time working on it. Something deep inside of you pulls the trigger, and you can't get a hold of yourself. It's like what you are doing is the only thing that expresses you. You find yourself in it; you find what delights you the most. That is stage three.

I wasn't about to make it passed stage two. I didn't want to persevere, I just wanted to stop; thinking there could never be a stage three. It had been more than a few months and summer break was on its' way. I was done with piano. My mom said we could take the summer off, and that if I wanted to, I could stop taking piano all together. I wanted to stop right then, but knew there was no other choice. I couldn't wait until summer.

My mother kept her word, and we took the summer off. I was sure I would never take piano again and I was positive I hated it. After all, my mom did say I could stop if I wanted to. Oh boy did I want to, so I would, I decided, boasting to myself that I had won the deal. Never again would I need to worry about how many minutes I practiced, what I practiced, or anything that related to piano.

As the summer went on, I would try to play piano, just because I was bored. I got quite frustrated because I soon realized I couldn't. That is when the thought from before returned to my mind. How I will regret quitting. I sulked, knowing that I actually somewhat enjoyed piano, though I did not want to admit that to myself. It was then that I decided I would continue taking, trying my hardest on my way towards the third stage.

As the summer ended, I began taking again. I practice diligently, though I still did not like it. However, as I persevered, I found my desire to play increasing. I felt happier and more confident about myself. I thought I would be able to take piano for the rest of my life and never tire of it. As time passed, I could no longer pay for my lessons. I started to assist teach, for trade work, because I wanted to take piano for as long as possible. However, I knew this could not go on forever.

Sister Bigelow came to us one day and told us she did not need help teaching anymore since she taught fewer students. My heart stopped. Not now, I thought, sighing because I knew what would happen next, and sure enough, it did. I had to stop taking piano lessons. This made me very upset because I had learned to love piano, and Sister Bigelow. I knew though, that just because I stopped taking, didn't mean I had to stop playing.

Even though I no longer take piano lessons, I still play because I do not want to lose what I have learned. I go home and play my heart out. I make up songs, or I might review ones I've already learned. Still I will not give up this opportunity again; I will not give up what I love. I will continue to try new songs, easy or hard. Sight reading may be difficult, and playing for others might be scary, but that just leaves room for improvement. I have successfully made it to stage three.

Now I am certain of my talent. This experience taught me confidence, it taught me to persevere, even when things get tough. I know not to give up on anything, and not to give in to the little guy with horns on my left shoulder. I learned to try new things. Most of all, though, I learned what I love. I learned what makes me happy. I am filled with a love of music. I learned that piano is a beautiful talent if one is willing to make it great. I made it through frustration, and now I'm on my way to victory.