Legacy

“What have I done with my life?”

As someone who has struggled with the chronic condition of imposter syndrome for the entirety of her adult life, I ask myself this fairly often. Though I’ve yet to find a cure, I manage my symptoms by – well – working. Bills are a bother, but I’d rather unfurl myself from a ball and work than live uncomfortably. However, there are some occurrences that cause major flare-ups, and this one is big.

My piano teacher died.

I couldn’t think of a more poetic way to learn of the news. It was my college bestie’s 40th birthday, and I was driving home from visiting her in the Florida panhandle. As I stopped to get gas, I checked my email. My first piano teacher was informing me of the memorial service for my second piano teacher. I wrote back right away, saying I would help in any way I could. I continued on Interstate 10, thinking of the four years I spent in college as a piano performance major at THE Florida State University that would not have happened without either of my teachers. At the next stop, I checked my email once more. This time, I was asked if I was willing to play. Ah yes, how much time did I spend being stressed about a performance in this area of the state? I’ve been playing at funerals/memorials for my family, but this call, frankly, was different. I called my first piano teacher through tears, saying that I didn’t know, wondering if I was worthy for such a task. He reassured me that worthiness was not an issue, but not to feel obligated, given the time constraint and heavily charged emotions. I asked him for a few days to think about it, and he graciously said yes. I called the friend I had just hugged a few hours earlier and talked it through – what would I regret more? I probably make most of my tough decisions by asking that question, and I knew that if I chose not to honor her at her memorial by playing, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Coupled with the fact that the first piece we worked on together was one based on a funeral poem? Sometimes God whispers to us, other times, He shouts. This was a shout.

Her obituary doesn’t come close to capturing the essence of the amazing woman with whom I was so privileged to study. She was a BFD, my favorite humble diva. Now she’s gone, and I’m left wondering what I have done thus far. It does not feel correct to call her a colleague, even though we technically taught piano at the same time (her career wrapping up as mine started). Yes, I’m a music teacher, but so what? Am I any good? Who is better because I was in their lives? I know God is good, because in the days after my learning of her death, He sent me people to help reassure me I’m not a complete waste of space – a student saw me at the mall and ran to hug me excitedly; I saw a parent at a football game who bought lunch for my husband and me as a way of saying thank you for my help over the years. Well – that’s two!

In terms of my schedule, her memorial couldn’t have come at a more ideal time. Of course, the time off I had to practice was also time for me to sink into the abyss. What kind of pianist am I? I don’t practice. What kind of teacher am I? I don’t have private students right now. What have I done with everything that I’ve been given? It didn’t matter – I know if I didn’t play the hell out of that piece, I wouldn’t honor her the way she deserved. All I can do is my best, even if that isn’t very good. She got me to a Superior rating on Rachmaninoff’s Elegie Op. 3 No. 1 as a high school sophomore, and dammit if I wasn’t going to show I earned it. I followed her directions – practiced in different rhythms, hands alone, sections. I played for two of my pianist friends, whom I knew would be supportive but give excellent feedback. I thought about how many wonderful people I’ve met because of the path she helped me walk, from the friends I made in college and graduate school to professional colleagues I cherish.

When I arrived at the recital hall, I met her cousin, who asked if I would introduce myself prior to playing. I said I would say my name but that was about it because if I spoke before playing, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep it together. She insisted – but I ignored her 🙂 As gentle a person as she was, I was confident my teacher would not have wanted my emotions to interfere with the business of performing. Upon entering the stage, I simply said my name, said I was once called Joanie, and proceeded to play. It wasn’t perfect, but it never is. I know I played well, but I wish I remembered it. I was so prepared for the business of playing that whatever emotional detachment I needed to do it is still there. I then gave my thoughts on her place in my life.

One thing with which I am struggling is the final years of her life, as I hadn’t spoken with her for a long time. She was in an assisted living facility, and I had tried once or twice to meet with her virtually, but the strange circumstances of her moving there made it difficult. Whoever was in charge of her estate – God will take care of them. I hope she knows how much I loved and admired her. It was helpful to see her other students at the memorial, each of whom told me that she spoke highly of me to them. Most meaningfully, I learned that she had a picture of me in her room where she lived. It was displayed on a table with other keepsakes. When my first piano teacher told me I could have it, I immediately put it in my purse.

I am not sure what kind of legacy I will leave, but I know who helped make it. No pressure!