Dear future self,

Pain stricken, deeply callused fingers align together as one to create a glorious melody. Vibrations of the strings echo through the Brazilian Maple hollow body. How could such a perfect sound come from such a simple object? This sound is my passion. And this passion that I am carrying is so compelling. With each note that is plucked my interest grows. With each down strum from the low to high string my passion is fed. This inheritance, this generational gift, has given me such a passion that I never want to let go of. Each lesson is a spark, a spark to an exhilarating fire that burns deep in my soul.

As the rickety aged piano bench creaks and squeaks, with each movement I make. Adjustments are made as preparations  for the perfect playing position. The twang of  an out of tune string pierced my ear like a six inch dagger. My dried and sore hand glides over the plane of the neck finally reaching the wanted destination of the stainless steel knobs. As this unwanted cold strikes my fingers a quick tightening for the string is made. Suddenly the  dreadful ear piercing twang is gone. I tug on the miniature lamp that rests on the 1989 Kawai piano, and speak it to light. I find .96mm pick that fits so perfect in my hand. I stuff my lungs with a fresh breath of compacted oxygen, and then hit the first string. Suddenly my sullen family room starts to brighten and come to life. This was not because of the artificial light coming from the miniature lamp, but because of a beautiful melody, a melody so full and so bright that the room begins to flash and shine like the midnight sky.
Rocking back and forth basking in the perfect fullness of this intense melody, my glassy blue eyes scan the page as each chord and word is deciphered in the current sound. The  strings of this infallible instrument like a woodcarving chisel constantly engraving my fingers deep into the bone. Pain shoots from the tips of my fingers all throughout my body. Although astonishing enough that pain encourages me to continue, to push harder, and to play better. While on the other hand, my long fingernails begin to pluck the thin poly fiber strings, jumping from one string to the next like the classic game of Frogger. Complex patterns are assisted by the timing of my reliable foot. My size 11 ½  foot must maintain a perfect tempo to achieve delicate timing that I yearned for. All components are acting as one, and with that comes success.

This passion, this privilege, is endured through failure. Through the mindset of consistently messing up, consistently learning, and consistently growing. This passion, a dream that is dreamt daily. To continue, fail, learn, and grow. To one day achieve goals that were once so far away. With this passion, the language barriers from one nation to another is torn down. This passion is spoken by billions. Without this, ears would become a barren wasteland yearning for the sound of music. Music also expresses emotions that are unable to be brought forth with words. Music is my passion, and as I sit here on this vintage piano bench, I soak in the effect that music has brought upon me. It has picked me up for a journey. A journey that I will live in, forever.