Maybe it's not so recent. Maybe it's the same irony of my brother in law, who is a master carpenter, having broken kitchen cupboards for years. Or my dad, who is a math teacher, having a daughter whose highest level of math was precalculus where I got a C+. Or how the electronics at my house, where I have an in-house computer expert, always seem to either be too complicated for normal users to use (cough cough the home theater) or broken. I sometimes think our house is the place where computers in our family and extended family come to die!
So maybe it's a similar irony for me, a person who really loves languages, not to have the ability to express myself in words.
My dad taught me how to play piano. I never had official "lessons." It was always impromptu after dinner things. He made sure I always had music that was interesting to me (like the Phantom of the Opera). I made him write out by hand the Czech songs that he used to play - these tunes I grew up hearing randomly when he felt like playing them. He taught me the fingering. I remember playing these songs for my Grandpa Vasicek, and he sang the words in Czech, which I did not understand at all, but which were apparently really funny because he laughed and smiled so big.
My dad told me that learning to play the piano would serve me well through my whole life because when I got too emotional or angry or whatever, music could be a really good outlet. I've never been a great player, and there is certainly a lot of pressure to be great in my family, where my uncle just retired from the National Symphony Orchestra, etc. etc. But when I'm not feeling frustrated at how crappily I play, what a precious gift it is, to be able to play at all. I don't play particularly well, but I enjoy it.
I've been trying to take better care of my mental health recently. Running, going to yoga (which is ridiculous, but it always makes me feel much better) - and more music. Right now I'm working on Debussy's Arabesque, another tune I grew up hearing.
I could write reams and reams - well, I guess a more apt measure would be bits and bytes - I could write terabytes of words. I could fill up libraries. But these stupid words would always fall short where music doesn't.
Sometimes throwing more and more words at a problem actually makes things much worse. My Awkardness Theory which I developed as a freshman at BYU is like this:
So, here is my Awkwardness Theory #2:
When you're in an awkward situation...
...the best thing to do might be...
...nothing.
Later, when you are alone, a wordless outlet can be a real comfort.
