Practicing.

I stopped by a piano in the food court today. I couldn't remember any full songs anymore. Infact, I recall I used to know three or four of the seven pages of Rachmoninoff and I could only play maybe two lines of it.

I could blame the terrible piano in my complex that would play E flat and D simultaneously when you press them. Or maybe I could blame those obnoxious couples who would lock up the room to the piano so they could make out. Or I could give many excuses as to why I have come to this point.

But it's inevitably my fault at the end of the day. Everything we want to happen has to be a very conscious decision. And I haven't chosen to practice like I used to. I can't recall a genuine, real concert since this one:

I hope to join an orchestra again. I can't stand BYU's program so hopefully a year from now I'll find somewhere to go.

When I sit down and play piano, or violin, it just makes sense. Everything. My personal identity, why things are the way they are, where things are going. And if they don't make sense I'm still at peace with the world and can accept chaos.

I'm not sure where things are going right now. But I know one thing for sure, I'm pulling out Sergei a bit more often and tinkling those ivories. It's still on my bucket list to memorize Elegie in E flat Op.3, No. 1, even if I have to go to my grave with my Rachmoninoff book.

I still really want this. I just have to remind myself that I had to round myself out and become well-versed in public relations and business in order to make it here, and the expense was all my practice time. It will be worth it. I love PR, don't get me wrong, but music is my lifeblood.

I'm doing PR for a local music series soon, next week. Please go see Rooftop Concert Series if you are in town. I hope things like this start to make my two roads finally diverge again.

And if they don't yet then I'll build a bridge between them by practicing again.