The Sweating Pianist

One evening, when I was about 12 years old, I was in the television room of my parents' house, sitting down and watching a classical music concert with them.

This concert featured a solo pianist. I cannot tell you whether he was any good, for I remember just two specific details about this ivory tickler, which undoubtedly were not completely unrelated: (a) he was quite hefty; and (b) he was sweating profusely.

The second observation struck me as bizarre in the extreme. I recall thinking: "This man is doing absolutely nothing but sitting on a bench and moving his fingers back and forth along a line." Even though, at my then tender age, sweating was not something I did often, I could at least on an intellectual level understand that strenuous activities, such as running, lifting heavy weights, or playing sports could induce perspiration.

But to sweat merely due to pressing down on some keys? Piano keys are so light that even a three-year-old could strike notes on them. So how much of an effort could be required to sit down and play the piano? From my point of view, what this man was doing was only marginally more strenuous than sitting still and doing absolutely nothing! Small wonder then that watching the torrent of perspiration pour down his face boggled my mind.

What I did not know on that evening, but would learn years later, is that when you play the piano with passion, as this man obviously was, you are not playing with your fingers. You are playing with every single cell of your body, and every single fiber of your soul.

Let us play the instrument of life with passion.