A melodious swarm of musical notes punctures the silent air like the water of a reservoir bursting through the worn concrete of a dam. A nearly synesthetic experience overcomes me when my fingers find the correct keys. I can almost close my eyes and see a show of colors playing out before me, a sea of reds and oranges for every Bach or Chopin and a deep hue of green or blue for more contemporary pieces and a mixture of them both as I play compositions of my own creation. Although I tend to derive happiness from many things in my life, I can definitively say that in front of my piano is where I feel the most content. However, it was not always this way.

When I first began taking piano lessons at the age of six, I knew that I had found something special. The enjoyment I received from completing the simplest of songs was unparalleled. Every day I would sit at the piano for hours playing simple rhythms and melodies. During this time period, the piano room always had an exciting, yet comforting atmosphere, it was a beautiful, lush green pasture where I could express myself in a unique way. But as I grew older the pieces became more difficult, and practices came less frequently as I became busier with other activities and school. Wildfires overran the pasture, and the once-emerald grasses and aquamarine sky took on a shade of dismal gray. I began to resent playing the same pieces of music that didn't interest me. The incessant drone of "you need to practice more" from my teacher and parents did not help to change my attitude toward playing the piano. My feelings were compounded by the extreme pressure to perfect the pieces I was working on, as I would have to present them in multiple examinations. Although I never disliked the inherent act of playing the piano, my environment had poisoned me against it. Against this darkness, however, I persisted and tenaciously plowed on.

Into my high school years, I realized I could not continue taking lessons due to my other commitments. Once my formal lessons ended, an extraordinary change occurred. I found myself sitting at the piano more often with the newfound freedom to play what I wanted. I was able to channel my creativity without limit or pressure. The dark ash from the pasture began to clear and new roots dug into the fertile soil where charred grasses once lay. The smoke in the skies wafted away as a bright orange sun began its ascent over the horizon to the skies where it had lived so many years ago. I began to play for long periods, hours on end, just as I had done as a child. Ironically, the activity that had once caused me great pain and stress now relieved me of the same troubles.

The simple act of playing the piano is more than just a form of individual and artistic expression for me. Although very stressful at the time, I now realize how valuable those years of piano lessons were for me to grow as a person. Playing piano has taught me how to deal with frustration, a feeling I experienced on many occasions while practicing or trying to learn a complicated piece. It has helped me view complex problems in a different light. It has provided me with an avenue for creativity. Ultimately, it taught me patience, a single quality that could make a seemingly impossible task appear much easier. I hope to cultivate this passion of mine to find pure joy and contentment when sitting at the piano.