Life is run by rhythm. The music that courses through each person, each street, and each word create a symphony that makes me hope that the world is beautiful.
I learned some piano when I was a kid and I always struggled with my timing. I would speed through a piece and look up at my grandma for her feedback. She would remind me to pay attention to the tempo along with the notes.
That’s the experience I’ve had growing up. My timing is off sometimes. I’ll get ahead of the page and have to backtrack or start again, metaphorically speaking.
Learning piano taught me the tempo I run at and how to use it to my advantage. It showed me how music exists everywhere you go.
It even made me a better writer. Reading and writing has a rhythm, a beat, a harmony that we all hear whether we realize it or not. When a word is out of place it clunks like a broken key.
I’m not an expert. I’m learning. I’m figuring out how to use my notes in the best way possible. This tempo? The one you hear right now in your head: what does it sound like?
To me, it’s a staccato. Clipped, quick, urgent. Do you hear it?
If I slow us down with sentences that attach and continue into a line of thought that keeps building onto itself like a river gurgling along, everything begins to pause. I hear the steady rise towards a crescendo. The gentler rhythm of a song that hasn’t yet found what it’s trying to say.
I was thinking about this concept while humming to myself in the shower this morning, and I wanted to write it down for future reference.
Because sometimes we lose our song. Sometimes we can’t hear the music; we forget to listen out for it.
Keep hold of your song, listen for the notes that are out of place, and reach for the rhythm that courses through the world.
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