One frequently become as tense as a wound-up clock after work. Tension grips my shoulders, my breath turns fast and shallow. Usually, the sound of my laptop lid slamming shut would be followed by the squeak of a cork pulled from a bottle of red, wine poured quickly into a glass, that first mouthful putting a much-needed full stop on the working day.
Then, several months back, I discovered an old school recorder belonging to my grown son in the attic. I idly blew into it, immediately transported back to the days it was the bane of my life – his daily rehearsals felt like an attack on my ears, the piercing shriek still reverberating through my head hours after he had gone to bed.
But rather than consigning it to the bin, I took it down, together with a beginner’s songbook. As a child, I was the least musical child ever. I’d had recorder lessons at infant school, yet never got to try other instruments.
Searching online for recorder tutorials, I viewed many kid-friendly YouTube clips, and got a fingering guide on paper. Looking up simple recorder songs, and was thrilled when I managed to knock out a passable Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Yes, it was something your average five-year-old could master before first break, but as a tone deaf, impatient and stressed 51-year-old, it felt like a huge achievement.
My son asked what the hell I was doing (and please could I stop), but I persevered – I liked the way the recorder made me feel. My inability to remember anything meant I had to concentrate on the sheet of paper in front of me, and carefully mimic the finger placements. My breath calmed, I was focused, and once I’d mastered that first faltering tune, I was overjoyed. I could play an instrument.
Now, several months later, I can handle other children’s songs and a decent Ode to Joy. Sure, my rhythm is off, and I still need to write the names of the notes down, but for me, it’s not about skill or being a musician – it is simply about the pleasure it brings and the fact I can’t think of anything else when I am playing.
I read that only one in six children learn to play the recorder now, which probably relieves parents, but it made me a little sad and nostalgic for my own school days, as well as my son’s.
I make it a habit to play each night after work as my first activity, and during those 20 minutes, I escape into my own realm. And afterwards, I feel totally energised and uplifted.
My friends think it’s hilarious, but one very wise therapist friend told me that I was reducing stress, but improving my cognitive skills, like memory and sound processing, which is precious at my age. For daily wellness, it’s truly an ode to joy.
