When we grew up, my mother always found it important to have a piano in the house. Therefore we always had a piano sitting in a corner, mostly unused.

From time to time my mother would tell me how adorable I was as a preschooler, when I took piano lessons with that Japanese teacher in Vienna. She said I was hitting the keys already quite joyfully, and that I loved the classes so much. They were all about exploration, being playful, and enjoying getting to know music, and at the same time making progress and learning something.

My mom’s story about me taking piano lessons ends with what happened next: we moved to the other side of Austria and my new teacher unfortunately was no good, he killed any interest I had in music. She always adds that she didn’t know at the time, and that she’s sorry for that poor choice of a teacher.

I’m now grown up, 47 years old. In a recent videocall with my mom we talked about her newfound joy for playing the piano herself, and she said that if I would like to pick up learning piano again, too, and therefore needed a piano, she would like to invite me to one. I just need to chose the one I like best, she’d send me the money, her treat. I didn’t accept, yet, but it’s safe to say that this was the most adorable offer. We all like to grow and unfold, heal and progress. I love my mom so much.