Devyani – Week 14 – Hardwired
I scanned through the old piano books on my shelf. I had just finished a session of relentless (and, honestly, fruitless) practice, and what better way to reward myself and restore my confidence in my skills than by playing through my old pieces?
There was, of course, a nagging voice in the back of my mind–as there usually is–asking me if I would be able to play these pieces after what felt like so many years. After all, I was horrible at sight reading (still am), and I didn’t think I would be able to bear it if my fingers ended up fumbling when playing these too.
I forged on, though, perusing the titles on the spines until one caught my eye. A memory flashed in front of my eyes: weeks practicing these same pieces for an exam until I could simply conjure the movements from my fingers. I could do it with my eyes closed or even without a piano in front of me, my fingers tapping away on my desk or on my lap.
I sat back down at the piano with my newly uncovered relic, opening to a random page: Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” A slow, simple melody, but one with one with five flats in the key signature and endless tied notes, making sight reading and counting a pain.
I stared uncertainly at the first page before placing my hands on the keys–and that’s when something in my brain clicked. I adjusted my hands and began to play. Somehow, my hands knew when to shift and when to play a flat (a black key). I found my eyes drifting from the page as I realized that I knew the movements–that the notes were always there, instilled in the back of my mind.
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| Relentlessly practicing a piece makes it become like second nature (Piano-ology). |
It’s there when I make afternoon chai, working on autopilot as I add spices without painstakingly measuring them like I did when my mom first taught me. It was there when Nath was pushed into the lake in the last chapter of Everything I Never Told You, when his body had already learned how not to drown. It’s even there when I immediately write my English MLA heading on a new assignment that’s been handed to me, only to realize too late that I’m in another class. Muscle memory is one of my favorite functions of the mind. It’s not something you consciously have to remember–it just happens, almost of its own accord.
Whenever I learn anything new, whether it be another piano piece or another multi-step calculation for a STEM class, my goal is always to commit it to muscle memory. To make it so that my hands shift accurately over the keys, so that I automatically know which equation to set up. To make it so that, even after a period of no practice, I can still pick the skill up like it had only been yesterday. To have practiced something so hard for so long that it has become ingrained in my mind and body, unable to ever be unlearned.
Although I was never musically talented (I failed miserably at playing the saxophone and recorder in elementary school), this feeling still extends into my own life. I remember having to memorize a song for International Day that my class was supposed to sing in 2nd grade, titled "Little Silver Moon Boat." I practiced the version of the song in Mandarin to the point where I still remember it to this day (although my pronunciation is terrible). For a more physical example, during COVID, bored at home, I decided to learn how to solve a Rubik's cube. I watched numerous videos and memorized different algorithms to solve the cube, working tirelessly. Recently, when one of my friends brought a Rubik's cube to school, though forgetting pretty much all the different algorithms, I was able to solve the cube by doing what simply felt right. I find such hardwired experiences to be rewarding because they are lasting proof of the sheer dedication to master something and remember it as second nature. Great post!
ReplyDeleteHi Devyani! I love playing piano too! And I also definitely understand these feelings—especially the relentless and fruitless practice section. When someone is forcing me to play, I literally get no enjoyment out of it—it feels just like doing more homework, except I can’t even rush it or finish it faster if I try harder. You literally have to just be patient and play it over and over again. And playing it fast ruins the nice-sounding aspect of it…
ReplyDeleteThe feeling of being “hardwired” presents itself best for me during recitals. I literally am always so nervous and my fingers are always so sweaty. But I play, not consciously, but rather as a result of my fingers just moving! Isn’t muscle memory amazing?? I love it too. And I am confident that I will know our Bella Ciao duet by muscle memory too—in the near future, hopefully.
At the end of every practice session (which now is once per month for me), I play some random pieces that I’ve played in the past. Learning new songs is too grueling for me, unless I really like them or am just purely excited, which is rare. Playing old songs, even if I no longer have it fully in my muscle memory, is so much easier and more fun. The re-learning process is not nearly as difficult, and it’s like my muscles are able to regain their memory immediately!
Anyways, this blog was amazing on top of being a reminder that I should probably practice piano more… Thanks for sharing!
I agree! The pieces I learn only become fun once they're committed to muscle memory, because then I can focus more on technique and letting my fingers fly over the keys! That's why playing old songs is so fun–I never have to overcome the wall of demotivation. I'm excited to eventually reach that stage in learning our duet, too!
DeleteHi Devyani! I think you did a great job with the vividly descriptive anecdote at the very start of the blog. I believe it performed well in completely drawing me into the topic you chose to explore this time. I love how vivid your words are—from describing the flashback to you playing something at a younger age to the description of your fingers on the piano, “shift[ing]” and “play[ing].”
ReplyDeleteI can greatly relate to you on the topic of muscle memory, so much so that sometimes, I am even astounded by how much I remember. I remember it applying to when we did a few AP-style free response questions in calculus for unit one—a unit (obviously) taught at the very beginning of the year. Like you, I, too, “stared uncertainly” at first before “something in my brain clicked.” After that, I practically flew through the problems, calling up theorems and proofs with a proficiency that left me baffled.