I feel like a tightly wound coil after work. Shoulders stiff, breath quick and shallow. Often, the sound of my laptop lid crashing down is soon followed by the pop of a cork from a red wine bottle, the wine swiftly poured into a glass, that initial sip marking a well-deserved end to the workday.
Then, a few months back, I stumbled upon my now-grown son’s old school recorder up in the attic. I casually blew into it, instantly whisked back to the times it was my greatest irritation – his daily practice a loud offense to my ears, the sharp sound lingering in my mind long after he had turned in for the night.
However, instead of throwing it away, I carried it downstairs, along with a book – Very Easy Recorder Tunes. As a child, I was the least musically inclined. I had taken recorder lessons at primary school, but never got the chance to explore other instruments.
Searching for “how to play the recorder” online, I watched countless YouTube videos designed for kids, and printed a fingering guide. I looked up “simplest recorder tunes” and was overjoyed when I managed to play a somewhat decent version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Sure, it was something an average five-year-old could nail before recess, but as a tone-deaf, impatient, and stressed 51-year-old, it felt like a monumental success.
My son questioned what in the world I was doing (and kindly asked me to stop), but I pressed on – I enjoyed how the recorder made me feel. My struggle to remember anything forced me to focus on the sheet music before me and meticulously replicate the finger placements. My breathing calmed, I became engrossed, and once I had conquered that initial awkward melody, I felt a rush of joy. I could play an instrument.
Now, several months later, I can “play” other nursery rhymes and a fair rendition of Ode to Joy. Yes, my timing is poor, and I still have to jot down the names of the notes, but for me, it’s not about mastery or being a “musician” – it’s simply about the enjoyment it offers and the fact that nothing else occupies my mind when I am playing.
I’ve read that only one in six children learn to play the recorder now, which surely would please parents, but it leaves me feeling a bit wistful and nostalgic for my own school years, as well as my son’s.
I make an effort to grab my recorder every evening after work before diving into anything else, and during those 20 minutes or so, I escape into my own little sanctuary. And afterward, I feel completely revitalized and uplifted.
My friends find it amusing, but a very insightful therapist friend pointed out that I am not only reducing my stress levels but also enhancing my cognitive abilities, such as memory and auditory processing, which is invaluable at my age. In terms of my everyday wellbeing, it’s truly a magnificent “ode to joy” indeed.
