I grew up playing piano. Like, really playing piano. I was obsessed. In my teens, I even created my own arrangements for recitals. I used to be able to practice and perform under any circumstances—my baby sister would be running circles around me, shouting overhead at our mom, and I would keep playing, completely unfazed. TV blasting, phone ringing, vaccuum roaring, others in my house roaring at each other … I would keep playing. I loved it so much that I could block out everything else and focus on the piano only. When I played, I was only vaguely aware of the TV, of the appliances, of the screaming.
In adulthood, I’ve lost that precious, childlike ability to focus in compartmentalize and hyper focus on a single task without melting down about my surroundings. In fact, I am totally aware of everything swirling around me at all times. The closest I’ve ever come to that focus since childhood? Running, obviously.
Perhaps less obvious is that my inability to tolerate the swirling vortex of chaos without running is exactly why I had to step away from it. Or so I thought.
