“But maybe when you come back you’ll want it – but it might be too expensive to buy another one,” said my youngest sister. She was talking about the regrets I might have if I sold my piano in my effort to fund a year of traveling. I’d heard the argument before. From my mother. And my father. And my former piano teacher. But honestly, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve played it in the last year. And have played it maybe 20 times, if that, in the last three years. Probably less. In fact, I think I played piano more when I didn’t own one.
Why is everyone else attached to the idea of my piano more than I am? My youngest sister compared it to getting rid of her riding gear even though she no longer owns a horse – she just couldn’t do it. But she only got rid of her horse a year ago. I stopped playing piano with any regularity at least five years ago.
Yes, I may come back from my travels and wish I still had it. But I doubt it. And if so, well, then it’s my own fault. And I’ll just have to start saving for another one.
I told my youngest sister that I’d still consider giving it on long-term loan to someone. Maybe it would be a nice rental piece – a hundred a month I told her. “But if you can’t find anyone to do that, would you still just give it to someone while you’re gone?” “I guess so.” “Ok. Good. I’ll put out the word and find someone.” I don’t know. That doesn’t feel right either. What feels right is to sell those things I haven’t used in a while – and the piano definitely qualifies.