I’m like a coiled spring after work. Shoulders tense, breath fast and shallow. Usually the sound of my laptop lid slamming shut would be followed by the squeak of a cork pulled from a bottle of red, the wine hastily sploshed into a glass, that first mouthful putting a much-needed full stop on the working day.
Then, a few months ago, I came across my now-adult son’s old school recorder in the attic. I idly blew into it, immediately transported back to the days it was the bane of my life – his daily practice a violent assault on my eardrums, the piercing shriek still reverberating through my head hours after he had gone to bed.
But rather than consigning it to the bin, I brought it downstairs, along with a book – Very Easy Recorder Tunes. Growing up, I was the least musical child ever. I’d had recorder lessons at infant school, but never had the opportunity to learn other instruments.
Googling “how to play the recorder”, I watched dozens of YouTube videos aimed at children, and printed out a fingering chart. I searched “easiest recorder tunes” and was thrilled when I managed to knock out a passable Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Yes, it was something your average five-year-old could master before first break, but as a tone deaf, impatient and stressed 51-year-old, it felt like a huge achievement.
My son asked what the hell I was doing (and please could I stop), but I persevered – I liked the way the recorder made me feel. My inability to remember anything meant I had to concentrate on the sheet of paper in front of me and painstakingly copy the finger positions. My breathing slowed down, I was focused, and once I’d mastered that first faltering tune, I felt euphoric. I could play an instrument.
Now, several months later, I can “play” other nursery rhymes and a passable Ode to Joy. Yes, my timing is rubbish, and I still need to write the names of the notes down, but for me, it’s not about being skilled or a “musician” – it is simply about the pleasure it brings and the fact I can’t think of anything else when I am playing.
I read that only one in six children learn to play the recorder now, which was no doubt music to parents’ ears, but it made me a little sad and nostalgic for my own school days, as well as my son’s.
I try to pick up my recorder every evening after work before I do anything else, and in those 20 or so minutes, I am in my own little world. And afterwards, I feel totally energised and uplifted.
My friends think it’s hilarious, but one very wise therapist friend told me I was not only lowering my stress levels, but improving my cognitive skills, such as memory and auditory processing, which is invaluable at my time of life. And in terms of my day-to-day wellbeing, it’s a real “ode to joy” indeed.
