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The Price of Passion
Maddy slid open the van door and threw her piano books on the floor so hard they scattered across the gray carpet. “I’m quitting piano.” “What?” I glanced in the rearview mirror at my ten-year-old daughter, piano prodigy extraordinaire. “I messed up.” Giant tears hit first, heavy sobs lagging only a second behind. “I practiced all week.” She sunk in the seat, yanked on the belt, and clicked the buckle in place. “And it was hard.”
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Why Bother?
Some days I wonder why I bother to do anything for myself. Whether it’s reading a good book, which I’ve relegated to the quiet hours of late night. Taking a nap, which happened once last year. Or making good on my promise to write a little bit every day, which I’m attempting to do now. I began the edit of this article at 9:30 a.m. and it’s now 11:17 a.m. 600 words. One page. Plus a barrage of questions from the three children who occupy my house. One by one, they rotate in to stand at the foot of my bed. I tiptoed into the bedroom earlier, when I thought…
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