Worried about the world? Time to play the piano

The concentration required for me to fumble through Beethoven leaves no room in my brain for anything else, apart from relief.

By Tracey Thorn

The morning of the US election result I sat down at the piano and tried to play some Beethoven. Bearing in mind that I haven’t played the piano in about 15 years, and haven’t properly practised since I was a teenager, the results were mixed. At first I was tentative and nervous but before too long my mood overtook me, all the shock and anger and frustration and disappointment flooding out in a torrent of hammering and excessive use of the pedal. Reader, it was a cacophony, but it didn’t half make me feel better.

I didn’t want to look at the papers, didn’t want to read any opinion pieces or explanations for what had happened – not yet, at least. I was feeling let down by the news, or by my social media feeds, which I had curated so heavily that I’d avoided seeing what was coming. My little bubble of optimism had kept my spirits up for the last couple of months, but it now seemed a place of utterly fanciful delusion. I had clung to posts saying, “Don’t worry she’s gonna win easily,” taking them as gospel truth, and here was my punishment.

“To hell with social media,” I thought, “it has lied to me.” Deleting Twitter/X from my phone felt therapeutic. By lunchtime I had fully resolved to stop wasting my time online. I rummaged in a cupboard and found more sheet music – Chopin, Mozart, some easy Bach. A book of Debussy, almost none of which I can even attempt. And another containing works by the jazz pianist Bill Evans, including his beautiful “Waltz for Debby”, which I can just about play if you ignore the fact that I’m playing it at half speed, and the fact that on page three when I reach the ominous word “Improvisation” I cough politely and stop.

The thing is I’m not really any good at playing the piano and I’m trying not to let that matter. The concentration required for me even to fumble my way through these pieces is such that there’s no room left in my brain for anything else, hence the feeling of relief. I think it’s called being in the flow state, when you’re fully immersed in something and time seems to become immaterial, passing both fast and slow, unnoticed, unremarked.

I spent a few days in that mood and I’m sure it was much better for me than ranting and raving at the internet. When I DID venture back online I saw various posts along the lines of “How not to succumb to despair: become an activist today”. Fair enough, they were aimed at actual Americans, who do have good reason to want to be part of a real fight-back. But I momentarily felt chastened. Does practising my scales count as being part of the resistance, in that I am not succumbing to despair?

I am probably being dramatic. And solipsistic. I live in London and had no vote in this election that has just overwhelmed us, so I ought to remember my place. “At least,” I thought, “I have learned my lesson and got myself free of social media.

A few days after having that thought, the newer social media platform BlueSky started to take off. I’d had an account there for a year but it was quiet, with few followers. I popped in. The change was startling, like arriving at a party just as it comes alive, the mood convivial and celebratory, with much welcoming of newcomers on the doorstep. “Ooh,” I thought. “Buzzy. Nice. I like it here.” I went back to my piano practice, only checking my phone very occasionally for updates. Only very occasionally.

And so here we are. Another week has gone by. I’m playing the piano every day. I’m possibly getting a little better or possibly Ben is being polite. I’m enjoying BlueSky, but I’m not addicted. Just chatting to people, making harmless jokes. My follower count is rising, but I’m only watching that in a casual way. Not addicted. I don’t see what could possibly go wrong. I have bought a book of Christmas carols. All will be well.