The arrival of colour

I’m going to start with this realisation / analogy, inspired by a story that Anita told me about swimming.

One must learn to go from a state of not being able to swim to a state of being able to swim.

First one can stand forlornly by the pool, seeing everyone else glide through the water, seemingly with zero effort.

Then one learns the arm motions and leg motions. One practises them religiously but they seem to make no sense.

One splashes out clumsily into the water, arms and legs flailing, hopelessly not able to replicate what they could do independent of each other.

Perseverance follows for an indeterminate period of time.

Then one day, the arms and legs are moving together, and one is swimming.

The glory of that moment is quickly coupled by a realisation of the lack of grace and control.

Slowly, one acquires the ability to swim quickly or slowly, in different styles.

Finally, one completely unspecial day, without any announcements, one stands by the pool and realises that one can swim.

It is only then that one realises it is impossible to replicate that state of non co-ordinated awkwardness.

It is as if you passed through a gate, and it is a one way gate.

This is perhaps the best analogy I can think of what happened two weeks ago.

On July 16, 2019 when I woke up, I realised I had passed through the gate. I must have felt this once in my life before when I was learning to play the piano, but I have no recollection of that profound moment (if it happened).

Let me try to capture this moment now.

It was the day after an on call shift that had not been particularly busy. The sunlight streamed through the north facing window in my living room, where I sit most mornings and read while drinking coffee. After a bowl of chunky oats and my usual coffee, I thought it would be a good time to play the violin.

These winter mornings have been cold, and I often play standing in the sun trying to warm myself up. That seemingly unspecial day, I was immediately struck by the sound that came forth. I stopped and asked myself if something was amiss – was I particularly sleep deprived? No. Happy or sad? No. My mind felt even and "normal", there was no perturbation that was evident.

Yet somehow as I played, I realised that something had changed inside me. It is as if the connection between my soul and the music had been strengthened. If life were a video game, I had won a “power up” special power. I always feel music in such vivid colour and depth in my soul, and yet I was frustratingly unable to replicate it on the violin for the last near-decade. 

As solid as that obstruction had been, it was gone in a moment, and I was on the “other side”. Absolutely nothing magical happened to my fingers or the technical side of playing – I am as clumsy as ever playing double stops and in higher positions. 

But the colour had arrived, and with it a different world.

The last two weeks have passed in a blur. I had to work most of the days but each day after work when I pick up the violin, the colour is still there.

I tried playing in total darkness and realised I can play with absolutely no visual feedback – the music just arrives. I tried playing piano pieces I had played before on the violin, and the shapes form effortlessly. I tried playing with others and heard my violin sing with beauty that I have never known. More than ever, I am aware of my technical deficiencies and what I exactly must do to strengthen the colour. 

There are no words that can describe the ecstasy that this change brings. I simply feel drunk with the realisation of the connection. I feel mildly afraid that it will leave me somehow, but with each passing day (and it’s still there!), I feel imbued with this sense of hope about the future.