It's quite clear that I'm stuck here

Constrained, and simultaneously unconstrained

I was eight years old when I first started learning piano. I had already been involved in several other activities since I the ripe age of five, but, over the course of those three years, they had lost their novelty (no disrespect, I'm just telling it how I saw it, as a mature and sophisticated eight-year-old). Convinced that learning piano would be something new, exciting and different, I begged my parents to put me into class. Begged. They didn't have a dog yet but having a daughter literally begging at their feet probably made them feel like they did.

It was a couple months by the time my parents finally obliged. They found me a nice Russian piano teacher who no doubt, has tremendous talent. She was also a slave driver (figuratively, no need to notify the authorities). What followed was years of sweat, fear, tears, and stress. I used to have rehearsals on Wednesdays at 6 PM and let me tell you, for ten years, Wednesday was my least favorite day of the week. The prospect of Wednesday was paralyzing. I dreaded 3:30 PM, which signaled the end of the school day and the beginning of my two-hour cram session before going to class, no matter how much I had practiced during the week. I spent numerous Tuesday evenings choosing piano practice over exam preparation. At 24, I can honestly say that so far, nothing in my life, not the SAT, not job interviews, not final exams, nothing has been as stressful as my my past life as a student of this particular piano studio.

Piano was the first real thing in my life that felt like a binding commitment. There were monetary repercussions for missing lessons (and let's just say that my parents weren't exactly okay with making charitable donations to a well-off Russian Maestro), requirements to perform in quarterly recitals, and annual piano exams. As you can imagine, it stopped being fun very early on. And neither my parents nor my ego gave me the option to quit.

Not to be dramatic, but my experience with piano has deeply affected the way I approach potential commitments in my life, be it something big like a job or a friendship or even something seemingly inconsequential, like plans for the weekend. I fear that the second I commit, the fun, and more importantly, my ability to be in control, will disappear. With commitment, the light-hearted, fluffy excitement of an opportunity or possibility is immediately transformed into an imposing burden. And my moral opposition to shirking commitment does not help the case.

At the end of my senior year of high school, I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I was going to be attending college two thousand miles away, suggesting a natural end to my piano lessons. To encapsulate my ten years of hard work, I, for the first time, put on a recital for my friends and family. Previous recitals had been for members of the piano studio or panels of judges. 

I still remember that recital. I walked up to the piano, took a bow, adjusted the bench, and took a seat. I took a quick breath, lifted my hands, then released my fingers onto the keyboard. They began flying. My body swayed with the music, melodies and harmonies swirled through the theater, and I for the first time in many years, was truly playing for fun. It was both liberating and rewarding. 

A couple years ago, my mom and I got into an interesting debate. Coming from a culture where a husband and wife may meet on the day of their wedding, potentially only sharing one common goal of a successful marriage, my mom is very dubious of the world of dating. It doesn't make sense to just go around dating fifty people. If you always have the option to leave, you'll be less inclined to making any one relationship work. You'll always be convinced that there is better out there. Valid, but room for argument (though not in this particular post). I bring up this conversation only to emphasize the power and importance of commitment. Not, necessarily to a person, as is the case with dating, but commitment to values, outcomes, goals, beliefs, and in general, your success and happiness. 

A senior leader at my company put it best. We were discussing my rotational program, in which for two years, associates move into new roles every six months. The biggest mistake you can make is to act as if you're shopping. If, in each role you think, Oh well, I'm just experimenting. I'm going to be out of here soon anyway, you'll never feel the need to learn and improve. And at the end of the two years, you'll have nothing to show for it. 

On my college dance team, I coined the term "commit" for dance moves (seriously, talk about lasting impact). For each year's repertoire, we incorporated a few modern and, for lack of a different word, different styles. Learning choreography for these pieces often required movements or poses that felt unnatural. The team would stand behind the choreographer walking through sequences. To be blunt, you'd feel like an idiot. But then, as you learned the piece, when you really put your all into each movement, imagined yourself on stage, in costume, performing, and essentially lost your body in the dance, it was almost impossible to look anything but glamorous. 

As difficult as it is to admit (this is one of those "mom was right" moments in public), it was the feeling of being tied to the piano, the seemingly "signed in blood" commitment, that gave me no chance but to practice and become a rather decent piano player. I am almost positive that had I felt like I had the option to quit at any time, I wouldn't have had the desire or motivation to rehearse my heart out.

Of course, I am not saying that we go through life feeling as if every decision we make is unchangeable. Not only is that unrealistic and naive, but it would also make me a hypocrite. But reflect on each potential commitment to be sure that it is something or someone really important and true to you. That, if going through with the commitment means jumping through hoops of fire, you're willing. That you won't spend more time finding the easy way out. Because the second you tell yourself that something is temporary, that it doesn't matter, that you can always get out of it, you compromise your potential. You're less invested. And it shows. I've tracked these repercussions in my own mindset shifts. The mediocrity that comes with irresolution is relentless. 

So yes, commitment is stifling. The word even feels a bit binding and restrictive. Those poor vowels are completely trapped between harsh consonants. But I've begun to realize that commitment doesn't need to be fear-inducing. Commit to being happy in all regards. Commit to learning and exploring. Commit to enriching, once-in-a-lifetime type experiences. Paradoxically, this is the only way to free your mind, to grow as a person, and to soar through life.