It’s been a month since I played and sang solo at the piano in public for the first time in over 30 years.
I told the full story over on YouTube. The brewery, the hot window, the half beer, Moondance without my glasses, the random applause, the kind woman who helped load my gear and then casually told me she was getting her nipples pierced the next day. A memorable afternoon.
If you want the whole saga, here’s the video.
What’s interesting to me now is not just what happened that day. It’s what I noticed afterward.
At the time, I was so focused on every little thing I did wrong that I nearly missed what had gone right. I sang well. I got through it. People were kind. The manager booked me again on the spot. All of that counts, whether my inner critic approves or not.
The bigger thing, though, was realizing how unfair I am to myself at the piano.
Somewhere in my head, I expect piano-Cayla to show up with the same confidence and ease as singer-Cayla. Which is ridiculous. I’ve been singing for decades. The piano is something I’m rebuilding. Those are not the same thing.
Before that gig, I was practicing piano three hours a day for twelve days straight. That was a lot for me, and it helped. Then life filled back up again. Other gigs came along. Other songs needed learning. Other pressures showed up. And just like that, the piano slipped down the list a bit.
That’s the part I’m paying attention to now.
Because I do not want that gig to turn into a nice little moment I talk about once and then quietly abandon.
I want next month’s Cayla to play better than this month’s Cayla.
Nothing dramatic or huge.
Just better.
A little more comfortable.
A little more fluent.
A little less likely to launch into Moondance half a beer in and without her glasses.
That feels like a reasonable goal.
So I’m working on putting piano time back into my daily routine. Not in some grand, punishing way. Just as part of the life. The same way I make coffee, answer emails, learn charts, or figure out what’s for dinner. If I want to get better, it has to live in the day, not in the fantasy version of the day.
And Oscar Peterson?
I’ve got my eye on you.
Not because I need to be Oscar, obviously. The world has already had one of those. But because it does me good to remember that great players were not handed ease. They built it. One hour, one song, one repetition at a time.
That brewery gig was messy.
Funny.
A little humbling.
Also encouraging.
Mostly, it reminded me that the way back into something is not glamorous.
You do it badly.
You do it better.
You keep going.
And apparently, you get booked again.
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