Meet Leppy.

Leppy (LEH-pee), short for Pen-el-eh-py, is my violin who came into my life a little less than a year ago, in August 2017. I had just completed the first year of a Ph.D. program and decided it wasn’t for me.

Quitting school was not easy and it took a lot of soul searching. I had completed my Masters whilst working full time, why was a Ph.D. any different? If I weren’t a student, what was I? I had always wanted to complete as much schooling as possible – if I wanted to be a lawyer, that would mean at least a J.D., and perhaps additional LLMs. If I were going to be a psychologist, that meant a Ph.D. If I wanted to be Obama’s advisor, that meant I needed a Ph.D. in political science. Why? Who knows – there are a lot of reasons: I am good at school; it provides structure, and for a seriously Type A personality, this was helpful; and, I enjoyed the discursive processes that led to “ah-ha moments” for my fellow students and me.

But, I support myself financially, which means I have a full time job that couldn’t be compromised. Couple a 9-6pm that leaves my brain feeling like it worked out all day with night classes, reading, learning a second language, researching a topic for a dissertation, and teaching and you will exhaust even the best of us. I spent a year feeling like I was doing neither my job nor my school justice – I couldn’t focus 100% on either one. I barely saw friends and family. Something needed to give, and since my job couldn’t, school had to.

But, I’d made myself a promise: If I were going to sacrifice school – which I’d worked so hard for and had tied so much of my identity to – I had to pick up hobbies that would fill other voids in my life. I had to continue to be a student albeit of another sort. On the list was learning to play the violin (along with starting a blog (check!), and volunteering (in the works)).

I’m often asked, “Why the violin, isn’t it so hard?” I’ve always had a romantic idea about it – it’s delicate, precise and dreamy. It boasts experts like Kelly Hall-Tompkins. I mean, who wouldn’t want to sound like her? Perhaps the fact that it’s difficult to learn as a kid, let along a 30-year-old, is what drew me towards it, too.

I started out with an 8-week class to see if the romantic idea held true. By the end of it, I could play a very scratchy, nails-on-the-chalkboard version of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and knew it was something I wanted to pursue. My boyfriend helped me to find a violin teacher (who lives in his building – soon to be my building, too!), Amelia, whom I meet with privately.

While Leppy and I aren’t always the best of friends – sometimes she likes to be cranky and scratchy – she brings me immense joy. Learning to read music helps my brain to work in new ways, getting correct finger placement helps to stretch my hands, and producing music is a gift. When I have a good bucket of time (not only an hour after work and dinner), I’m able to achieve flow – that phenomenon I wrote about here – in which you enter a state of concentration where you forget time and other responsibilities or needs.

Amelia and I play duets during each lesson, and while keeping straight my performance while finding harmony with her is difficult, it elevates the creative experience – much as Janine Jansen describes here. She notes that when playing with an orchestra, “It’s live; it’s in the moment,” and you have to always be “fluid…One cannot predict the outcome, and one shouldn’t want to.” Letting go of your structure to synthesize a new one with a partner or an orchestra is both liberating and incredibly fulfilling – you’ve created emotion through sound that is finite. You can play the same notes again alone or with a group, but each time is distinct.

Learning to play Leppy well is invigorating but can also be frustrating – it’s hard when I can’t get a note right, or when my wrist starts to hurt, or when all I want is to be a professional. Amelia reminds me that she’s been playing for 30 years, having started when she was 6 and has devoted her life to it. It takes time. And so I breathe.

Leppy helps to round out my life by filling the void that I felt after quitting school: she provides a continued source for learning, for “ah-ha moments,” for community, and for pride. She helps me to keep striving – I don’t only want to play Leppy well for myself and so my neighbors don’t hate me – but I’d like to eventually play it well for my children.

Freeing yourself from plans you dreamed up as a teenager makes room for pieces of your identity you didn’t know were there. What’s more hyggeligt than that?