When Mozart composed his concerto, number 13, the piano did not know that this concerto was a piano concerto featuring the piano. While the orchestra filled the music chamber with its beautiful melodies, harmonies, moods, tensions, and music, the piano simply listened, unsure of its place in what seemed like a world that it was both a part of and at the same time separate.
It took a while for the piano to find its voice, but when it did, it came out distinct. At first, the piano was always running, always doing, always trying, always striving, always reaching, not slowing down, not reflecting, not wanting to get left behind. It moved to its own beat and its own tempo, because it was an instrument of its own, and Mozart had intended that it be unique, set apart from the rest.
Then after some time, it slowed down. After all, why was the piano always on the go? What was so urgent that it didn’t have time to slow down and reflect? With whom was the piano competing? The piano realized that it didn’t need to compete with anyone or anything. It could move to its own beat, and pause and run as it wanted. It was free and the song was for the piano! It had to learn humility, but not compromise itself in the process.
There were times when the piano synchronized with one instrument, then two. It found companions. Other times, the piano faded out completely, allowing other instruments to thrive, recognizing and appreciating their beauty. The piano reflected, admired, synchronized, harmonized. It selflessly provided the background music for others but at times, took center stage and showed the world its light, while the orchestra served as the backdrop.
The piano was energetic, hopeful, busy, but learned to reflect, appreciate, and live. It was an instrument different from the others, but yet learned to live and play in a way to allow its beauty and the beauty of others to shine.