Julie and I were walking around the Old North Church (the one where Paul Revere hung the lanterns) when she said, “Look at that!”
“That is really cool,” I said, looking the street piano sitting in the corner of the brick courtyard. I don’t know how it’s playable, sitting out in the weather like that, but it is.
“Play something,” Julie said.
In my response was a world of doubt. “Aaaahhhh … I’m not really a pianist.” I’m not. I can read music and I used to be passable when I practiced, twenty years ago. Lately I’ve been teaching myself to play from a chord chart while I sing, but Elton John I ain’t. So playing for a crowd of other tourists was not exactly on my list of things to do in Boston. We took a few more steps toward the stairs, and I remembered something.
I remembered I am tired of worrying about whether people will think I am weird, and I am tired of not doing anything until I am sure everyone will be very impressed with me. (FYI, this doesn’t work anyway.)
So I pulled up a chord chart on my phone, and I punched out a few chords to introduce myself to the piano, and then I sang a song.
I don’t have any idea what all the people were thinking or saying as they walked past, on their way back to the Freedom Trail.
I was too busy singing.