Doesn't Everyone Love Piano?

My older daughter is starting piano lessons this Sunday, and I'm so excited. She's always loved music, and I think she'll have a wonderful time expanding her piano knowledge from Hot Cross Buns. Part of the reason I'm so excited, though, is that I'm acutely aware of how important piano has been in my life. Music and theater shaped my childhood in a way nothing else (save my parents, of course) did, and I still can't imagine living in a home without a piano. When I first moved to DC after college, my fingers got itchy and I rented a piano to have in my little basement apartment. So it's with all of that history that I look forward to my daughter's lessons. You can imagine, then, that even as I hold this excitement I am also trying very hard to hold non-attachment to outcome, to hold the willingness to see how my daughter's interaction with piano unfolds...and to remember that her experience may be different than mine. She might hate the piano! She might be terrible at it! She might turn into a fabulous lacross player instead! My job, as a parent, is to allow that to happen and to keep my own self out if it as much as possible. And really, isn't that our job as people? It's so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that what's right for you is right for someone you love, or for the person down the street, or for anyone else you might come across. When what we should be doing is opening our hearts to whatever is right for that person, whether or not it feels right to us. I don't mean moral relativism here--I'm not talking about right ethical choices--I mean good life relativism, or something like that. I mean respecting the uniqueness of an individual, even when it challenges our own notions of what a life or a love "ought" to look like. I can't lie. I still really, really hope my daughter loves the piano. But part of my own spiritual practice will be listening to her more than to me.