I was an anxious over-achiever. The harp taught me to release…
It was easy to miss the elderly man with the lap harp in the midst of the bustle of a wellness expo in Dallas. He was seated under a tree while around him, people dressed like ninjas did tai chi, others hula hooped themselves into a trance, and one man wrapped another in wet sheets inside a transparent teepee. The sounds of singing bowls and wind chimes almost drowned out the sound of the harp. Even so, I could feel its warm resonance.
Seeing me watch, the harpist asked why I was there. I said I was looking for a way to manage stress. I didn’t tell him that, after years of battling mental health issues and eating disorders, I had recently received a diagnosis of generalized anxiety and a host of medications that made me feel like I was riding around on a unicycle. Or that my kidneys, having been pumped full of drugs, were only 60 percent functional. That the childhood passions I had thrown myself into, like competitive ballroom dancing, had done more harm than good.
He placed the harp into my hands. He said the sound vibrations would help.
When I next looked up, I saw people closing their booths. Why was everyone leaving so soon? The man laughed. “You have been sitting there for a few hours,” he said. Harp in hand, I must have entered a trance. Then he added, “My wife is a harp teacher. You should ask her about renting an instrument.”
I took his advice, and for the next three months, my rented 24-string lap harp and I were inseparable. I practically walked around with it strapped to my body. Soon I purchased a larger lever harp. I took lessons, connected with the local harp society, discovered teachers who had graduated from prestigious conservatories and students who, like me, seemed to be “high” on the harp. Some played for mastery; many for enjoyment.
For me, the harp became an instrument of healing. It showed me a way out of the maze of my mind. A drug-free way to control my anxiety. And somehow, this most massive of instruments with its uncannily ethereal sound rebalanced my relationship to my own body.
Growing up, I had hated even the words “body” or “flesh.” I was constantly told that the flesh wants what is bad for it, that bodies are terrible, and spirits can be fixed only with hard work. That the goal was goodness, and light.
In middle school I had briefly taken up the cello. A teacher had recommended it because I had long fingers. But although Mom sang beautifully and Pop had played in a band with his siblings, classical music lessons were not in our budget. I was forced to drop it.
I sought out pursuits, like ballroom dancing [and figure skating, right?], that required severe coordination and control of the near-uncontrollable. Often, I used such activities, and food, for self-validation and punishment.
To create a sound on the harp, you have to apply force and energy to pulling the strings. But just as importantly, you have learn to release. I have heard the harp described as “soft,” but that’s not the whole story. Its sound can be warm, bright, resonant, loud. Learning to play the harp as an adult has taught me to work patiently towards a goal, without projecting frustration and pain onto my practice. I still experience the full range of emotions, but I have come to expect nothing, and allow everything. The lessons have filtered into the rest of my life. If I stay in the attitude of allowing myself to feel, whether I am at my harp or not, I can stay present with fear, feeling the desire to control the uncontrollable, releasing judgment. There is so much peace in that. When I now set a goal,
I try to remember that it is rooted in seeking peace, that peace lies in finding meaning, and at the same time releasing the need for an answer.
It’s a practice I would not have discovered without the harp.
When I practice a piece in private at home, I allow mistakes and frustration to come and go. When I play my harp for others, people see me as vulnerable as I can be. I never expected that playing the harp would restructure my relationship with myself. I understand the elation and joy that comes with finishing a piece I had wanted to learn so badly, as well as the patience it takes to be gentle with myself.
Note by note, the harp shows me the power of tension, and the beauty that comes from release.