Thoughts On the Eve of a New Year

I was playing Mozart’s sonata in F major when I found myself at the third movement, which is a movement I’ve never liked and rarely play.

I rarely play an entire sonata and in a mood of F major, I decided I must finish the sonata.

It’s as I’d expected, and why I played it slowly. Suddenly I’m inside an incredible, moving melodic line and I wonder why this is a place I’ve never been.

Of course it’s technique, my improvement, but also a state of existence and a growing convergence toward Mozart (pain, unending disappointment with world and self, heart splintering away a life of countless divisions). Erratic maturation.