One of the most valuable gifts my parents gave me wasn’t a bike, a dog, a BB gun, or a car. It was a simple morning routine. They made me learn the piano. That meant practice, every weekday, for a set amount of time. Each morning, I descended to the basement where our brown, much-beloved upright piano stood waiting, and practiced. Once per week, I had a lesson with a very accomplished teacher who had high expectations (that I sometimes failed to meet, through my own fault).
Frequently, I did not want to practice. Even more frequently, I did not want to go to my lesson, especially if I’d been lazy during practice. Yet the activity was non-discretionary. I had no choice. I kept at it for six years. I was by no means a brilliant student, but at the end of those six years, I was astonished at how far I’d come and what I'd accomplished by that consistent little habit of daily practice, like a steady drip of water wearing away a rock.
