I go through this even when I sense it coming (because I can often feel it heading down the pike). I experience the grief even when I know that the time is right for a student to quit and that it will be best for the student and myself. I even mourn a little when it is a student that I never really "clicked" with or one that never did any work (making lesson time torture for both of us more than likely).
So when, at the beginning of the week, I received a call from a mother of two students to inform me that they would be discontinuing lessons at the end of February (for reasons I totally understood), I found myself facing that familiar mixture of disappointment and regret again.
I rarely talk about piano lessons in this blog. Not because there isn't a wealth of material - because WOW! - there is a lot of good stuff there. Not only are my students hilarious, but I continually learn so much through them. But somehow it feels as though there is some unspoken teacher/student confidentiality vow that I have taken. I don't ever want a student to feel as though they are the butt of a joke or are being violated in any way. And I guess what happens at our lessons feels a bit private and maybe even a little sacred to me.
I have the privilege of meeting one-on-one with children and young adults once a week. And some of these students I see once a week for six or more years! We build a relationship, a trust that I take very seriously. Some students open up to me at the first lesson but some relationships I have to coax and nurture and build. I made a decision long ago that regardless of a student's performance at the piano, I was going to build a relationship with the person who comes to lessons each week.
Because each student is a person:
- who is good at some things and not as good at others,
- who has passions and hobbies - even if it's not piano,
- who experiences angst and drama at school and occasionally gets their feelings hurt,
- who has tests to study for and lines to memorize for the school play,
- who has a beloved pet that just died,
- who is excited about a sleepover or cousins coming to visit,
- who has dreams of someday becoming something great.
Perhaps that is why it always hurts when it's time to say goodbye. Maybe if I took a more clinical approach, more professional even, I could separate myself from the heartache. I don't know if I want to. I don't know if I would enjoy what I do as much without the richness of those relationships.
And then, with perfect timing, a new student came to meet me at the end of this week. One that will leave me eventually as they all do - but one that I think I will love working with. I was reminded that there is a constant cycle to this job of mine, and the sting from earlier in the week lessened.
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