After my 68^th birthday, I felt an inexplicable urge to learn to play the piano. At my age? Come on. Had I suffered a stroke? I resisted, of course; it made no sense. But the desire wouldn’t let up.

Finally, after repeated attempts to quell this longing, my husband hauled up an old digital keyboard from the basement that friends had retrieved for us at a rummage sale in case we might need it someday. Well, that day had come. I felt that even this dated keyboard could be a trial run to test my new passion — better than blowing my retirement savings on a Steinway. I reasoned that I would wake up and come to my senses, eventually returning the keyboard to its dusty place in the basement.

Yet, with every practice my  passion only grew. I knew this was the real thing — a late-in-life calling that felt somehow sacred. Could this be my new spiritual practice?

This impulse toward beauty in the form of piano music is, in my mind, a  divine lure from somewhere inside my soul, speaking to me: “Just do it. Forget your age. Forget how to ‘use’ it in real life. Forget being good at it. Forget trying to impress or even perform. Just do it!”

Much has been written about the amazing cognitive benefits of learning a new instrument later in life, but the articles usually stop there. What about the spiritual aspects? How can it expand the soul?

Here are a few immediate benefits I have discovered:

• Attention: The brain and spirit work in tandem. The cognitive benefits I have noticed, such as memory improvement and the ability to focus better, infuse my life outside of music. I can now focus without effort on a book or a conversation with friend. This strengthened sense of mindfulness keeps me from burning our supper, stumbling over the cats, and even enhances my meditation practice.
• Patience: Learning a new instrument takes a long time in later Iife. Although my brain is not even a fraction as quick as it was as a child, I have patience in spades. And that patience grows and manifests itself in the real world with friends and family and long lines at the grocery checkout. It takes patience to simply grow old. Music practice is a patient builder.
• Kindness: There is no room for lambasting myself for having a bad practice day or not getting the fingering right. I remind myself that I am learning for the joy of it, not to impress anyone or meet some high standard. In other words, I am finally learning to be kind to myself. I can accept and love whatever the practice brings. This kindness I practice towards myself then hurls itself toward others in my path. I realize how we are all struggling to get through the tasks before us the best we can.
• Humility:  It is a humbling act for an older adult to begin a new instrument at beginning level. No bragging rights here. Perfection has no place in this endeavor. It is all about the adventure, the tiny but thrilling moments of “getting it” and improving. It is humbling and freeing to let go of the old demands we place on ourselves as youth and simply enjoy participating in the world of music, even in a small, humble way.
• Persistence: Not until your fingers are literally aching from playing the first bars of “Für Elise” over and over — and over again — do you understand the meaning of persistence. (Für Elise, the obligatory piece for beginning pianists has been recently renamed “Furry Lise” by my two cats.)
• Wonder:  Simply being a part of the wonder of music keeps me enthralled, heightening my sense of awe. After all, I am participating in the same spirit that infused Bach and Beethoven and Chopin and John Lennon. Getting in touch with the invisible flow of something beautiful that spans centuries and points to something beyond the miseries of this world, can be a spiritual experience in itself. Here, I am inspired by my friend, Jay McDaniel, a theologian and musician, who has taken his own music into memory care units and witnessed transformation in patients. He has written elegantly extensively on the metaphysics of music and its power to transform. For starters, check out: “Open and Relational Music Makers” and “Saving Mozart.”
• Solace: According to Albert Schweitzer, “There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”  My cats and I fully embrace this philosophy. Music, whether played, sung, or listened to, is a sanctuary in a world of growing meanness, a world that continues to diminish the arts, beauty, and all the finer feelings  – compassion, empathy, and kindness. Music is a retreat that changes the listener and so changes the world. Even the tiniest moments of beauty are woven into the fabric of the world, changing the texture of how we experience the world and how we envision the divine.

Aging in a New Key:

As aging adults, we often define ourselves by our limitations. We grow weary of doctor visits, works outs, pain management, and often loneliness. These challenges await those of us fortunate enough to live long lives. But music reminds us of something more. It helps us transition into a new key, one that we never knew existed.

Learning an instrument increases our well-being, our sense of purpose, and a world beyond mere limitation. We find that even within our limitations, possibilities we never imagined can nudge us into fresh realms of adventure and joy.

After being diagnosed with advanced glaucoma, I felt my world narrowing along with my eyesight. No longer can I spend hours in front of computer or enjoy the details of a face or a butterfly or a work of art; but this visual limitation has opened up a new world of aural possibility, with music taking on heightened importance. Through my limitations, I have discovered a new sense of aliveness and joy.

Aging is more than limitation and the narrowing of the field of possibility. In fact, aging offers us a portal into fresh adventure not possible in young adulthood or even middle years. If we dare to step through this portal, we enter the deeper mysteries of life in a way we could never see when we were hell-bent on racking up accomplishments and getting ahead. In our senior years, when the ego needs fall away like a discarded chrysalis, we can finally unfurl our spiritual wings.

Music can help us fly.