Wake-up calls

Jeremi gets a new piano; Luca gets a text message

Welcome back to Jeremi and Luca’s Newsletter, an update every Sunday from two friends connected by a relentless desire to learn. Here’s a closer look at what we’re reading, working on, or thinking about.

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Luca: Giving my attention

It’s interesting—sometimes, people’s perception of you can be the thing that wakes you up to your own motivations. I guess the colloquial wisdom would be to detach yourself from those perceptions. But what if they’re what you’re striving for anyway?

As was the case this week when I texted a friend who’s studying abroad:

“Very non luca move…” Someone whose opinion I care about said that! Yet as soon as I read it, I realized I haven’t been living up to the perception.

At least for most classes, I feel some sense of duty to attend. And rightly so. But while I’ve been physically present, I haven’t necessarily been showing up. The “non Luca move” has, in fact, been somewhat of a “Luca move.”

I keep leaving classes stunned at the lack of attention I gave them. Instead of listening to the professor or taking notes, I’ll end up doing some other work on my computer, nullifying my whole presence in the room.

Now, this is not true across the board. Usually, when a class has an interesting speaker with novel insights, I’m all ears and my hand is up: political science colloquium; tech, risk, and security; space policy.

It’s the technical classes where I, for some reason or another, end up learning out of the textbook. Now if this were intentional, that’d be fine. But it’s the unintentionally that’s getting to me: I’m showing up, wanting to be there, yet kicking myself when walking out the door for not giving it my all.

The “non Luca move” text wasn’t the only wake-up call, but it surely spurred this week’s newsletter. Interestingly, the other motivators to fix this problem similarly came from passing comments.

A public policy grad student mentioned how many undergrads have their computers open during space policy, not asking a single question yet simultaneously filling seats in a space-constrained class. I’ve noticed this too, and it’s the reason why I’ve enjoyed grad classes at Cal, in which students seem much more interested to be there.

The leader of an international relations grad seminar I go to emphasized the importance of giving full, undivided attention to speakers, and not even having laptops out for notes as it can easily be misconstrued.

Funnily, the phrase “full, undivided attention” was commonplace in high school—and it was never very hard to do! I’ve found that in college, it has become much harder because at any given time, there are so many more options for how to use said time.

But I want to change that. Moving forward, I want to give myself two options: show up and actually be there, or don’t show up at all. My friend’s text message served as a good reminder of the type of student I want to be. No more half and half.

Cal’s homecoming football game

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Jeremi: Playing the piano

Look what arrived in the mail…

Just as Luca’s mom was excited to hear that Luca joined a small jazz combo, my mom was similarly excited to hear that I picked up a keyboard from my uncle as an early birthday present.

I started playing piano when I was five years old. Each year, I would ask my mom if I could quit. Each year, she would tell me to “stick it out until the next recital, and see how you feel.”

Of course, after each recital, I would be filled with excitement after seeing the songs that other students were playing. Eager to try them myself, my motivation would be renewed.

Around middle school (7 years in), I watched a TV show about a piano prodigy, and it ignited a flame of passion in me. For the next few years, I would come home every single day and spend hours on the piano. I tried to learn songs that were outrageously hard for my skill level but, given a few months of practice, I was able to crack.

This all lead to the final song: Hungarian Rhapsody, No. 2, by Liszt.

Split into two parts. 17 pages of sheet music, all crammed into a tiny font. The second part took me all of senior year to learn. I performed it for my last recital, in what felt like a triumph 13 years in the making.

Then I went to college, and I stopped playing entirely. Piano was placed on a back burner, as my life was filled with friends, classes, clubs, and more. For the most part, this wasn’t a big deal. I would come home and play a few songs at my mom’s request. Each trip, I would try my hand at Hungarian Rhapsody.

A year in, I forgot the ending. Two years in, after coming home from Berkeley this summer, I tried to play the song and couldn’t get through the second page of sheet music. I had well and truly forgotten it.

I had a realization sitting at the piano, in the height of disappointment: I will never play this song at the level I once did.

I felt heavy as this realization hit me, but I didn’t know what to do. The currents of life were pulling me in another direction. Yes, I could make time for it, but it wasn’t something I was willing to sacrifice other priorities for.

All the while, I saw my childhood friend, Jonah, grow closer and closer to the piano. Jonah and I grew up playing together. We performed a duet for the recital one year. We would improvise on the piano together while our families socialized.

I see how much value he gets out of playing the piano, and I begin to wonder about the role piano should play in my life.

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Recently, my piano teacher, Tara, sent me a video compilation of all the years I spent learning with her.

It struck me then how much piano has shaped me. All my other hobbies: basketball, scootering, gymnastics, rock climbing, have come and gone at different stages of my life. Piano has been the only truly consistent thing that has stayed with me throughout my childhood. It made me emotional to think of how long and hard and meaningful that journey has been.

I don’t know how often I’ll play this keyboard. My priorities aren’t shifting to make space for a consistent habit. But at the very least, with the keyboard sitting there in my room, it’ll remind me to sit down and practice a little. To honor everything I’ve put into it.

Hiking in the mountains with three friends to prepare for Half Dome…