There’s a tectonic shift within your very being when your worst fears come true.
When more than one of those worst fears comes true, it’s called a “megathrust.”
Can anything remain intact after such a Great Earthquake?
April 27, 2026:
- Cassie and Pam are on a hike.
- Pam spots a “piano” in the raging and turbulent river.
- Without hesitation or fear for her own safety, Pam runs, climbs, and scoots her fanny to the piano.
- Pam performs the spellbinding overture, becoming one with nature, music, and perhaps even The Phantom itself.
- Cassie, as the cinematographer (Director of Photography, or “DP”), masterfully captures the spontaneous, inspired moment.
These are the third-person, cine-dramatic, potentially grandiose-sounding steps I used to answer the question posed to me, “How do you come up with this?” when I posted the clip to my social media. The clip featured Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “The Phantom of the Opera: Overture,” which Meta permits. (If you cannot view the clip on my Instagram page, the clip sans soundtrack on YouTube is here.
When I first watched the raw video in the car after the hike, I belly-laughed out loud. And since I had just, minutes before, been humming the Phantom overture as I sacrificed and committed my fingers to the rubble—the stony, faux keyboard in the river—I naturally added the soundtrack when I posted the clip to Insta.
Something even more earthshaking happened on that car ride home.
It occurred to me that there are moments when my head rises above the turbulence: when I can still play. Miraculously, that part of me has survived, at least a little.
This is what’s called a “praise report” in classic Christianese. I eschew this pat language, but I’ll acquiesce and use the term here.
Because it’s a legit praise report.
From childhood, I’ve always loved being silly. Someone’s laughter at something I did always felt like a cousin to love, approval, acceptance, and belonging.
More recently (a few years ago), my grandchild, at three, watching me be silly, said, “Gaga, you’re my age.”
After we lost Joey, I wasn’t sure whether that chord in me would still play.
Seeing myself as a virtuoso on a virtual piano showed me that it does.
Since referencing the hymn “It is Well with My Soul” at Joey’s memorial service, I’ve longed to be able to say at least that it is well-ish with my soul.
I’m still longing.
Joey is an ache that remains.
However—and I’m so thankful for this however—though I am forever changed, I now catch glimpses of my former self, reminders that she’s still in there.
(There’s that third person again.)
It’s been many years since I saw the play—the one at LA’s Ahmanson Theatre—so I couldn’t recite the plot. But I believe the phantom (let’s call him “Despair”) lurks beneath the surface.
Considering #4 on the list above, maybe that thoughtless, spontaneous point about becoming one with the Phantom was inspired. Maybe becoming “one with” means more about facing this Despair demon and countering it with music.
Who knows? Maybe one day it will drown.
My third-person references reflect nothing grandiose about my story; there’s nothing particularly special about me. We must all contend with Despair down there.
I’ve never had a single piano lesson, but look at me play.
And so can you.