The brutal truth is that I am not much of a musician. I do not have the natural rhythm and the ear that is evident in those who are musically gifted. Having said that, I maintain the belief that I am musically inclined. I listen to music often. For four years, I sang in an a capella choir. I persist in my piano lessons. Weekly reminders of my woefully limited talent. No amount of practice will fully change the mechanics of my mind. I see, however, that the tedium of practice does bring with it some hope that the any given piano piece I am playing may -- if it falls on generous ears -- be recognizable. Despite the fact that I am not blessed with perfect pitch or a steady meter, I love playing the piano. I love the certainty of moving from chord to chord, I love the pure mathematics of music, and I love the constancy of finding the notes exactly where they should be when my fingers reach for them. The fault, when there is one, is always mine.