Last summer, right before we moved, I gave my baby grand piano away. Literally gave it away, to Johnny and Anthony, on Facebook Marketplace. I liked that they lived nearby, that we had a mutual friend, that they also loved Tori Amos. I asked that they pay the moving fee but otherwise was happy just to pass it along, at a time when we had many things that no longer fit the shape of our new life.
I’ve been known to make these kinds of extravagant gestures. I’ve given away countless items on the local Generosity Group: a KitchenAid, a pair of speakers, an enormous wrought-iron dresser. I could have sold these items and funded the purchase of something else, but instead I chose a kind of pay-it-forward attitude. Give away your treasures and the universe will shower you with blessings.
Maybe it’s naive. Maybe I’m just lazy and couldn’t get it together to make a listing, to set a price and negotiate and clinch the sale. Or maybe I just couldn’t fathom affixing a price to something that was priceless, so it might as well be free.
Johnny and Anthony told me I could come by and play the piano anytime I like. I think about it every time I pass their immaculate brick farmhouse, the creek flowing in the back. I imagine laying my fingers on those keys again—88 keys that have known my fingers at the ages of 8 and 18 and 28—but I always drive on.
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