Bioptimizers Representative (4:37)

Make you who you are.

Symbiotica Representative (4:40)

Even before Symbiotica became a sponsor on our show, it was already in our cupboard. My wife, the wiser of the two of us, had it stocked up and an easy reach for me. Symbiotica makes choosing healthy habits easy, enjoyable and something that I look forward to. Plus, spring is here and we've got an amazing discount from my friends at Symbiotica. There's no better time to hit refresh on your routines than spring. I've really been loving Symbiotica's magnesium L Threonate. I take it with my mid morning cup of tea for a boost in my mood and my focus as I settle in to write. Did you know that over 65% of adults in the US are magnesium deficient? This can cause muscle cramps, brain fog, headaches and insomnia. Symbiotica's magnesium L Threonate is the only form of magnesium that crosses the blood brain barrier, delivering nutrients straight to your brain. Unlike other forms, it skips digestion and works directly to improve memory, focus and mood. You will feel the difference in your body when taking this consistently. None of their supplements ever contain seed oils, preservatives, toxins, artificial additives or quote unquote natural flavors. There are no unclear ingredients or misleading labels. These are the cleanest, most effective products out there. Feel your absolute best going into spring with Symbiotica Wellness Made simple. Go to symbiotica.com nothingmuch for 20% off your order and free shipping. That's C-Y M B I O T I K A.com nothingmuch to get 20% off your order and free shipping.

Kathryn Nicolai (6:34)

Okay, snuggle down. Get into the most comfortable position you can and let your whole body relax. Whatever happened today, it's what happened today and now you are here. Soften your jaw, your shoulders. Feel everything releasing. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice.

Symbiotica Representative (7:24)

One more fill up.

Kathryn Nicolai (7:28)

And let it go. Good. Spring Recital he was ready. He'd been practicing for weeks and already played every day but these pieces were special, and the recital meant a lot to him. He'd started playing a few years ago when we came across a used piano at our neighborhood yard sale. It was a beautiful upright that had been played lovingly by its previous owner for many decades. When she passed away, her husband felt it needed a new owner to keep it in tune and feel the kind touch of a player's fingers. When he saw how my little boy looked at the piano, how he quietly stood beside it and raised the fall board and rested his thumb on middle.

Symbiotica Representative (8:49)

C.

Kathryn Nicolai (8:52)

The gentleman leaned over and told me that it was ours, no payment needed. That man had been at each of my son's recitals ever since we'd adopted each other as extended family members, and he'd even become a regular at our Thanksgiving dinners. He'd been checking in with us this week, knowing the recital was today, to see how the practicing was coming, if nerves were rattled or cal. I think there are always a few butterflies in his stomach when he performs, but playing had made him feel confident in general. Part of growing up is finding out what you love and excel at. What slots your brain and heart fit into, and music in general and piano specifically, had been a big piece of his puzzle. He was a quiet kid. Noisy. Busy places could overwhelm him. It was the same with me, so I understood how good it could feel to find something that was quiet unless you asked it to make noise, something you could take at your own pace and step away from when you needed a break. His brain was good at understanding patterns, and when he loved something, he loved it completely. So it was no surprise that he'd become an astute and creative musician. He astounded me with his understanding of melody and key changes. His ear could find things that mine never could, and he picked up new pieces at an astonishing rate. This year he had more than his own selections to practice. This year he'd be accompanying several other students, helping them shine as they played their cellos and clarinets. I know he took pride in this extra bit of responsibility, and if he were nervous about anything, it was for their songs, not his own solo. I was thinking of all of this as I pulled up to the back door of the community center. He had his lesson books and scores and a bag at his feet.

Narrator (12:15)

And.

Kathryn Nicolai (12:16)

As he sat in the passenger seat beside me, he played an imaginary keyboard on his knees. His eyes were open but unfocused, and I knew he was sitting in the performance hall in his mind. After a moment, he lifted his hands off the invisible keys and turned his face to me. He looked excited, confident, and it was such a joy to see those twin sparks in his eyes. He gathered up his books, took a big breath, and opened the car door. I waited till he made it inside the building, went to find a parking spot. When a little later I made my way through the front doors of the center and into the auditorium, I saw a small contingent of family and friends already taking up a row of seats and joined them. A friend who had given us our piano was sitting beside my own father. The two of them had become good friends over the years and were chatting away as they read through the recital program. I waved at a few neighbors and parents of other students that I knew. The room was perfect for music and theater, with high ceilings and a dais of glossy hardwood. The seats had come out of the old movie theater but were reupholstered and comfortable, the kind that flipped up when you stood, with generous armrests and number tags on the edge of the seat. As I settled in and picked up a program, I remembered the recitals I'd been part of in my own childhood. Chilly gymnasiums or stuffy cafeterias with the tables pushed back against the walls, folding chairs, and too much overhead lighting, standing on a riser with the other altos and looking at the lines of the basketball court painted on the floor. Still, they had been thrilling moments for my young heart when I was thrilled. Now the auditorium filled up and the lights dimmed, voices hushed, and the shine on the lid of the grand piano that stood center stage seemed to glow brighter. The first few performances were from this season's first year students. I couldn't believe how small they were, their feet swinging from the piano bench as they played their simple but sweet song. Had my own son been that small just a few years ago? The crowd applauded with affection and indulgence for each piece. Then came students with slightly more complicated pieces, and even when there were a few wrong notes, we all smiled out at them, proud, even when they weren't her own children, because really, they all were. A small group of string players stepped onto the stage, and my sweet son took his place at the piano behind them. He'd explained to me that when he accompanied others, he was there to fill out the sound, not to shine. He kept the rhythm. He grounded the sounds. I loved that he understood the value in playing that role. I don't know that I would have had the maturity for that when I was his age. I watched an oboist look to him to begin her piece how he lifted his shoulders to show that he was about to play the first chord. Finally, the last group of students began to play. These arrangements were more complicated, and I found myself closing my eyes, following the notes as they rose and fell in my ears. He wasn't the last to play. There were still more studied performers who would go after him. But when he sat down for his solo, it certainly felt like the peak moment of the evening to me. I'd heard this piece played from every room in my house, when I'd been making dinner or folding laundry, when I'd been in the backyard filling the bird feeders, and several times when I'd been awoken by it on a Saturday morning. But it sounded especially wonderful tonight. I didn't worry that he might lose his place. So what if he did? I just enjoyed the notes and melodies. When the final chord sounded, there was a beat of silence in the large room, and I looked down the line of our friends and family to see a dozen faces beaming back at me. We began to clap. Spring Recital he was ready. He'd been practicing for weeks and already played every day. But these pieces were special. The recital meant a lot to him. He'd started playing a few years ago when we came across a used piano at our neighborhood yard sale. It was a beautiful upright that had been played lovingly by its previous owner for many decades. When she passed away, her husband felt it needed a new owner to keep it in tune and feel the kind touch of a player's fingers. When he saw how my little boy looked at the piano, how he quietly stood beside it and raised the fall board and rested his thumb on middle C. The gentleman leaned over and told me that it was ours, no payment needed. That man had been at each of my son's recitals ever since we'd adopted each other as extended family members. He'd even become a regular at our Thanksgiving dinners, and he'd been checking in with us this week, knowing the recital was today, to see how the practicing was going, if nerves were rattled or calm. I think there are always a few butterflies in his stomach when he performs. But playing had made him more confident in general. Part of growing up is finding out what you love and excel at.

Narrator (22:30)

And.

Kathryn Nicolai (22:30)

Which slots your brain and heart fit into. And music in general and piano specifically had been a big piece of his puzzle. He was a quiet kid. Noisy, busy places could overwhelm him. It was the same with me, so I understood how good it could feel to find something that was quiet unless you asked it to make noise, something you could take at your own pace and step away from when you needed a break. His brain was good at understanding patterns, and when he loved something, he loved it completely. So it was no surprise that he'd become an astute, creative musician. He astounded me with his understanding of melody and key changes. His ear could find things that mine never could. He picked up new pieces at an astonishing rate. This year he had more than his own selections to practice. This year he'd be accompanying several other students, helping them shine as they played their cellos and clarinets. I know he took pride in this extra bit of responsibility, and if he was nervous about anything, it was for their songs, not his own solo. I was thinking of all of this as I pulled up to the back door of the community center. He had his lesson books and scores in a bag at his feet.

Narrator (25:31)

And.

Kathryn Nicolai (25:32)

As he sat in the passenger seat beside me, he played an imaginary keyboard on his knees. His eyes were open but unfocused.

Narrator (25:49)

And.

Kathryn Nicolai (25:50)

I knew he was sitting in the performance hall in his mind. After a moment, he lifted his hands off of the invisible keys and turned his face to me. He looked excited but confident, and it was such a joy to see those twin sparks in his eyes. He gathered up his books, took a big breath, and opened the car door. I waited till he made it inside the building and went to find a parking spot. When a little later I made my way through the front doors of the center and into the auditorium, I saw a small contingent of family and friends already taking up a row of seats and joined them. Our friend who had given us our piano was sitting beside my own father. The two of them had become good friends over the years and were chatting away as they read through the recital program. I waved at a few neighbors and parents of other students that I knew. The room was perfect for music and theater, with high ceilings and a dais of glossy hardwood. The seats had come out of an old movie theater but were reupholstered and comfortable, the kind that flipped up when you stood, with generous arm rests and number tags on the edge of the seat. As I settled in and picked up a program, I remembered the recitals I'd been part of in my own childhood chilly gymnasiums or stuffy cafeterias with the tables pushed back against the walls, folding chairs, and too much overhead lighting, standing on a riser with the other altos looking at the lines of the basketball court painted on the floor. Still, they had been thrilling moments for my young heart, and I was thrilled now for those who would perform for us tonight? The auditorium filled up and the lights dimmed. Voices hushed, and the shine on the lid of the grand piano that stood center stage seemed to glow brighter. The first few performances were from this season's first year students, and I couldn't believe how small they seemed, their feet swinging from the piano bench as they played their simple but sweet songs. Had my own son been that small just a few years ago? The crowd applauded with affection and indulgence for each piece. Then came students with slightly more complicated pieces, and even when there were a few wrong notes, we all smiled out at them, proud, even when they weren't our own children, because really, they all were. A small group of string players stepped onto the stage, and my son took his place at the piano behind them. He'd explained to me that when he accompanied others, he was there to fill out the sound, not to shine. He kept the rhythm. He grounded the sounds. I loved that he understood the value in playing that role. I don't know that I would have had the maturity for that when I was his age. I watched an oboist look to him to begin her peace, how he lifted his shoulders to show that he was about to play the first chord. Finally, the last group of students began to play. Their arrangements were more complex, and I found myself closing my eyes, following the notes as they rose and fell in my ears. He wasn't the last to play. There were still more studied performers who would go after him. But when he sat down for his solo, it certainly felt like the peak moment of the evening to me. I'd heard this piece played from every room in the house when I'd been making dinner or folding laundry, when I'd been in the backyard filling the bird feeders, and several times when I'd been awoken by it on a Saturday morning. But it sounded especially wonderful tonight. I didn't worry that he might lose his place. So what if he did? I just enjoyed the notes and melodies. When the final chord sounded, there was a beat of silence in the large room, and I looked down the line of our friends and family to see a dozen faces beaming back at me. We began to clap. Sweet dreams.