The Single Adjustment That Made a Difference: How I Conquered After-Work Stress Through an Surprising Discovery in the Loft

I often feel like a coiled spring once the workday ends. My shoulders grow tense, my breath turns fast and shallow. Usually, the sound of my laptop lid slamming shut would be followed by the squeak of a cork pulled from a bottle of red, the wine hastily sploshed into a glass, that initial sip marking the end of the workday.

Later, a few months ago, I discovered an old school recorder belonging to my grown son up in the loft. I idly blew into it, instantly reminded of the time when it drove me crazy – his daily practice a violent assault on my eardrums, the piercing shriek still reverberating through my head hours after he had gone to bed.

Instead of throwing it away, I brought it downstairs, together with a beginner’s songbook. As a child, I had no musical talent whatsoever. I took recorder classes in primary school, but never had the opportunity to learn other instruments.

Searching online for recorder tutorials, I viewed many kid-friendly YouTube clips, and printed out a fingering chart. I searched “easiest recorder tunes”, and was thrilled when I managed to knock out a passable Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Yes, a typical young child could learn it quickly, but as a tone deaf, impatient and stressed 51-year-old, it felt like a huge achievement.

My son questioned my actions (and begged me to quit), but I kept going – I enjoyed the sensation the recorder gave me. My inability to remember anything forced me to focus on the music sheet, and painstakingly copy the finger positions. My breathing slowed down, my attention sharpened, and once I’d mastered that first faltering tune, I was overjoyed. I had managed to play music.

Now, after some months, I can “play” other nursery rhymes and a passable Ode to Joy. Sure, my timing is rubbish, and I must jot down note names, but for me, it’s not about being skilled or a “musician” – it is simply about the pleasure it brings and the fact I can’t think of anything else when I am playing.

I read that only one in six children learn to play the recorder now, which was no doubt music to parents’ ears, yet it made me wistful for my school years, and my son’s childhood.

I try to pick up my recorder every evening after work before I do anything else, and in those 20 or so minutes, I escape into my own realm. And afterwards, I feel refreshed and happy.

My friends think it’s hilarious, but one very wise therapist friend told me that I was reducing stress, and boosting mental skills, such as memory and auditory processing, which is precious at my age. For daily wellness, it’s truly an ode to joy.