It's easy to play any musical instrument: all you have to do is

Hear the voice of Johann Sebastian Bach, master of harmony and servant of the eternal Muse: “It’s easy to play any musical instrument: all you have to do is touch the right key at the right time and the instrument will play itself.” These words, spoken with gentle irony, conceal a deep well of wisdom. For what seems simple in description is in truth the highest of disciplines. To find the right key and strike it at the right time is no trick of chance, but the fruit of long toil, of patience, of devotion to craft. Bach’s words are not to belittle the art, but to unveil its secret: simplicity lies on the far side of mastery.

The ancients knew this same truth in many forms. Did not the warrior say, “Victory is simple—strike your enemy before he strikes you”? And yet, how many lifetimes of training are required to make such a strike swift, precise, and sure? So it is with music, so it is with art, so it is with life itself. The path of greatness is not hidden behind a thousand mysteries; it is made of simple truths, learned and embodied through endless repetition. To play with ease is to have paid the price of countless unseen hours.

Consider the tale of the child prodigy Mozart, who astonished Europe with his music before he was grown. Many called it a miracle, a gift of luck, as though genius simply poured from his hands. But behind the miracle lay years of study, guided by his father, days filled with practice, nights filled with work. The keys seemed to obey him as though by magic, yet the magic was the fruit of discipline. Like Bach’s jest, it was “easy”—but only because the labor had already been given.

Bach himself lived this discipline. He composed not in bursts of whimsy, but daily, with tireless dedication, offering each note as service to God and mankind. His works endure because he understood that mastery is not found in grandeur alone, but in precision—one key, one time, again and again until the music became eternal. He laughed at the simplicity of it, for what others thought impossibly difficult, he knew was simply a matter of order and devotion.

The lesson is clear: in every field, there is a “right key” and a “right time.” To strike them requires not brilliance alone, but faithfulness. The painter must put brush to canvas again and again. The scholar must read and think daily, though no audience applauds. The athlete must practice movements until the body itself remembers. To outsiders, their success appears effortless; to those who labor, it is the natural harvest of years of sowing.

Practical wisdom lies before you: do not be deceived into thinking that greatness is hidden in secret formulas. Instead, seek the simplicity of doing the right thing, in the right way, at the right time—and do it often. Break down what seems impossible into small, clear acts, repeated until they become second nature. What now seems difficult will one day appear “easy,” not because it is so, but because you have become equal to it.

Therefore, let Bach’s words be a lamp to your path: “All you have to do is touch the right key at the right time.” Strive for mastery in your own life—whether in craft, in virtue, in love, or in work. Make each note of your days deliberate, precise, and worthy. In time, your life itself will become a symphony, and others will marvel at how “easy” it seems, never knowing the long labor that shaped it.