As a child violinist, the act of approaching the violin, rosining up, and putting it under my chin fills me with dread. Too many forced practice sessions.

My siblings were raised the same way, but somehow my older sibling devised her own passion from it, independent of parental pressure and she played it much longer than I or my younger sibling did.

It's a great skill to have, and sometimes I find myself whistling old orchestra tunes that have no searchable lyrics (bzw. John Playwright's Newcastle lived in my head for 15 years before I found its name via a music contour search).

One day I will pick it up again. Without the fear or the dread, and just play for happiness.