What the Tuner Hears
A film about a piano tuner, a long stretch of work, and a boy at home. On listening, and on being in tune.
Yesterday I watched Tuner, a film about a piano tuner.
His gift is listening. He hears what most people miss: the small drift of a string, the note that is almost right but not quite. In the film, that gift pulls him into a world of people trying to break locks. The same ear that makes him special is the one others want to use.
It stayed with me because listening feels rare right now.
I’ve been working a lot lately. Work asks you to listen too, but to a different kind of sound: requests, problems, the next thing that needs fixing. By the end of the day, there isn’t much attention left.
And then there’s my boy.
He doesn’t need me to fix anything. He needs me to hear him. Not the half version of me that’s still thinking about work, but the one that’s actually in the room. Finding balance between those two isn’t easy. I keep adjusting, like a string that slips out of tune and needs to be brought back.
Maybe that’s the thread between all of it.
A tuner doesn’t work by being louder than the piano. He gets close, stays quiet, and waits until he can hear what’s actually there. Only then does he make a small adjustment.
That’s what I’d like to get better at. With work. With family. With my boy.
Not louder. Closer.
Not more effort. More attention.
Maybe that’s where being in tune begins.