In 1980, with money from the movie sale of my first published novel, I bought a new Yamaha U-7, a teak upright piano, and I still have the exquisite instrument—a forty-year relationship going strong. She came with a teak piano bench that was too low and required the addition of a cushion or folded blanket to be a comfortable seat.
Six years ago, I splurged on a cushioned, height-adjustable super duper big-enough-for-two-people piano bench. This bench is so groovy, our local symphony orchestra borrows the bench for concerts featuring superb pianists.
Two years ago, we bought a second piano, a fifty-year-old six-foot Yamaha grand.
We paired the big cushioned piano bench with the grand, got the old teak bench out of the garage, and reunited teak bench with teak upright. Shortly thereafter, I stopped playing the upright, not because I preferred the grand, but because I preferred sitting on the big comfy piano bench.
The big comfy bench is very heavy, does not have wheels, and takes two people to move it. Thus carrying the big bench back and forth from one piano to the other was not a viable option.
Not wanting to spend several hundred dollars on a second big comfy bench, I bought a not-too-expensive and much smaller but still comfy height-adjustable bench, and now all is well.
Moral: What you’re sitting on might be just as important as what you’re trying to do while you’re sitting on whatever you’re sitting on.