making sounds

Subway musicians in Paris

I think a lot about what it means to be a musician. For many, being a musician is about serving God. For godless, mortal music slaves like me, meaning and motivation don't always come so easily. Like anything, learning an instrument isn't necessarily a big deal in the beginning. But eventually, the only way to continue is to decide that it's important. It's too difficult to drag yourself into an early morning rehearsal or carry your instrument through the rain (letting your umbrella cover the instrument instead of yourself, of course) without deciding that what you're doing is worthwhile. Every now and then, I step back and ask myself why this is what I want. Am I just afraid of quitting? Do I like the occasional ego boost? Am I afraid that I'm not capable of doing anything else successfully? To some extent, I could answer yes to all of these questions. But my biggest reason for continuing to play cello is that I believe with my whole heart that it's the most beautiful sounding thing in the world. I believe that people want to hear it and that they should get a chance to. And I believe that both the process and end result of trying to create something beautiful is one of the most important things that a human can experience and share with others.
    All week now, I've been around middle school and high school kids who are exceptionally motivated to play music. Most of them haven't yet decided yet that they will dedicate their lives and careers to music, but for whatever reason, they show up and play cello all day and practice and pay attention to the classes. And it's OK that they haven't figured it all out yet: sometimes you have to go through the motions and and do some real work before you can find meaning in what you're doing. I impulsively joined the cross country team in High School with the intention of getting skinny and looking good. It wasn't till after the season that I really appreciated the actual experience. The same thing happened with cello: through a series of emotional and physical struggles, I eventually figured out that I loved it. And this week, I've loved being around younger kids who are starting to realize that they love it too. I played in a masterclass this afternoon and immediately after thought of about a million things that could have gone better. As I walked off the stage to put my cello away, one of the girls from the camp approached me and said, "That moved me. I started crying it was so beautiful." I almost said something like, "Thanks, but it wasn't that great" but I stopped myself when I realized that she really meant it. How could I even consider dismissing such a heartfelt response to something I worked so hard to create? Making music is about affecting somebody, and even if everybody else in the auditorium though the performance was terrible, knowing that I evoked something that powerful, especially in a young cellist, meant the world to me. I hope that one day when she's older and starts wondering whether it's even worth it, a little wide-eyed girl will help her remember why she's worked so hard for such a long time. And then everything will be ok.