I want to say thank you.
Many who read this blog would be dumbfounded that I would spend more than a sentence or two thanking those of you who over the last week, month and many years have heard thunderous applause, seen endless standing ovations, and endure people taking endless pictures of you. I also want those of you who are still waiting in the wings, those of you that stayed up all night last night rearranging a piece for the 10,000th time because one person couldn't hang on, the person who is back stage frantically changing a broken string with hands shaking, I want you to know how grateful I am for your sacrifice.
I've even watched some of you grow since junior high contests, I've seen the exhilaration of a perfect senior recital. I've watched you crumble with letters of rejection. I've heard the criticism directed at you from your colleagues, your teachers, your parents, your spouse and especially - you. I've seen you running into the corner drug store in a long tail tuxedo. I've shopped with you as you're trying on another black blouse.
I understand what it takes to do what you love, and when what you love to do takes all you have. I've seen you miss an entire month of your life preparing, practicing and performing, running frantically from one gig to another. I know you forgot to eat breakfast, snagged a lukewarm plate from the wedding you just finished and are trying to remember if you even brought the music for your next gig. I know you are going to fall into bed at 1 or 2 am exhausted and have to be at a church at 9am to do it again.
I know that everyone expects to see you fresh-faced, smiling and excited to play or sing. I love how you can inject new life into a work created centuries ago. I love that you love what you do, it makes us love you more. I know how you dread a mistake and I marvel at your recovery.
I am a physician. I started down the road you travel every day. What I discovered on a dismal rainy day while soaked, and walking back to my dorm after my 5th hour that week, alone, in a grey practice room was that your road was too hard for me. Breaking up with my dream was one of the most gut wrenching decisions I ever made. I called a college back in Ohio, declined a scholarship and chose a path that would lead to healing bodies, instead of souls.
I too, work long hours and have to put on a smile every day, in every room. I spend some weekends and evenings away from my family as well, I've spent endless hours practicing my skills. I don a white coat, instead of performance black. I have moments of exhilaration, moments of disgust, panic, and devastation.
Only recently have I dipped my toe in the great ocean in which you all get to swim daily. And, oddly, not even with the instrument that I had trained in, but the one I dreamt of. I have had to, as an adult, face some of the obstacles that made me quit music the first time and do this with a new instrument. Interestingly enough, it's made me want to sing again, and I've recently jumped both feet into a venue that I would have never dreamt I would do.
This morning, for the first time in more than 15 years, the black pants came back, and I found myself sight singing, acappella. I was leaning on instruction from vocal teachers from 30 years ago, the names my director wouldn't know. The foundation solid as a rock. On a part of me that I've abandoned for nearly 20 years, that I'm finishing, finally.
To all of you who feed our souls with the beauty of music, applause just isn't enough. The world can be a very dark place. This road that you have chosen can be exhausting, yet exhilarating. I see both anxiety and confidence in your eyes. I can feel anguish, and then peaceful resolution within minutes while you play. The color of our lives is given to us by music. I stand in awe of you. You teaching our children ensures that the language of our soul will never be lost.
I took the kids and their friends to a Oklahoma City Philharmonic "Discovery" concert this afternoon. Those musicians were there Friday afternoon, played Friday night, most of them taught lessons all day Saturday and gave another fantastic performance Saturday night, then turned around to play their hearts out today to a bunch of little kids. Many of them probably came from playing at Church straight to today's venue.
After the show, while talking to my friend, the kids were invited on stage. She led me to the back and eventually on stage to go collect my crew. She started talking to me about the Civic Hall, I think. I was trying to act as though I was present, but I was long gone. I was at Packard Music Hall, my heart was pounding...
...and I was still in my performance black. In fact, I just took it off a few minutes ago.
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