When in Rome

Well today I finally recorded my audition CD for the Rome Festival this summer. If all goes well they will give me money and I will fly to Italy this summer. While there I would perform in multiple symphony concerts, be a part of a fully staged opera and ballet, and I would have the chance to perform in master-classes and in chamber ensembles with other members of the festival. Ages vary from pre-pubescent to octogenarians and members come from all over the globe.

Did I mention it’s in Italy? Yeah. So I’m definitely crossing my fingers on that one.

Which brings me to a thought: is it a good thing to keep ones expectations low, in order to not be let down? As I’m preparing my audition CD and thinking about the festival I can’t help but get excited (I mean, I’ve been wanting to travel abroad for years now, and this is finally the time and place for it). But then I also think that maybe I should keep this application to myself, not talk about the possibility of being accepted, and just in general pretend that nothing exciting is happening. If I do that and don’t get accepted then it won’t be as big of a deal…right?

Well, no. I don’t think that’s the case. I definitely used to—I remember applying for graduate schools, auditioning for competitions, and just in general doing exciting and new things, and downplaying them so severely in my mind that (I was convinced) I wouldn’t be bothered if things didn’t turn out well for me. But really… who was I kidding? Besides myself obviously. I applied for graduate schools and would tell anyone that it wasn’t a big deal, that I’m just applying for these schools and that it really doesn’t matter to me. It’s as if the very thought that that other person would know that I was invested, excited, and terrified by something, well, terrified me. Why did we feel the need to cheapen our goals and ourselves by pretending they don’t matter? I know, I know, there are plenty of people out there that are arrogant, egotistical, self-serving, and attention whores, but that doesn’t mean that others have to be quiet, self-effacing, and overly modest about what’s going on in our own lives.

It’s an attempt to not be hurt by bad news, rejection, failure…we pretend it doesn’t matter because it matters so much that not succeeding will cause pain. Humanity doesn’t do well with pain (unless you’re a masochist I suppose). I remember when I did not get accepted to my top choice music school last year. I got the letter, kept a stiff upper lip for about an hour or so and then broke down sobbing hysterically. I felt like I had failed life, not just been not accepted to a school. Pretending that it didn’t matter or wasn’t important beforehand had not prepared me for that blow. In fact it made me even less capable of handling it because everyone around me was confused—when you tell your friends and family that something doesn’t matter to you and subsequently freak out and have an emotional breakdown when that thing doesn’t go the way you had planned, they don’t quite understand how to respond.

I’m not saying that everyone should run around wearing their emotions on their sleeves, incessantly blabbing about what they have going on in their lives to the point of exhausting and boring their friends and family to tears. What I am saying is that if something is exciting and important and meaningful to you… let someone know. If something is important to you it should be important to your friends and family. If it’s not, then something is wrong and you have other (more important) things to be worrying about.

I’m excited for my opportunity to spend the summer in Rome. I hope that once I get there I will have time on weekends to travel to all sorts of different countries. I plan to make the most of the experience, meet new people, make new friends, and maybe even find or make a job for myself as a musician abroad. I will never get these opportunities if I don’t try, and I will never get the support of my friends and family if I constantly downplay these opportunities and pretend they don’t matter. 

The Window Seat

As I was taking off from the Denver International Airport the other day I was glued to the window-watching planes taking off, landing, taxiing around the runway and unloading. I was thinking about the stories of all of the people on board those planes- where are they going? who are they with? what do they do? Each plane, each tiny house that gets smaller as the plane ascends into the heavens, all of the cars filled with people—they all have a story.

Gazing out the window I was thinking about my interaction with another passenger at the airport. A Latino woman, clearly frazzled and exhausted, had collapsed into the seat next to me at the gate. She was fidgety and nervous and yet so exhausted that her movements were fairly lethargic. This contradictory mental/emotional state is one that made complete sense to me, as I too have been both so exhausted that I don’t want to move and yet so excited/nervous about something that my body can’t help but to twitch and spasm.

Soon after she sat down the bench seat I was on started bouncing. I was rocked out of my quasi-slumber and, looking down, I saw that the lady next to me was vigorously shaking her legs and feet. This unconscious movement of hers was so severe that my seat was visibly rocking back and forth. It was at this point that I noticed that we had the same pair of Pumas on. So, being the sophisticated and well-spoken member of society that I am, I blurted out “Hey! We have the same shoes! Cool!...” and immediately felt like a complete fool. One does not simply blurt out ones every thought, and yet I seem to do this on a regular basis.  Luckily for my ego, the woman cheerfully laughed and we were able to strike up a comfortable conversation.

A spanish teacher at the school I am attending, this woman loved to travel, had children and a husband who was passionate about music, had much to say, and many things in common with me. I learned that traveling to Europe was remarkable, easy, cheaper than expected, and would change my life. I learned that I need to see the French film Amelie, and that I should embrace the freedom that I have at this time. We chatted easily for the remaining forty-five minutes before our plane arrived.

In this time I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if only we could focus on the similarities between ourselves and others—if looking into different cultures didn’t bring out the strange music and customs, but rather the similarities in spirit, goals and dreams. If only looking into something quite different didn't only show the obvious differences but also the hidden similarities: sometimes as mundane as the same shoes.

After getting onto the plane and into my seat, my eyes settled on the view from the window. I saw workers, pilots, flight attendants, and the occasional glimpse of passengers hopping on planes. Something drew my attention back to the inside of the plane and I looked up just as the woman I had so easily befriended walked by. “Have a good flight” seemed somehow too cheesy, “thank you for our conversation” seemed too awkward, so instead I simply smiled and nodded at her as she walked by. As she returned the smile and hastened to her own seat I was reminded of the ultimate goal of most people: the desire to return home and the often overwhelming need to feel the security and acceptance of family and friends. A security that one can find only in a place called home.