passion awakens

an essay I've been trying to write for two years. It's finished now, finally, and I'm happy with it. Enjoy.

Passion Awakens

It is Monday night, and I am, as usual, at orchestra rehearsal. We are practicing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, and it is finally coming together. Entrances happen, difficult bars are played impeccably, and the melody holds its own as the harmonies and sub-melodies dance around it. Our parts are becoming a whole, and a recognizable version of the 1812 resounds through the building.

This is my tenth semester to play flute in the Longview Area Youth Symphony Orchestra. Each concert season, one piece captivates me. It transcends my mind and moves my heart, and as the melody is woven, it swirls right through me and comes out again, leaving me wide-eyed, amazed. This season, that piece is the 1812 Overture. Every time we play it, I marvel at its complex unity. It takes my breath away. Tonight, as we near the climax, I breathe warmth into my flute as my fingers dance perfectly over the keys, and music lives. My melody soars, and as I come back down from the realm of angels and rejoin the symphony, warm tears unexpectedly slip from my eyes, blur my vision, and delicately splash on my lap; and I remember...

As a nervously hopeful sixth-grader, I had never played in a musical ensemble; thus, my LAYSO audition was a step into uncharted territory. The orchestra director sat behind her desk, an emphatic woman whose short, dark hair contrasted sharply with her skin. I stood before her shaking and attempted to play my piece, but I fumbled through the beginning, and she stopped me. I was sure that I had blown my chance. But then she asked me to sightread, and I mustered up my courage and played as best I could. Mrs. Makowski leaned forward and spoke words I will never forget: “You are the woman!” And she wanted me to play in her orchestra. I rode home in a euphoria of delight. And so I came to rehearsals, received the hardest music I had ever seen, and flew by sheer adrenaline and the seat of my pants for the first two semesters.

“Miz Mak” has an intense personality, and that intensity was reflected in her conducting. She didn't conduct by merely flicking the baton—she threw her body and soul into it. Miz Mak chose professional-level pieces, light-years beyond anything we'd ever play in band, far more arduous that anything we'd ever laid eyes on. And she fully expected us to be capable of playing those pieces with excellence.

Over the years, I struggled through various musical phases—I'd go from being invigorated and excited about the music to avoiding it, and back again, and eventually I came to the point of wondering whether or not music was worth the time investment. Miz Mak was the one who got me through that. Whether I was currently motivated, frustrated, or apathetic, she loved me, evidenced not only by her huge, tight hugs, but also in the way she spoke and acted. Her great love made me more receptive to her great and positive influence.

Her passion for music and for teaching it helped me understand music more fully, that it lives and breathes, vivid with meaning. Her high expectations and firm confidence in our abilities were catalysts for my growth in skill. It is she who has fostered my heart connection to music. It is she who has imparted to me the truth of Phil Smith's quote: “Music is not just the black dots on the white paper—it's what happens when those black dots on the white paper go into your heart, and come out again.”

It took me years to know the truth in these words, and I still don't understand why some pieces move me deeply, resonate in my heart and become a part of me. Yet through my time in LAYSO, I've been awakened, to music's beauty and depth and value. I've learned that it is far deeper than an arrangement of marks on a page and their corresponding pitches. Music is one of God's most exquisite creations, a language that speaks to hearts, regardless of differences in culture, race, and circumstances, and Miz Mak opened my eyes to this truth.

Miz Mak pushed us harder than many of us had ever been pushed before and loved us from the bottom of her heart. When we doubted our abilities, she believed in us and helped us to eclipse our perceived limitations. And so, we did. We played pieces we'd never dreamed of touching; we achieved far beyond anything we thought possible. Miz Mak, a gift from God to all of us, no longer lives in the area; yet her legacy is indelibly imprinted upon the hearts of her LAYSO students and expressed in the music we now create. Music is irrevocably entwined in our lives, enriching us, inspiring us, allowing us to transcend ourselves and the mundane dailyness of life. That is what I realize, this night.

And as we play the 1812, my eyes overflow with liquid joy, for the majesty is too large to hold within me. Although my vision blurs, I keep playing, for the music is not so much on the page as it is, alive, in my heart—and the glory of the 1812 rolls on through the night.