Cutting the strings
Today was lovely and I'm so boring it hurts. I was so excited to sing my Russian song today, it was maddening. And then... right as I'm walking up to the stage for my turn in studio the pianist has to go. "Is Robert leaving?" I asked, a bit distressed. "Yeah, why? Do you have a hard song?" Dale asks. "Um, yeah... it made Jan cry because she couldn't play it at first." "Oh, well, let's see here" He tries to play it and gives up in the eighth measure. "How about we sing something a little more simple, sorry to throw a different song at you." I wanted to cry, once I was let off the stage I did cry. It's just one of the most beautiful songs I've found, and I'll never have an opportunity to sing in front of those people again, that's all. Yes, that's all. It was my last chance to prove to my peers that I was once music major material. To prove that I can make music like they can, that I'm not just a shy, non-major nobody. But what did I prove instead? That the opposite is actually true. The days of singing Telephone Arias and wowing a crowd are over for me, and the sooner I can accept that, the better off I'll be. Jan made a recording of the accompaniment and left it in her mail box, so I picked that up on my way out. I played it out loud as I walked back to the dorm. I got some strange looks, but that's okay. It's a beautiful song. To every thing there is a season. Those three ladies are cutting the apron strings of my childhood, the last hinderence to this new season. And so we march forward, as I melt into the woodworking, accepting my place with the rest of creation. Realizing my new role of silence, but holding out for the brief opportunities to let the child in me sing out and shine through.