Easy to Explain

I finally figured out something that's been confusing me for a while. In high school I never had trouble with it, nor during my first year of college. But since then, long about the time I got back from the Cadets, there's just something about practicing where I don't get as much out of it anymore. For jazz band and state try-outs, I would practice an hour or two every night on top of rehearsals and lessons during school. Going into my audition for Gino, I practiced the same amount at Zoellner and recorded everything I did for almost six months. There was just something about practicing that validated my day and made me feel productive. It would calm me down, focus my thoughts, and reinforce something that had brought me so much joy in my youth.

Nowadays, practicing is a chore. I'm lucky if I get there once or twice a week this summer, let alone the 4-5 days I should optimally be doing to preserve and reconstruct my chops. For a while I thought the problem was lack of new music, lack of improvement, lack of instruction, or simply being tired from doing other things. Fortunately, I think I finally figured it out.

In high school, band and music were my thing. All my best friends were in band, I idolized our directors, and I was completely accepted there. Practicing was something I did to develop myself in that place where I felt so at home. I did it to prove that I belonged there and could play alongside those I cared about. To let them know that I would never fail them when the time came ... that they could count on me to be their harmony. Their background. Or just the middle tenor voice in a sound that was all our own. I wanted to make my teachers proud and play with my very dear friends. I did it for myself too, of course, but looking back now the dependency to my friends is so clear. That group was really the first true group of friends I had that was close-knit, consistent, and trusting ... and music was the key that had unlocked that door and made it possible.

In college music took on a different feel. I met new friends in various organizations, some of whom have become very good friends in the years since then, but for the most part no one really knew me. My practicing during freshman year wasn't about my friends anymore, but two other different and very distinct concepts. The first was identity- music had been such a defining factor in my life that, surrounded by the Lehigh environment and my own insecurity, I clung to it all the more tightly that first year. This is among the reasons why I (and most people, I think) attach themselves all the more tightly to that which they take with them when they move. We'll all do the same thing in a year or two after graduating college, in all likelihood.

The second part of my music dependency freshman year was something along the lines of zealotry. That year was the first, last, and only shot I had at participating in my life's dream ... and God knows I do the most damage when I'm pursuing something with that kind of devotion. I practiced out of hope and fear so that I could stand there and say to the world "I am a Cadet," pure and simple.

But since then, there's been nothing to rehearse for, no instructors to practice for, and no jazz band to rock out festivals every Friday night in the Spring. And as sad as I am to admit it, playing music is a significantly smaller part of my life now. Listening to music and seeing it live will never stop being intrinsic aspects of my existence, but why do I still play it? That's the answer to my original question, and why practicing is so hard now.

I play music now because the most basic parts of performing are still so incredibly beautiful to me. The sound that you make when a chord just perfectly locks in. The balance that you try to achieve. The notion of playing beside a good friend or a bunch of good friends, and knowing that you have that connection because of music. The intensity of a song that's loud and fast, and technically difficult to the point of impossibility. I think the problem with all those is that, unlike before when validation came in the form of individual self-confidence and pride, validation now comes solely from the act of actually playing with people. Playing alone doesn't give me the same satisfaction as it used to ... but playing with an ensemble still does. Music binds and interlinks the people performing it in ways that even they can't understand, but for the most part it's suffice to say that the connection is always there.

I will always love Team JB and the late nights we shared driving around in the Buick, or the endless amount of time spent in Starbucks, or every day when I walked into the band room and knew that my friends were going to be there. I will always cherish the scent of cut grass, the feel of an evening summer breeze, and the sight of the orange sky as the sun sets ... because they take me back to a time that will forever be one of the greatest of my life. But now I'm beginning to realize that the role music has in my life is different- and that's okay.

Here's to growing up ... and maybe not feeling so bad about missing out on practicing for the last two weeks. Whoops.