One of the "six senses" of the Conceptual Age that Daniel Pink describes in his book A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future is Symphony -- the convergence of a variety of skills, ideas, talents, etc. that aren't logically related but which exceed the value of the sum of their parts when combined. The author can't help but elude to the relationships and dynamics within a symphony orchestra (he even refers to the bassoon player), and I felt a pang of nostalgia today as his extended metaphor flooded me with memories of music-induced transcendence. I went back to stages and spotlights, fanfares and flourishes, arias and audiences. The indescribable connection with the conductor at the emotional climax of a performance; the deafening silence in the stillness following musical catharsis; the magic of participating in the creation of an experience only God could have designed. That was my life. I felt the supernatural every day. And it was beautiful.
But it wasn't enough. I don't regret my decision to focus on art, because I know that I could never immerse myself with music as much as I would want to after dipping my toes back in. But I do miss it. I miss the camaraderie, the discipline, the expectation of excellence, the magic. But I was made for something bigger.
I don't really know yet what I was made for. I know I was made to glorify God, but I don't quite know the shape of the fingerprint I'm leaving on the world. I don't know what my Symphony is going to be like. And I can't imagine how or why a perfect God would use me to accomplish as much as He has promised to.
There's an old metaphor about life being a performance where each face in the audience is someone cheering you on, encouraging you, loving you. It's easy for me to picture this -- I like to remember the view from the stage in Carnegie Hall or Hill Auditorium -- and certain faces stick out in my audience. Faces that have said, "No matter what, I will be right here, all the time, cheering you on. Because I love you. And I believe that God is doing great things through you." Faces that knew me before I could grip a crayon, right next to faces that haven't known me for more than a year. If you aren't a musician, it's difficult to put into words just how important the audience is to the performer. When the dust settles, the audience is kind of everything. But this is why I need to make a change: I just want to see God in the audience. I know He's always been there, but I've always overlooked him for everyone else. I've tried so hard to make my audience proud that I've forgotten who my true audience is. I want to look up past the blinding spotlight to the rows of crimson velvet seats and see my Savior watching me, always listening, always loving, right here, all the time, cheering me on because He loves me and He is doing great things through me.
And I thought I missed having an audience.
But it wasn't enough. I don't regret my decision to focus on art, because I know that I could never immerse myself with music as much as I would want to after dipping my toes back in. But I do miss it. I miss the camaraderie, the discipline, the expectation of excellence, the magic. But I was made for something bigger.
I don't really know yet what I was made for. I know I was made to glorify God, but I don't quite know the shape of the fingerprint I'm leaving on the world. I don't know what my Symphony is going to be like. And I can't imagine how or why a perfect God would use me to accomplish as much as He has promised to.
There's an old metaphor about life being a performance where each face in the audience is someone cheering you on, encouraging you, loving you. It's easy for me to picture this -- I like to remember the view from the stage in Carnegie Hall or Hill Auditorium -- and certain faces stick out in my audience. Faces that have said, "No matter what, I will be right here, all the time, cheering you on. Because I love you. And I believe that God is doing great things through you." Faces that knew me before I could grip a crayon, right next to faces that haven't known me for more than a year. If you aren't a musician, it's difficult to put into words just how important the audience is to the performer. When the dust settles, the audience is kind of everything. But this is why I need to make a change: I just want to see God in the audience. I know He's always been there, but I've always overlooked him for everyone else. I've tried so hard to make my audience proud that I've forgotten who my true audience is. I want to look up past the blinding spotlight to the rows of crimson velvet seats and see my Savior watching me, always listening, always loving, right here, all the time, cheering me on because He loves me and He is doing great things through me.
And I thought I missed having an audience.
bravo! great thoughts, Emily
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