My mind flashes to the earlier part of this day, filled with practice and reed-making, in preparation for the moments about to unfold. Doubt, worry, and excitement occupy equal portions of my mind, and the relief of focused thought comes only as the bright stage lights help bring me back to this moment. I soar in oboe performance, my favorite activity.
The daily grind of reed making and the pressures of performance, practice, and lessons sometimes overshadow the beautiful and miraculous thing that I do. I make music. Reed making is the craft that supports my music and practice the stone against which I hone my art.
This calling is my privilege. It is my visceral link to both this moment and to my musical forebears, the great masters of my art, and that first, thoughtful soul who blew through two blades of grass. They are my ancestors and my foundation. When I play my instrument, I strengthen the link that extends back throughout history and provide yet another stepping stone for those to come.
The pleasures of performing come when a music lover smiles, closes his eyes, and nods his head to the beat. If I can make one person happier with my music, I have accomplished something great. And at the end of a performance, if there have been no squeaks, no wrong notes, or no missed cues, I know my talents are improving. Even with a few mistakes, however, I know I did my best at a hard job and I need only to work harder at developing my skills. So as I am still molding my talents, oboe performance has come to be my favorite activity.
I am brought back to reality by the baton waving in front of me, signaling the opening notes of tonight's performance. My thoughts are subdued, and the butterflies in my stomach kick into overdrive. Just like players of the past, thousands of players around the world today and those to come, I set my feet firmly, take a deep breath, and prepare to soar.
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