She was astonished to hear such music, and in hearing it realizied how she would never be able to play in the same way. She put away her fiddle and went into the dark work. She worked, she saved, she tried to be happy, and in time retired.

Going through stuff in her recently deceaced mother’s house she found the violin she once played. It brought back such happy memories of times she had had, playing music with her friends in school, of being a part of an enselmble. She wanted that feeling again and so took the instrument into a shop, had it reverbished, and asked for a reference for a teacher. The shop sent her to a teacher who did well with older (retired) people.

At her first lesson the teacher asked her what she wanted from the lessons. She told the teacher of playing with people when she had been young, and how she wanted to do that again. They started with a scale, then a tune the woman kinda know, a hymn from childhood, and then one of the Bach Brandenburg pieces. The teacher played with her, magic started.

After about a year of lessons the student went to a week long summer camp for people who wanted to play chamber music. It had been suggested by the teacher, and the student had a great time. All she had wanted had always been there, had she not been shyed away by not believing in herself. Soon she began to understand that while it was true she would never play the way the violinist had played so long ago, that her own voice in the music was equally valid, and just as beautiful.

As she played Mozart with others like her at that camp she was astonished to understand how much she had given up in letting her own voice be silenced by a misconception she had had, about the need to have the other players voice.


Moira Levant © April 30 2018


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