One reason I keep journal entries--sometimes it takes a lifetime of learning the same lesson over and over and freaking over again for anything to sink in. Amid a mini-panic attack today while practicing, when I started messing up a lot for no reason and was on the verge of bursting into tears like a baby, a memory came drifting into my head, like a dandelion petal floating lazily just out of fingertip's reach. I jumped to my computer, opened it up to a few years ago, and found this entry, scribbled (well, typed, but in a "scribbling" manner) in a state of post-concert euphoria:
Everything about him glows...he can find joy and wonder in every little phrase, and he can communicate it through his playing like no one else I've seen. He commits to everything, and even when he messes up, his rigor and enthusiasm and life to every note NEVER dies. I remember before our concert, he asked me if I was nervous and I said no, and he said he was nervous, he always gets really nervous for stuff, but he said it helps him play better--he listens really well and does more creative stuff. Then he said, "It also makes me mess up a lot, and Jennifer I know you are not a fan of messing up, but mistakes are part of life, and in the end, who cares." I actually thought about that throughout the concert, and I think hes the one that really set this attitude, this philosophy of, "mistakes happen, so do everything with all you've got, and as long as you've done that, it doesn't matter if you screw up," that made our group successful. Because it's not like you screw up because you're not paying attention or not committing enough. It's that you've committed so much that when a little mistake slips through, as mistakes always do, it simply is nothing compared to how much enthusiasm and love you've conjured for the music. It seems cliche, but his belief really hit home for me that night.
