Three minutes had passed…

“Horns up.” The conductor whispered. We raised our instruments to ready position. Chests were pounding up and down, crying for a breath. The first four beats were given and we were off. My fingers danced over the slippery keys of my flute, every breath creating a new sound. Another three minutes passed. Faces were blue and the crowd roared. Never had I heard such a beautiful sound. It was new music to my ears.

Playing in such a magnificent venue opened my eyes to a new world. A world where everything is interpreted differently. I was hearing new sounds and discovering new rhythms that often went unnoticed. My fingers were constantly moving up and down reaching notes I never knew existed. Melodies escape my mind like they were in control of me.

After playing that night at Alice Tully Hall, my flute has never left my hands. I have strived to recreate those beautiful sounds, playing for hours until my hands cramp from trying to recreate new sounds.

Everyday is a journey to the band room, praying that moment can be relived. But it’s not. Nothing is working. My fingers that ran up and down my flute are stuck. They don’t know where to go. Playing my music has never been the same since playing in that venue. Hopefully someday it will be.

Practicing my music makes me frustrated to the point where I want to rip the sheets up. I don’t. Instead, I remember how that frustration got me to be a better musician and how the frustration turned into an annoyance that needed to be driven away. It was the fuel to make my fingers move.

I am determined to beat this frustration and to be a greater musician.

With a little practice and help we can all put our instruments in ready position, take a deep breath and wait for the first four beats.

“Horns up. The conductor breathed heavily.

This was the last song of the night. Sweat was dripping down the sides of everyone’s faces.

“One two three four!” Fingers began dancing and sweet melodies filled the room.

Three minutes passed. The crowed roared.