Fake it until you shake your fear, then make some music for all to hear

 

On Friday Forest came home from work with a bouquet of flowers. "What is this for?" I asked. "For making it into your orchestra," he replied with a smile.

The day before I had auditioned for a community group called the Loveland Orchestra, and they had let me stay for their rehearsal that evening. It was their first rehearsal in preparation for an all-Mozart concert on the composer's birthday (the way UISO used to do as well). I was sitting in the first stand, filling the seat of a cellist who was out of the country for this concert. A few years ago I would have been terrified to play right under the conductor's nose and next to the section principal--but that night it felt more like a privilege and a thrill.

Warning: Partial life story to follow. Read at your own discretion.

In 2003 I arrived at the University of Illinois with my cello as a severely unprepared freshman music major--but I was prepared in one thing: my orchestra audition excerpts. I had taken lessons from Greg Hamilton at ISU that summer, (after deciding to major in music almost on a whim) and rather than spending time catching me up on my technique or delving into repertoire, he decided to focus on preparing me for my ensemble audition, required of all instrumental music majors. This seems a little absurd, even looking back on the experience now. I didn't know my scales well enough, my left hand technique was a mess, I could only read alternate clefs with careful thought, I barely knew thumb position, and my sight reading skills were awful. With all these outstanding shortcomings, his main concern seemed to be making sure I had a successful orchestra audition, which I didn't understand, but went along with his instruction anyway. I listened to a recording specifically coaching cellists on common orchestral excerpts. I spent hours practicing those short excerpts that summer, and very little else. I did mock auditions for Professor Hamilton as he drew my attention to every detail of those little excerpts.

So, when I walked into Donald Schleicher's office, cello in hand, for my blind audition, I was more prepared than I realized. I played the requested excerpts as best as I could, hoping to have achieved at least a mediocre score. When I went to check the audition results on the music building's bulletin board, a few days later, my jaw must have dropped--I had been placed in the top orchestra on campus, UI Symphony Orchestra. I think even Professor Hamilton was surprised, when I told him, but he said "Well, it'll be good for you." When I went to the first orchestra rehearsal, the expected musicianship level was clearly beyond anything I'd previously experienced. The conductor, Professor Schleicher, was not the laid-back, forgiving orchestra teacher figure I had looked to in the past, but a stern, demanding maetro whose glance conveyed some type of musical omniscience that instilled fear in every musician under his direction. I wondered if there must have been some mistake in the audition process--there were, after all, plenty of music majors in the Philharmonia Orchestra--even performance majors. What was a little freshman music ed major, with my limited ability, doing in this group? Sure, I could learn some snippets of tricky music if you gave me a teacher and an entire summer, but the whole Shostakovich 12 symphony and more, on my own, in a month? I wanted to jump into my cello case and hide. And that was the way I felt during orchestra rehearsals the rest of my freshman year.

January 2005, sophomore year

But gradually, something must have happened during my undergraduate years that changed my attitude toward orchestra. My senior year, UISO had the opportunity to play Shotakovich 12 again, but this time at Symphony Hall in Chicago. As we rehearsed the music for this venue, I was flooded with memories of my freshman year. And I recognized that I wasn't exactly the same cellist anymore. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy, being gripped by the fear of playing a wrong note, and just wanting the piece to be over, I felt a genuine sense of enjoyment from playing. I wasn't faking it anymore--I was actually making a small contribution to the orchestra's performance, and loving it.

Two years later, after completing my student teaching and starting my master's program in music education, I actually opted to take orchestra although it was no longer a requirement. I remember sitting in UISO rehearsals that semester, feeling a little nauseous from the new baby in my belly, but savoring the whole experience of being in orchestra again. I remember wondering if motherhood would ever allow me to play in an orchestra again someday.

Two babies and two moves later, I've found my way into an orchestra again--one I can hopefully belong to for a while. More than anything, I feel grateful--grateful to my parents for buying me a cello at age 14. Grateful for the patience my teachers and mentors have had with me as I've gone from fearing music to embracing it. Grateful to my husband and children for giving me the time to hold on to my cello, even for just a few minutes a day. Grateful to to have music in my life--because it is more than just a hobby for me--it is an element that adds an entire dimension of richness to my existence. Thank you, God, for the gift of music. And thank you for ten fingers to play the cello.