Dear Nemo,
I went to my first conducting symposium this week, and a friend today told me to describe it in 3 words. I chose terrifying, enlightening, and inspiring.
1. Terrifying
Having to go into this week-long conducting symposium without know anyone there was, frankly, a bit nerve-wracking. (not to mention finding out I was the youngest, least experienced participant conducting there)
Would I meet fellow musicians who shared the same passion as me? Would they judge me for my musical skills, or the career path I had chosen to take? Would I go there and find out that everything I had worked on was moot, that none of my skills were applicable to the real, harsh, cold world of music?
I had placed a lot of weight into this symposium knowing it would be my first out-of-college musical experience – I had a lot of trouble finding music during the summers I didn’t have school, and so I had a lot of anxiety about being able to face the music in a real-world setting and being “good” enough for the things I want to pursue within music. I’m not the most self-disciplined with practice, and I struggle a lot with impostor’s syndrome with regards to musical ability. Sometimes, when I stay out of music long enough, I forget what the beauty of a music-filled lifestyle looks like and how to get back into the swing of it again.
But, boy, did the workshop deliver, both in expectations/stakes and in facing reality.
2. Enlightening
I was right. My worst fears were realized: I was definitely the least-experienced one there. I was the youngest, most naive, and the least qualified.
I had a harsh wake-up call. Being a music teacher, especially for K-12, in the public school system, is hard. You care so much about your work, about the kids, and about the world they go out to, but then you realize that the world doesn’t care back. How much can you do in the span of a school day? What can you do when students don’t care, or do care when others don’t? What if they’re POC, or gay, or trans, and the world is against them in every way possible? What if you don’t get paid enough to sacrifice your blood, sweat, and tears for this work? What if the music program doesn’t get enough funding?
Because it’s something you love with all of your heart and being, it becomes something so, so painful and time-consuming. No work-life balance, no separation of job and emotion.
But it’s so time-consuming because you care, and it’s because you care that you are able to make a difference. Through music. Because music is beautiful, and so are you.
3. Inspiring
It was because I was the least experienced and the youngest one there that I was able to learn so, so much.
Each and every person in this workshop was so, so beautiful.
For maybe the first time in life, I could 100% say that each and every person in that room was AT LEAST as passionate as I was about music, if not more. It was intimidating, but also exhilarating at the same time. Just the way each person showed how much they cared about the music, the people, their students, their mentors, the musical journey itself, and the connections and memories made because music was able to make it possible… It’ll be something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
You could really feel that each and every person there wanted to be there to the fullest of their being. Whether it was M making eye contact with each and every musician during “Grace Before Sleep,” absolute love and passion and empathy brimming in their eyes, to K and C feeling all of the bittersweetness and frustration with society through “Requiem for the Unarmed” and mentioning how art is a medium for societal change, and everyone who did Lincolnshire Posy mvt. 2 whose eyes lit up at some of the most magical, majestic parts in the second half of the movement (iykyk).
There’s just something so special about playing in an ensemble and baring your soul and emotions into the part you’re playing because the conductor is putting their full faith and trust into the ensemble, and showing a vulnerable part of themselves in the art that is unique to them and that moment with the ensemble. It’s incredibly difficult to put into words, but in that moment, the rest of the world melts away and all that’s left is you, the music, your ensemble friends, and your conductor – and all of you are heading towards the same goal, the same emotion, and the same message, with one encompassing piece of music guiding you along. That kind of connection is so fleeting and unique, but because it’s so transient and finite, it becomes something so special and cherished. It’s truly just… one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever experienced, both within and outside of music.
And – get this: every single conductor had their own little style and identity inserted into their conducting. It was so, so subtle, but each person’s character still came out in their conducting, whether it was the way they interpreted the piece they chose, or the expressions they made on their face, or the little hand gestures/grandiose, powerful arm sweeps they did, or even just the way they interacted with ensemble…
And even with this skill level, it was such a warm, supportive, fun environment: everyone supported and cheered for everyone, and gave reassuring advice or words of empathy, joked around, got food/drinks, connected on a personal level beyond music… no ego involved at all. (which I feel is what music should truly embody)
At the end of the workshop, we did a small survey of everyone there, someone asked this question:
“Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt impostor’s syndrome in this field of work.”
And everyone, without hesitation, raised their hand.
I feel like this is worth mentioning because… isn’t this crazy?? You have a room of 30 adults, some just starting their careers, and others nearing at least 30+ years of conducting, and they still remember how impostor’s syndrome felt like, and perhaps still experience it in their day-to-day lives as a musician/music educator. Is it… weird to say that I feel like that’s how I know they all truly care about music? It’s because they love music so much that impostor’s syndrome becomes a consequence of that deep, musical passion.
If you know me, you know my musical philosophy is that “music matters because of the people in music.” Whether that’s the musician, the composer, the audience… music is music is beautiful is irreplaceable because of its human aspect: the transience of a performance, the emotional pull of a piece, or the variability of a musician/conductor’s interpretation of that composition, and the wonderful moment/connection that exists between two people as a result. Alongside that, I believe that music can be a life-long journey if you make it. There’s always room to grow, and new connections/memories to make, and new messages to convey or represent.
I’m sure I’ll add more to this post as I continue to ruminate on this musically fruitful week, but as I finish off this little bit of writing for the night, I want to remember that even though I may not be much right now, I want to be able to have my own identity in the way I conduct, and know that there is a whole cohort of conducting mentors behind me, reassuring me that there is no “one” path on this journey (hearing about what people did/went through before they got into music education or where they are now was absolutely crazy and mind-blowing HAHA), and that if I just keep going, I can grow and live a life that truly is worth living. 🙂
Because what I dream for is possible. Because they’re all living proof.
Love,
nemodan