Originally published on October 23, 2016
A couple Sunday’s ago, I walked up from my university to my
high school, as I had done hundreds of times before. It was the same path, the
same steep hills. I trekked across the front lawn and went in the main doors,
turning right, down the steps. The quiet, the smell, even the sound of my feet
on the stairs was so familiar. It was a little different, new posters and
carpet and constant small renovations. But it was basically the same. I walked
past my resolute senior year locker and into the music room. The instrument
families posters and signed Cats
poster were still on the front wall. I immediately caught eyes with fellow
musicians I hadn’t seen in a long time and greeted them excitedly. I sat down
in the same seat I had for 4 years and was handed a black folder full of music;
several of these songs I had played before. Looking around, I found I knew most
of the people there. I hadn’t had a chance to play any outside music since
April and it felt good.
And I was home. Playing show tunes in my high school
classroom with my Playhouse friends for a concert on my university stage. I was
home. A welcome break from worrying about the speeches and history and playing
band music. I was home. It was before midterms week, coming off of a long
weekend filled with obligations and projects and meetings and not a lot of study
time. And how did it end? Perfectly. Sight reading and revisiting tunes I
haven’t played in years but automatically were coming back to me. Not playing a
musical since April made me miss it more than I realize.
I came back for rehearsal despite having midterms the next
day I needed to study for. After already studying for several hours, I needed a
break. Music isn’t always a stress reliever, but in this case it was. It was a
break from researching Netflix and studying organum and motets and playing Persichetti
and Beethoven. There was rehearsal during Fall Break and I looked forward to it
all day. Rehearsal on the day of the concert was with performers whose pictures
I had looked at on the wall of the music room for years. (I was backing up Nick
Adams singing Dancing Through Life,
so I’m not apologizing for being a little excited). And then there was the
actual performance, seeing people I knew in the audience, getting hugs from
people I hadn’t seen since I graduated, sitting comfortably on a stage, and
just taking it all in. We closed with the school song and I played music I
thought I’d never play again.
I was home. It’s
hard to describe how it felt if you haven’t felt this before. A merging of
worlds that just seem to make sense. A collection of nostalgia and familiarity,
empathy and joy, anticipation and excitement. How easy it was to slip back into
old habits and feel like I never left, to forget my troubles and become lost in
the music and the experience.
Home doesn’t have to be the place where you grew up. Home
can be a collection of things or people or an experience. There will be a
certain feeling of comfort and relaxation and overall pleasure associated with
whatever it is. You will look forward to returning. You will just feel good.
That’s how I felt about this experience; it made me feel good. This concert was
exactly what I needed.
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