“As a hobby” is my response to add a buffer between achieving and frustrating when the cello is mentioned. However, fueled by wild expectations projected onto a young generation, and a personal metamorphosis of memories of a time long gone, the germ of expectations can hardly be quenched, yet I operate in a forceful manner when it comes to Emme’s appropriation of her instrument, including practical skills, musicality, reading. Because, I imagine, she may one day reap the mental benefits of her music, and find fulfillment in the musical world.
But if I take a good look around me (in a room with a mirror), these kinds of certainties seem to bounce around and plop like soap bubbles in an empty space. Emme is certainly not the only one in her environment on whom an instrument is forced and where no expenses are spared to reach the highest possible level. But what happens to all these children, who, in beautiful clothes, sitting next to a tutor, slog through yet another sonata? Right, not much more than that. Leaving nothing to chance, the pursuit of excellence is no more than an ode to solitude, a Tantalus with earplugs, and – hold me – no more than an ordinary element of competition. Because everything has to be perfect, there is no longer any confidence in the spontaneous deflection. Emme’s schooling also seems to be part of this.
Then I look in the mirror. Behind it I see an amateur orchestra, laughing people, crushes, music! Education, companionship, friendship. Is this how I take Emme there?
Written on June 7, 2019