Boxes are fascinating. They come in all shapes and sizes, textures, materials, strengths, and colors. My box is made from bungy chords. The bungy chords are movable and make me open to new suggestions. These same flexible bungy chords are weak, though, and make me doubt if I have put the right bungy chord on the right hook sometimes.
Tonight I hid outside my school building and watched people walk by inside their boxes. Most of the people I saw were conservatory students. They had goals written on the inside of their boxes and were walking back and forth between the practice rooms and the dorms, adding building blocks to achieve those goals. I began to wonder how many of those conservatory students were once little kids who decided to play an instrument for all of the right reasons: they wanted to play in band at school; it was a chance to get together with their friends; they loved the sound of the violin. Then I wondered how many of them became conservatory students for all of the right reasons: they had been practicing their instrument for as long as they could remember; they couldn't imagine doing anything else; they wanted to start a career as a musician.
Spring winds are strange. They make you afraid that the brisk cold that is sweeping through your wind-breaker is the beginning of that lifeless winter you just fought. I pulled myself back to my snooping and wondered how many conservatory students were becoming musicians for the wrong reason: they only wanted that orchestra job back at home. Once they had gone to a couple of prestigious summer camps and graduated from a famous conservatory they would have a fine career laid before them.
My mind started to yell at the boxes I was looking at. Go unlock your locker for the thousandth time and pull out those caprices and concertos! Go practice 23 more minutes before you finish your music theory homework! Go get your orchestra job! Because for the talented conservatory students, that routine might get them an orchestra job. The rest of the lost people won't even get the orchestra job. For a true musician, however, the orchestra job goal is limiting and unimaginative. Why did you start playing music in the first place? When did you stop loving those sounds that gave you goose-bumps? Why did you stop playing your instrument and start practicing your instrument?
Tonight was a special night. Tonight I did not practice. I went for a walk instead. Why? Because some special people pulled a few of my bungy chords. Three string players told me that I looked frazzled last week. A great double-bass player told me that he was taking Sundays off and writing a practice schedule. A mind control book by Jose Silva told me that the imagination was a powerful tool that logical adults have forgotten to use and children love to use. An inspiring violinist told me to "take it easy!" An imaginative blog by a concert pianist inspired me to write down the things I was reflecting on.
Tonight I made my box bigger. I took a walk on sidewalks I had never walked before. I thought about why I hated Bernstein's Candide. My feet decided to hurdle a few park benches and sprint down the brick walkway. I wondered how the monstrous new jazz building was supposed to make better jazz players. I sauntered around some dark buildings and realized that I was afraid because I was insecure when I was thrown outside of my box. My box was getting bigger and my imagination was giving me ideas to write on it. Try using your imagination some Sunday evening, if your scruples will allow you to walk away from the practice rooms.