… let’s say … um … you played well enough that even you were quite satisfied and even happy. Let’s say your colleagues were complimentary, as was the maestro, and the review was quite complimentary as well (although it was, in your opinion, a bit inappropriate). Let’s say you were even getting sort of confident that you played really, really well.
Then let’s say someone you know comes up to you, looking terribly seriously and even a little miffed, and she says, “I missed you Sunday.” You respond, “Huh?” (thinking she meant the Sunday performance of a different concert that you didn’t play). She again says, “I missed you. For the Ravel.”
Um. You pause.
“But I was there. That was me!”
Yes. Really. It could happen to you.
Or maybe it can only happen to me.
“But that didn’t look like you!” The person then went on to try and console me. “Well, you sounded fine. But not like you usually do. I’m just used to your big sound,” and she continued, and continued … and I kind of wanted to go crawl in a hole.
Let’s say that happened to you. Would you laugh, cry, or just scratch your head?
I didn’t cry. I did laugh. And I’m still scratching my head. Some people had come up and said it was the best they’d heard from me. I felt as good as I can about my playing, too. And I’m a harsh judge when it comes to my own playing.
Ah life. Never a dull moment!
