My Heart Longs for the Fiddle

In high school my identity was wrapped up in my violin. I practiced hard, spent hours a day with the orchestra, Chelsea House Orchestra fiddle band, fiddle club... and even when my friends and I got together to hang out, the fiddles would always make their appearance. But my favorite part of all was performing. I loved traveling all over, playing for crowds and making music come alive. I remember the breathtaking moment at the end of Fantasia in the echoing stage of Orchestra Hall. I remember the emotion on the conductor's face as he held the last note till it slowly died. That quiet note as it floated above the musicians clad in black, high to the decorated ceilings, until only silence prevailed. I remember the standing ovation that day. I remember a very different experience, too. This involves mic packs, tents, kilts, haggis, bagpipes. Wind, sweat, sun, rain. The delighted expressions on children's faces. The huge smile of my best friend as we start off on a killer set list. Listening to my friends play fantastic solos, ripping bowhairs, the whistle of the director to get our attention. And always the crowds. The crowds who danced, clapped, smiled, laughed... and among them the supportive parents who toted thirty of us around in overstuffed vans.

Coming to college was weird. Nobody knew that side of me. They saw the Mozart, Bach side of me. The scale side of me. The "lock myself in a practice room for 2 hours" side of me. And occasionally when I couldn't take it any more, I would break out into my heart language of fiddling. Sometimes people would stop by and ask what I was doing.... they liked to listen. While I enjoyed playing, it didn't satisfy. In my head I heard all the other instruments: an army of fiddles, cello, bass, guitar, djembe, flute, oboe, clarinet, dancing, laughter. And somehow a solo violin fiddling in a practice room just didn't cut it. And most of all... I missed performing. I missed dancing on stage with my fiddle on my shoulder... smiling as the sweat poured off, and laughing. I missed the friendships, the traveling, the kilts, and the off-key bagpipes.

How does one even begin to explain these experiences to someone who hasn't been there? I feel like people can't know me fully until they've seen me on that stage... with that band... playing my music. Yes, I still play in the orchestra. But I don't perform in the orchestra. I sit there, hoping to play all the notes. Hoping not to come in early. Hoping not to be too loud. I'm timid. I'm quiet. It's not performing.

It's times after orchestra concerts that I miss fiddling the most. I do love the classics, I do love the fantastic soloists, I do love the overwhelming feeling of being part of a team of musicians. But most of me just wants to fiddle. To stand up and play what is written in my heart, and built into my muscle memory, not what's scrawled on a page. To dance, not to sit still. To smile and laugh, not to concentrate.

True classical performers are phenomenal. They are able to engage their audience. They are able to express the music. And it's beautiful. I can appreciate their immense talents, technique, and performance.

But I'm not one of them. My heart longs for the fiddle.