“And I guess that’s where I’m torn.
I see too much magic.”
I wrote this when I was a freshman, three years ago. It was after a conversation with my roommate, where I had a meltdown and was crying, frustrated that I had even a hint of a desire to not be an engineer when I had the ability to be one, to do math and science and do them well. I felt like I was being selfish.
I’ve kind of (read:occasionally, when I’m feeling more confident about myself) gotten over the guilt of feeling selfish. But still, it persists. And on top of it, worries about the future, worries about if what I’m doing now is leading to what I’ll be doing later, and this sense that I’m supposed to/going to do something with my life. Something significant, meaningful. Some thing.
“Music is a service, not a transaction…it does something to create community…the actual purpose of music is an offering.” (Yo-yo Ma)
Reading this felt like something slipped into place.
I’m not a brilliant musician, I don’t think. I can’t whip up something magical or breathtaking like some of my other friends. But I can write music. And I can collaborate and hold my ground with other musicians. And that is where I thrive, in the midst of creating community, intimate creative community, raw community. I feel the most vibrant (?) when I’m having a jam session with my friends and creativity feels like a presence in the room, a common thread pushing us out yet simultaneously pulling us in.
And what now, then? This question is a constant as of late. So what? What now?
And yet, after talking to a dear friend who called me because she could tell that I was distressed, I feel a bit better, like something is alleviated, like it’s going to be okay.
We’ll just have to see from now, then. Where this takes me, where God takes me.