It didn’t make me want to improve. Rather than absorbing the kind of awe and passion such an instrument can evoke, I just disregarded it as having no relevance to myself. I still viewed playing violin as a boring chore. Actually, I only did orchestra for one more year after that. I could never be as fast as him, so why even try. In the same decision, I stopped playing violin entirely.
How good would I be by now if I hadn’t quit playing? What if I attacked each rehearsal as if I was Luke? What if I studied every single mark on the page and understood the composer’s intentions, turning them into my intentions though the wood? It doesn’t matter.
I now play the alto saxophone. When I play the saxophone, I feel. I don’t think about Luke, or how much better everyone else is. I’m not on autopilot, waiting to finish. I’m breathing my soul through my instrument. My mind occupies each groove, I connect with every melody, and I perform every run. I’m in the moment, placing each flick of the tongue against the reed. My mind isn’t worried about what my brothers would play it, or whether I’ll ever be proficient enough. It doesn’t matter. This is my