Begin Again

Just another test post. Sample Text. I grew up chanting the same mantra you did: practice makes perfect. But then that is why violin is one of the harder things I’ve ever put my mind to. Because no matter how hard I work at it, my best is still flawed. I can run my fingers through that scale a thousand times plus some and hit the same wrong note each time over. At least one pitch out of four will be ever so slightly out of tune.No matter how much time or effort I pour into that piece of wood, it isn’t enough. And no matter how confident my smile may seem when I’m finished – I am aware, painfully aware, of the fact that I cannot make it sing. At least not the way I want it to sing – not the way Joshua Bell can make it sing on my Spotify playlist. So because they told me practice makes perfect, and my practice was far from making perfect, I played in the dark. I couldn’t make it sing perfectly, so I didn’t make it sing at all – not for anyone. Here’s a bit of hard truth from the girl who may seem like she has it altogether: in my three years of playing, I’ve never once played a complete and full piece in front of a single soul. Never have I said to someone – anyone – the words that press up against the lining of my soul and mind and mouth: I want you to hear this. Instead I’ve been silent, shut the doors, played alone.

And I wonder – how often, how many,


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