I'm a 66-year-old harp(竖琴)student. Others in my class are five, seven, ten. . . I fancy myself a source of inspiration for them, who would say, "If he can do it, I can, too!"
For some years before we stepped on the real stage, our recitals(演奏会)were given online. I could play perfectly—when no one was looking. But those online recitals caused me a kind of stage fright. Something about being watched and recorded, perhaps?Anyway, it was not too serious.
However, last year was a whole new ball game. That spring came with a real stage. An excited crowd. Clapping. Filming. A real recital!Exciting but stressful. I didn't know if I could handle it.
The adorable little performers were delicately dressed in their party-best skirts, with leather shoes hanging beneath too-high chairs, unable to reach the ground. Luckily, I could. We sat among the guests before the show, struck by their excitement. One by one, up and down, my fellow students went—each playing superbly. Then, it was my turn. I thought I was ready.
But I struggled from the start. I kept my fingers moving. Sound still radiated from the strings, but the tune was all wrong. I restarted both pieces three times. When I got totally lost for a few notes in the middle, I thought, "I don't know what this is anymore, but, hey, it sounds kind of nice!"I kept thinking, "Make a joyful noise, regardless!"
That eight minutes was like eight hours. Being the eldest in the room often makes people think you're the best. The truth, especially at that recital, was far different. But I would have awarded myself the gold for chutzpah —start playing a new instrument at 62, and then perform in front of a large audience.
Making music knows no age, and all players are welcome. Looking back, I realize my lengthy life experience has taught me that the show must go on—no matter what is occurring. Life's music is playing!It's my job to just show up and keep trying.
