Cone of Honesty

Truth serum. And it's gluten-free!

Because it's a rainy Friday afternoon and I'm feeling introspective as I eat my quinoa (#stuffwhitepeoplelike), I'd like to get just a lil' bit real.  Over the past couple months as I have battled back from the Hydra-like tonsillitis that just won't die and come to terms with the fact that I'll be severely under-employed come July 1st, I have realized how much anxiety is wrapped up in my relationship with my horn.  Ever since I padded my practice resume in 4th grade summer band and subsequently won an award for diligence (coming clean, folks), I have treated horn and music as my vehicle for achievement.  And achievement means a lot to me, for personal probably-healthy reasons and for societal probably-unhealthy reasons.  I have had a relatively adventurous life for my 26 years on this planet because of these achievements.  Most of my friendships have been made as a result of these achievements, most of my meaningful artistic experiences, most of my opinions on the world at large.  However, most of my identity is also wrapped up in these achievements.

A few weeks ago I was talking to an important someone who is struggling with anxiety.  She related that after a completely innocent mistake in her day-to-day life, she was so angry and disappointed with herself that she actually said out loud that she hated herself.  She felt unworthy of respect and love, of even being alive, because of this stupid gaffe she had committed.  At the time, I was both empathetic and moved that she was being so honest with me, and that she had gotten to such a harmful point with her personal guilt.  But then off I went to my afternoon rehearsal, back in my own comfy sweater of a life.  That rehearsal was not so great for me.  My lips were tired, worn out, I couldn't get my sound to focus, I was struggling to play smoothly or really at all in the high register, and I was embarrassed at not being able to sound my best in front of colleagues.  After the rehearsal, I was upset and angry at myself.  I went home to punish-practice, to "beat my lips into submission" as an old friend would call it.  Later that same day, I went for a run despite a knee injury, pushed through the pain and ended up not being able to walk for the next 2 days.

So there I was sitting in my living room, icing my knee and running through an internal monologue about my horn playing: "Why do I suck so much when I'm tired?  Why do I get tired?  I should practice more!  Like, 3 hours every day.  No, wait, 4 hours.  4 hours every day of only long tones.  My colleagues deserve better from me.  How could I let them down?  They must think I suck.  Even though I won this position, they probably think it was a fluke I got this job..." And so on.  The kind of stuff that if I had actually said it out loud to a friend, there would be some serious mental health red flags happening.  I was putting myself through pain, both physical and emotional, because I did not want to be seen as weak, as lazy, as any of the other adjectives that I never hear during the Olympics binge I'm currently on.

That day was the first time I realized that maybe this is not the way I should be living my life in music, or really my life at all.  Feeling like an unworthy person because my high B-flat had fuzz in it that day?  Not okay.  Not even a little bit okay.  But it got me thinking.  Where did this attitude come from?  How did I get to this point?  Admittedly I have always been an "achiever" in the current Millennial detrimental-to-the-psyche way.  But I didn't always have such baggage with the horn.  There was a time, even if it was only for a few months right at the beginning, when I couldn't have known I was good.  When I was just making music, playing tunes, experiencing tingly feelings in my lips that cracked me up.
I just came back from visiting my alma mater this week.  It was wonderful to see my old teacher and my old stomping grounds, feel nostalgic about the glory years.  I thought it would be a total refresher in my horn life; and it was, in a way.  My teacher is a demi-god horn player, and hearing her play was worth the journey alone.  But I also was struck by how competitive everything felt in music school.  There are no sound-proof practice rooms, everyone takes the same auditions, plays for each other at least once a week, socializes together, hears the same concerts, takes the same classes.  And man, it SUCKS.  Coming back for a visit, I now understand why my horn playing has been wrapped in anxiety for so many years.  How could it not with that kind of learning environment?
I walked the halls, listening to excerpts, and I just wanted to knock on everyone's door and say, "You are not your horn (violin, trombone, etc.); you are a completely fascinating and powerful person even if you never play a right note again."  Which I didn't because that wouldn't have gone over well for anyone.  Crazy alumni preaching tends to rub people the wrong way...

I'm writing all this down both because it's healthy to share and because I think almost every musician I know has felt this way.  There is a culture of punishment in classical music, of a Herculean effort to win at all costs.  Beat your friends, win that job!  Group warm-up rooms at auditions are cesspools of insecurity, and almost everyone has become skilled at the passive-aggressive Bragbooking that lets everyone know, "Oh, I got in to that school/advanced in that audition/was offered that gig too.  You are no more special or talented than me, comrade."  And guys, I'm over it.  I'm just over it.

I do not know what my future career holds, I do not know where my horn and I will journey in the next few years, but I do know that I don't want my self-worth to be at the mercy of vibrating lips and a hunk of metal for the rest of my life.  That's just silly.