I’m going to apologize in advance. I don’t usually spew my deeper thoughts onto my blog, so this is a little out of the ordinary. This post is long and philosophical, and almost completely selfish and self-indulgent, so feel free to pass on by. And if you choose to read it, please be gentle. Thanks.

Whenever I get stressed or discouraged, it really makes me miss making music. There was just something about making music that was soothing and challenging and joyful all at the same time.

Sometimes I feel like I just pound my life out. I pound out ad campaigns, I pound out assignments and papers, I pound out websites, but frankly, none of it is beautiful. It just is. There’s not much elegance to it. It doesn’t grab you on an emotional level. It serves its purpose and I move along.

I don’t mind this, it’s the nature of work and school and life, and I’m ok with it most of the time. But sometimes I miss making something beautiful. There was just a certain elegance to making music that I don’t really have in my life anymore. There’s a concern for the aesthetic and the emotional that’s somehow unique to the experience of making music. i miss sitting at the back of the orchestra and watching a sea of strings bowing in unison before me while chills run up and down my spine. I miss hearing the careful weaving of melody and harmony together and then pouring golden, pure sound into the mixture.

There’s something liberating about creating something beautiful. It represents hours of sacrifice, discipline, and concentration. But when beauty comes at your bidding, there is a joy all its own. It’s triumphal and reverent and emotional. And that’s what moves people.

I’m not questioning the value of what I do. I live for it, and I love it. But sometimes I miss making that emotion. I miss making people smile. I miss making beautiful things.

You see, the problem with making something beautiful is that it can’t be taken lightly. It’s demanding. It comes at a cost, sometimes terrible to be paid. It requires a depth of soul and dedication that requires everything. I once made that commitment, and was richly rewarded for it. But it was too difficult, too exacting to be compatible with the rest of my goals and desires. So I walked away. Most of the time I don’t regret my decision, but every once in a while I feel like an exile, someone who has forsaken paradise for the thorny way.

I realize that this post appears to have a rose-hued tint, but I also remember the long, long hours in the practice room and in rehearsals, I remember the frustration of inadequacy, I remember the bitterness of the defeat which would sometimes come, which is why I don’t go back. And I’m satisfied that I made the right decision. So I content myself to the role of a music appreciator and look for other ways to create elegance and beauty. And while I don’t think I’ll ever find something that affects me the same way that music does, I know that there are alternatives.

In the end, I think that we need to create elegance and beauty somewhere in our lives. Maybe it’s in the way we interact with people. Or how we go about our duties. Maybe it’s in how we solve problems and overcome obstacles. It could be in the things that we do and say and are. It’s not the same as creating beautiful music, but it doesn’t have to be. And maybe one of these days when I get some time, I’ll be able to go back to my first love. In the meantime, I guess I need to work on making my life more elegant.