Embracing the Act of Tripping

“You’ll enter stage left, and I’ll introduce you, and then….”, the conductor’s darted past my ears, as all my brain screamed was ‘This is it’. The conductor nudged me onto the stage, and I did everything I could not to look into the tiers flooded with people. I shuddered as I smelled the musty smell of an antique opera house. Eventually, I was immersed into the music, and occasionally sighed as the burning smell of fresh rosin inundated my nose and tickled my tongue as my bow carved into the vibrating strings. But suddenly I couldn’t remember at all what I supposed to play. My heart came to a near dead stop as blood coursed unnaturally quickly through my veins. I almost felt stabbing shocks in my chest, and my brain went into red alert as I heard myself miss a crucial entrance. What seemed like hours of notes passed by with interrogating looks from the orchestra. I struggled to stay standing as the unrelenting lights plastered sticky sweat on my face. Even when my bow touched the string, I heard notes that were discordant and an squeaky, incorrect entrance. But adrenaline powered my fingers as I willed my arm slowly to glide across the string once again. Finally, my bow reached the final note. I was surprised to be met with strong applause instead of taunting or condescending stares.

If there’s one consensus in my life, it’s that I trip. Sometimes the occasional stumble but more often the shin-bruising, ankle-spraining fall. And in that one moment on the stage at 12 years old, I had tripped. Slipped across the notes that ruined the delicate nature of the concerto I was performing. The music world worships perfection, and perhaps in that moment, I made Mendelssohn turn over in his grave. But it was never the error that mattered but the fact that I continued. Have you ever noticed that when you trip over something, you may fall, but you somehow first lunge forward before hitting the ground? Although you may stumble in your endeavors you also move forward, and learn. These falls may create temporary cuts and bruises, but these fade with time, and next time you fall, it’s often not as catastrophic, because you know you have the ability to stand up and laugh it off. Confucius once said, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall” Every day, I trip over a new crack in the sidewalk or a set of daunting stairs, but that doesn’t mean I can live my life in fear of walking, just as I can’t live paranoid of making mistakes whether it be in my music or another endeavor. One of the simplest acts of clumsiness can teach you one of life’s greatest lessons, and I will proudly continue to trip because I know that I can pull myself up again. So I am honored to say, this I believe in tripping.