In my viola lesson today, Pei Ling asked me what my ideas about the emotional content and character of the 1st movement of the Walton Concerto were, or what I felt them to be. I think she was surprised by how clear some of my ideas were, considering none of them were really showing in my playing. She looked at me quizzically and I explained that I can play it more yearningly, more regretfully, more nostalgically, more bitterly, more furiously; but that I don’t feel I deserve to do that, until I’ve fixed all the technical things. In other words, I believe that I am not worthy of musical expression unless my technique is perfect. The moment I said that, the silliness of it struck me. If I waited until my Playing was technically perfect (until no one could complain about any single solitary note or vibrato or bow stroke) to play with musical expression and emotional passion, would I ever play expressively at all?

Of course, my technical goals remain unchanged. However, I have decided that bravery comes from the very possibility of failure. Bravery is facing the risk that I could play the note just a hair out of tune, and playing it forte anyways. Bravery is facing the risk that I could miss a shift in a fast passage, and taking it at a brisk tempo anyways. Bravery is facing the risk that my interpretation might not be perceived as correct by a critic and doing it my own unique way anyways. True artists are brave. True artists don’t play safe every day. If I want to make great music, I’ve got to stop playing it safe.

Usually when I make music epiphanies I also make life epiphanies and here is the life epiphany this one has helped me make. The past five years have been an blossoming out of a very safely led life. In my high school and early young adult years, I took very few social or personal risks. I just wanted to do everything “right.” I wanted to be the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect student, the perfect violinist, the perfect chamber musician, the perfect friend, the perfect Mormon girl, and of course I wanted to look like a Russian supermodel. Those goals aren’t necessarily bad goals BUT what was bad was that I believed I didn’t deserve to live my life bravely before becoming that person. I had a small circle of very good friends, but I was bad at meeting new people and making connections on my own. I had a hard time speaking my mind. I had a hard time being open or generous or vulnerable. I never, ever flirted with anyone. I lived my life in a pianísimo dynamic.

Pianísimo can be beautiful. But some of the most wonderful things in life require bravery. Every time I choose to be vulnerable enough to let people into my life it requires bravery. Every time I tell the deepest truths about myself it requires bravery. Every time I offer to help someone in need it requires bravery. Every time I take a personal or professional change in direction it requires bravery. The best and most beautiful things in my life really have been on the other side of fear. But I’m still afraid, and I still make decisions based on fear.

When I’m afraid of doing something that could have a positive impact, I remember these two quotes:

“Our opportunities to give of ourselves are indeed limitless, but they are also perishable. There are hearts to gladden. There are kind words to say. There are gifts to be given. There are deeds to be done.” – Thomas S Monson

“If not me, who? If not now, when?” -Hillel

If we wait until we’re perfect to live our lives bravely in forte, we’ll wait forever. If we wait until we’re flawless to give people our heart, we’ll live our lives alone. It takes courage (and humility) to play an instrument with deep emotional conviction, knowing you could mess it up. It takes even more courage (and humility) to live a life of deep emotional conviction, knowing you could mess it up. But both are exceptionally worth it.

The artistry of living is worth overcoming all of our fears.