The Tale of a Young Girl and Her Dream

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who dreamed of playing her flute so beautifully that those who listened to her would experience an emotional connection with the rising and falling melodies she played. She spent countless hours practising breath control, tone, and flexibility. In pushing herself to become better, she thought it would be beneficial to move to another university and another flute instructor. Her adventure had begun.

She worked at applying for scholarships so she could go south of the border to school. Two schools offered her scholarships, so she chose the one that offered her the most financial support. After a nerve-wracking audition, she knew she had played her best and waited for the results. The University in California accepted her.

The young girl's dream was about to become a reality in her last year. One requirement for graduation as a performing artist was to memorize and play a concert-worthy piece in front of the faculty of music so they could vote on who would perform with the symphony during the evening’s grand event. Playing with the orchestra would be the pinnacle of years of hard work. There were two flute players competing, and I was one of them.

The music I chose was technically difficult and had lyrical melodies I loved. It was music I could pour my heart into. Imagine what an Impressionist painting might sound like as an audible poem for flute and piano. My accompanist and I rehearsed until the piece was more than a flute and piano playing together. We became the sound of that poem and the brushstrokes of the painting. Inside me was the heroine facing the lion in a fight for life, a young maiden skipping with joy through the forest, and then an old woman playing with the last notes of her life and breath.

On the day of my audition, I was excited. I borrowed a simple but classic full-length indigo gown from a friend, and I was ready. Entering the stage, I walked to the black grand piano and nodded to my accompanist. His shoulders bent forward slightly as his hands fell, sounding the mysterious opening melody. I exhaled and took a slow, deep breath in. Lifting my flute to my lips, the first notes arose from deep inside me. Tingles radiating up and down my spine signalled that the sound, the painting, and the poem's story were resonating deeply with all who heard it. As the last note faded, I stood there, frozen in the moment. My accompanist’s hands rested motionless on the ivory keys.

As one, the faculty and the air itself held their breath for a few seconds before I bowed and floated off the stage. I managed to contain myself until I closed the door to the theatre and then lost it, jumping up and down, screaming with delight. Joy overwhelmed me as I realized we’d performed at that effortless level, transporting all who heard it somewhere beyond the sound and the notes. That was the dream, and I was confident I would play with the symphony on graduation day.

The other flute player won the contest, so I believed she performed better than I did until one professor told me otherwise. He explained that the other flute player had forgotten much of her piece and played poorly. I should have won, he said. One person on the faculty really didn’t want a foreigner playing at the graduation concert.

There was nothing I could do about it, but blatant discrimination could not erase the memory and power of my performance, followed by the pure joy of knowing I performed beyond my own expectations. It was, however, a pivotal event. That choice blew the wind out of my sails, but I followed my heart and soul and found meaning in other passions. After I graduated, I didn’t have the will, stamina, or finances to continue my flute studies, and opted to return to Canada.

However, this was the tale of a young girl and her dream and years of hard work, skill, and dedication that led to our effortless performance. Her American flute teacher played a pivotal role in her progress, pushing her to the standard she longed for, but one man's agenda to put an American flute player on stage for the final concert overrode our work and efforts. It didn't, however, override her resilience. She knew what she had accomplished, and that lifted her spirits. Transporting listeners to a different place was a joyful experience, as joy connects us to a pure emotive state, engaging our very soul. That is how music, or poetry, or a brilliant book means something to us.

I knew I played my solo perfectly, but more than that, I left all who heard me play with an emotional experience they will never forget. That, beyond anything else, trumped all school politics. Long after graduation, that man will remember he made a political choice instead of the right choice. His heart and soul will always register the difference because that choice meant something far more than a contest, power, or politics. It meant that the trajectory of my life changed that day.