Finding Light
Good morning. Today I woke up and peeked out the window to see a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. If it’s not too treacherous, I’ll get out for a quick jaunt in the Fells in the midst of spending the rest of the day working furiously on my first orchestral composition, premiering Saturday, March 29th, 7pm at Arts at the Armory in Somerville, MA (free tickets here).
This work won’t be without inspiration, following a whirlwind trip out west to the winter wonderland of Steamboat Springs, Colorado; my old stomping grounds in Portland, Oregon, where I lived for 13 years; and Ashland, Oregon (where I took the photo above), which just happened to be 12 miles down the road from the Pacific Crest Trail, where the future me will be heading to by foot from the US-Mexico border, not too many months from now.
In my last couple years in Oregon, I remember having feelings of not fitting in, or feeling like maybe it wasn’t the place for me anymore. It was a darker time in my life. I felt I needed to start a new chapter, to figure out my own path. So I applied to grad school, a dream I had let go of in the past, and here I am three years later about to graduate with a dual Master of Music degree in Collaborative Piano and Composition.
Surprisingly, getting to revisit the place I left in such a dark state didn’t feel dark at all. It felt like coming home. It felt as comfy as putting on my favorite pair of well-worn boots. I know Oregon so well, and have countless memories attached to all my favorite running spots, landmarks, and neighborhoods. I have deep friendships that were developed over many years. I miss the days of being able to just pop out for a run, or a coffee, or a day trip to the coast or the gorge with a pal.
I suppose it can be true that it was the right choice for me to leave, and it can also be true that Oregon will always feel like home, and have a big piece of my heart. The darkness I felt was like an open wound at the time, one that seems to have dissipated to a faint scar over the years. Maybe it was that I placed my dissatisfaction on the place, but in fact was more dissatisfied with myself.
Returning to Boston feels heavy, not because of the place, but because it means winter break is over, and the big push down the homestretch of my final semester begins. It will be a lot of work, and there’s a certain amount of baring one’s soul that comes with putting your music out in the world. I honestly feel a little scared, but maybe that means I’m doing something right. After all, “If your dreams don’t scare you, they’re not big enough.”
Commencement will also mark the beginning of a new chapter: my journey on the Pacific Crest Trail, and the wide-open future beyond, where anything is possible.
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