Skip to main content

My Sun at Noon

I have my first wedding gig tomorrow, and I am marveling at the fact that I have not reduced myself to a heap of fear and inferiority. This is the kind of job that would, in the past, have had me laying my head down on the table and begging someone to get me out of it. I don't care who or how, just don't make me do it.

I had that reaction with my first pit orchestra gig. I actually shed tears when I decided I was in over my head, and I nearly made myself sick over it. It turned out OK in the end. Not great, but at least OK. I didn't feel like I needed to leave town afterwards. I have similar reactions to certain orchestra performances with prominent horn parts, and once when I played a Mozart concerto at a local art guild get together, I thought I would vomit.

But this time, I'm not so nervous. I am playing with a brass quintet made up of top-notch musicians, and so I count myself as the weak link. But I don't count myself as the town fool or musical boob. I think I can do this. I think I'll have fun. And I think I'll be able to walk out of the church after the ceremony and pull my shoulders back, grin, and pat myself on the back.

I recently finished reading Peter Pan, and throughout the story there is a sympathetic Lost Boy named Tootles. He's shy and silly and does not typically raise his sword with courage. But in one circumstance, in one situation where his strength and sense of right were in dire need, he stood up and was brave. The line reads, "and for that instant, his sun was at noon." His sun was at noon. The picture this inspires is so powerful, I will claim it for my own.

Tomorrow at the wedding when I sit down in my chair among the other musicians, ready to play my part and not miscount and not be afraid of the higher notes, my sun will be at noon. Hopefully I'll remember that feeling of success the next time I face a scary gig.

Comments

dive said…
You will play perfectly, Robyn, and will thoroughly enjoy yourself.

I notice that you self-effacingly omitted to mention that you were specifically asked - chosen - to join this quintet of top-notch musicians. The reason being that you are yourself a top-notch musician.

I'll look up at the sun at noon tomorrow and think of you. Enjoy your gig.
Miz Minka said…
How fun! What would one say to a horn player for well wishes..."Break a valve?" (Better not!) Will simply "Good luck!" suffice? You'll do great, Robyn. Enjoy!!!
That's the way to do it, Robyn, associate the feeling.

Break a leg!
Gina said…
What a nice image that evokes!

I would wish you luck, but you won't even need it, that's how good you are!
Alifan said…
Robyn you should not put yourself down, as Dive has mentioned you are a top notch musician, and just put that great smile of yours on (well not while playing the horn)!!!!!and the sun will shine for everyone.....
Robyn Martins said…
oh look at all of you! You're so nice! I'm excited.
Thinking of you right now, Robyn!!
Maria said…
I am hoping that my sun is at noon when I have to go to my inlaws 30th wedding party this afternoon.

And you will be great.
Nice post robyn some good personal feelings shared with us. I enjoy your candor. anyway - you should consider yourself one of those top nothch players as well - why else would you be there?

Popular posts from this blog

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...