Rehearsal

I remember being in 3rd grade, waking up at 5 a.m. to leave for school by 6 for violin lessons. It was an exciting time. Playing the violin would be my first experience with a musical instrument. The district had just introduced a music program for young students to learn string instruments, and I was one of 80 kids eager to participate.

Sitting in the auditorium with my classmates, I learned how to hold the violin, maintain proper posture, and read music. It was fascinating, but as the days passed, the enthusiasm of others began to fade. First, half of the students dropped out. Then, weeks later, I was the only one left.

I found myself waking up early to practice alone, rehearsing in an empty auditorium with just my teacher. There was no audience, no spectators, no one to witness my efforts. At the time, I didn’t realize this solitude was teaching me a foundational lesson.

As I grew older, that sense of loneliness followed me into my work; whether it was art, dance, or other pursuits. Friends weren’t around to see the effort I poured in, the hours of labor behind the scenes. Even when I completed something, there was no one to share the fruits of my work with. It felt like a constant cycle: plan, practice, execute, repeat.

Fortunately, I loved what I was doing, and that passion kept me going. But deep down, I yearned for someone to see me, to recognize my efforts. Still, I stayed focused, working in solitude like a caterpillar in its chrysalis, growing and preparing for something bigger.

Then the moment came. Back in school, I performed my first concert for the district in front of a large audience. Later, I joined the regional symphony for young students. The hard work paid off, and for the first time, I felt truly seen. It was a joy like no other. I continued to pursue music, and to this day, I still play.

Looking back, I realize those early years taught me an important truth: you have to do the work even when no one is watching. The chrysalis must break for the butterfly to emerge, and that process requires patience, focus, and perseverance. You can’t worry too much about who is or isn't watching.

Even now, as an adult, I remind myself of this lesson. For years, I felt like a failure as an artist because no one was viewing, responding to, or buying my work. I questioned whether I was good enough or working hard enough. I compared myself to others who seemed more successful and doubted my path.

But the truth is, the work is the preparation. Just like my 3rd-grade violin lessons, I’ve learned to work as though the audience is there.Even when the room is empty. You will be alone for a moment.

Because one day, the audience will come. The grand performance is in preparation, and I am ready and willing. I’m on the right path.