Obligation

I don't know about you, but I feel obligated to do a lot of stuff. 

When there are people over at my house, I feel obligated to make my bed. When it's 11:48 PM, I feel obligated to write something in this blog.

I also feel obligated to believe in something I don't know if I actually believe in anymore.

I won't call it a crisis of faith. Band class isn't faith (or is it?) and lack of motivation isn't necessarily a crisis. But it hurts all the same, this fear that I feel from feeling obligated to do something I once loved so passionately.

If I had to choose one thing I loved most about band, I would choose the only thing that'll never change: four mallet technique. A lot of people don't know how to do this, and I'm not going to waste my time explaining a concept such as this when I know the only person who DOES read this blog knows exactly what four mallet technique is (this is a whisper shout-out to James Harris, who is my bestest friend).

I don't like playing four mallets because it's harder. Chords aren't always harder than the crazy two mallet runs we get, they're just harder to memorize. Once you get that down, you're fine, so there's nothing special there. Difficult is difficult in any language. I like four mallets because of an abstract concept– one that presented itself to me quite early on in my mallet playing career.

Your hands can't shake when you play proper four mallet technique. No matter what, it's pretty much physically impossible. Through yelling, through tears, through heartbreak, through rage, through the hardest parts and the softest melodies, you're stable. Serene, even, and that's something I don't usually say about myself.

But that's the good thing about music, isn't it? It shows you that you are not one note. You're more than what they yell at you, or what you cry about. You're whole, while still being a part of something bigger.

I've lost sight of that this summer, after all of the fiascos that went on in my band program. I lost sight of the something bigger, of the something whole, and focused on my shaking hands.

And I'm not sure how to see anything else, anymore.