LB

A note from Lexi in 2023:

For my final essay at the Manhattan School of Music, I was asked to reflect on the classical music performances I’ve attended, and how I had consumed art from January to May of 2022. Coincidentally, January thru May of 2022 were the months I hit my first big autistic burnout. I was earning my degree in performance, but due to a rapid deterioration of my physical and mental health, I was unable to sing all semester. MSM altered the curriculum and went through such great strides to get me through this degree, even with my rapidly changing health conditions. I did graduate though! I EARNED that diploma.

I’m writing this note in October, 2023, and I haven’t used my degree once…

But my voice came back.

I sing every single day.

Enjoy this time capsule xx

—

MAY 23, 2022.

I am a firm believer that from deep sadness, we can find deep joy. I have found so much of that joy these past few months through taking a backseat from performing music, and becoming an observer of art of all forms. 

I am a visual artist that happens to be earning a music degree. This has been quite an interesting journey. Over the past 3 years, I went from a bright eyed and bushy tailed soprano to a music school burnout. Due to my health conditions this semester, I have not made it through a lesson or coaching without bursting into tears or having an anxiety response. I feel like I had to sacrifice the craft I thought I was going to turn into a career. Through the breakdown of everything I thought I would be, I found such a deep appreciation for art of all forms nestled inside me. Like Moses and the burning bush, I burned and burned and walked out on the other side of the fire still standing. Even though I am fireproof, the “what if’s” and “could be’s” of my life are not. Those ideas became ash right before my eyes. 

Music was always the one thing that made me “special,” or so I was told. It was the thing that made me stand out from the crowd, and introduced me before I even had a chance to speak. I thought I would be afforded the opportunity to share my voice with the world in this medium for the rest of my life. My voice was one thing that was always there, even when the rest of the world was falling to pieces. It is a part of me. However, with the trauma that I have faced over the last couple months and the overwhelming sense of sadness, loss and defeat, my special-ness diminished. I stopped singing and went silent. I became someone without this skill or talent. I knew it was still inside me, but I was unable to share it with the world without my own psyche bringing me to my knees. 

As I mourn the craft that I’d poured myself into, I am coming to terms with the fact that my specialness, and main source of validation, was fading into nothingness. I asked myself: 

What do you do when the light inside your soul has been extinguished? 

The first thing you do is grieve. You cry and scream and yell, and eventually, you become angry at the thing that hurt you so badly.

I spent so much of this year furious at music.

Furious at myself for letting me think I could create a career in this field.

Angry at the pandemic for robbing me of the valuable knowledge I need to be a “good” musician.

Resentful towards my parents for forcing me to stay in a program and a school that I did not feel served me.

Acknowledging how I really felt is where I started to discover I could take power back. I screamed into the universe every day for the past 5 months, yelling “Why did I think I could do this???” 

The answer to that question is obvious: Because I can. 

I couldn’t see that this answer was right in front of me all along. I was too blinded by the idea of what was “correct” for a musician to do and say and be. 

During my fit of resentment, I finally took a step back. I realized the correct way to write music is not always the way that is truthful to the artist. The correct way to perform music is an even broader spectrum. I started to find freedom in my mistakes. I became a living, breathing example of the question: “What happens when everything you’ve ever done is deemed wrong by the standard of society?”

The answer? 

Nothing.

Sometimes, for music to be truthful, it has to be “incorrect.” 

I learned this lesson the most through my friends. They are all stunning, talented, brilliant vocalists. Hearing the folks I love find so much joy in something that I grew to hate, brought back a fullness in my heart that I thought was gone. It started very small, but glows brighter with every downbeat of a baton, every coordinated breath between vocalist and pianist, every nuanced melody I’ve had the privilege of hearing live. This is the warmth that I thought was lost. My friends sang their music their way. Each rendition was technically correct, but the artist’s addition of flair and style and grace is what makes classical music unique and special.

Each performer brings something new to the table, even on pieces that are hundreds of years old. 

I began to listen to symphonies. Art songs. Arias. Orchestral works from the dawn of time. I would zone out often, but every time a new motif or phrase caught my ear, I snapped up, attent as a soldier, and listened to the rendition of the beautiful work that was being showcased, right in front of my eyes. Music is special because it is something you can never see or touch, but you can always hear and feel. So many performers from all walks of life have touched my soul this semester, and I would have never unlocked this part of myself if I was not forced to dig deep enough to find myself. 

In the coming months, I will be rehabilitating my relationship with classical music. I want to enjoy it again because of its difficulty and depth, not in spite of it. I want to feel each soaring melody echo through me. I want to discuss these pieces with others. I want to share the knowledge I have acquired about the beautiful tunes I love so much. 

I want to return to the discipline one day, and I will, just not now. So for now I will take a backseat, and just watch. I am savoring every note and rhythm that I hear. I am simply here to enjoy it. 

Art is all around us. Music is magic. For the first time in my life, I am shedding the idea of what I can be for music, and deciding what music can be for me.