Puppy Love

We all have our first loves.

Forever, we'll compare our current relationships to that puppy-love adoration we felt in 6th grade, or 9th grade, or whenever...

And then, some of us never got over that initial euphoria. We still cling to the hope that it will, someday, be as good as we first expected.

I mean, we've been working toward this potential Nirvana forever; how could it not work out?

And so sometimes I wonder if music was perhaps my first love.

I was slow to obsess over boys (although, yes - I had my turn), and I certainly didn't follow the usual teenage decline of alcohol induced confusion. I was straight and narrow - I read all the books on the book list, I was friends with the smart kids, and I practiced my heart out.

Practicing, playing the flute, music was all that mattered. I knew what I wanted, and by god - I was going to get it.

And there isn't much need to go into the next series of events, but suffice it to say that it turns out I'm just like everyone else - I have my weaknesses and I certainly let them take hold...

And so now, on the other end of a war that I never meant to enter, I wonder if it's too late. I wonder if there is still enough time to once again grab what I want and hold it oh-so-close and go for it with all of my heart and soul.

Or... I wonder if maybe it's just plain too late. And that maybe, right now, I'm just that pathetic girl pining over a guy that has long since forgotten her... following him around at a party - at a safe distance, of course, but nonetheless obviously coveting what she cannot have...

I mean, I dropped the ball. Plain and simple, I let a number of pivotal years slip by, and now a younger group of musicians is getting the jobs and Jesus I'm almost 30.

So, what now? I am definitely capable of letting go, of moving on to something else. What else? I'm not sure, but I know for sure there must be something out there...

But then, even when I decide I completely, 100% want to change paths - well, that's when that first love shows up again.

I'll be walking around the corner in Philadelphia and run into a musician I know, or I (willingly, joyfully) go to an orchestra concert, or I even just look at my flute... and I know I'm not over it.

I'm not yet ready to move on; I still feel that stomach-cramp-inducing pull; if there was a proper phone number, there would without a doubt be a drunk dial...

God, I love music, and I want to be in an orchestra. As embarrassing and ridiculous as it sounds, I really just want to play the flute in an orchestra.

(I know, of course, that winning a job would not create instant happiness; I'm not so vapid as to think life is that simple. I do know, however, that if I had a stable job doing what I love, the tension in my shoulders, voice, attitude would disappear and I would be able to smile easily and without deceit.)

And so I keep plugging along - hoping and dreaming for some insane, seemingly impossible, unknown summit. But, it's for good reason - it's for desire and music and insanity/sanity (because they're both the same, really)...

Hell, it's for knowing that true love never dies, and that no matter what, no matter how corny it all seems, you'll always be there for each other.