Together.

I grew up going to the symphony.

I am fortunate. 

My parents both loved music. They played music around the house constantly. They made attending live concerts a priority.

They bought season tickets to the Cincinnati Symphony and we sat in the balcony close to the stage where we could see the action.

Every summer we packed a picnic basket, got a big blanket and found a spot at Riverbend in the grass to hear the Cincinnati Pops 4th of July concert and fireworks which included the 1812 Overture.

I’ll never, ever forget hearing those cannons shooting off the banks of the Ohio River and the thrill I felt, how my heart pounded, how every hair on my body stood on its end hearing the chimes, hearing the power of the brass.

It still brings tears to my eyes whenever I hear it. David and Finn are amused when I cry hearing certain parts.

My husband, son and I started going to hear classical music concerts fairly regularly last year.

We hadn’t been attending concerts much before then, certainly not since the pandemic hit.

After the first concert a year ago something in me awoke.

I noticed how I felt during and after.

Exhilarated. High. Joyous. So very happy.

I used to play the oboe, in high school and my first year in college. I played with the Cincinnati Youth Symphony (the first year under the direction of Keith Lockhart).

I became acquainted with incredible pieces of work, from the inside out. Composers like Sibelius, Rimsky-Korsakov, Dvořák, Beethoven, and so many others. Those pieces are still my favorite pieces today.

I remembered this part of myself that I had forgotten, that I had shelved. 

I had forgotten about the power of experiencing a symphony, in-person with hundreds, thousands of other people.

That moment when the conductor raises their arms with the baton and there is complete silence in the hall. Everyone is still. Together.

And then when the music fills every pore of your being.

It washes over each and every person who is sitting and listening.

And then the clapping joyously, appreciatively, in unison.

Together.

It’s a moment shared, that those in that hall will remember forever.

It’s a moment where time stops, everyone’s hearts slow down, we breathe together, we are all brought closer through this connection.

It’s life changing.

And David, Finn and I share in that experience as a family- we remember certain moments.

“Remember the Timpani player at the end of that section!?”

“Remember the 4 hands on piano during that one part?”

When I hear a piece from one of those evenings I can’t NOT think of that moment without thinking of being there, and being together sharing in that experience.

We were in the car recently, listening to music, specifically playlists of concerts we had been to over 2023 and remembering how much we loved those pieces.

We remembered the moment of being there.

We remembered how exhilarating it was.

We relived it.

We celebrated it.

At one point I looked over to see that David was crying. 

And, well, of course so was I.

Has music affected you and your life? Send me message on instagram or through my contact page! I'd love to hear from you!