Fiddle Camp

There's way too much to say in one post. It was amazing and wonderful and intensive and aggravating and tiring and enlightening and inspiring and so much fun. I miss it already. I learned so much in such a short amount of time. My brain felt like a heavy, wet sponge full of music, and I was sure that if I squeezed it, discordant notes would pour out like water. I learned the importance of scales and all that music theory I blew off. I discovered a form of jazz that I get. I played by ear until I could see the changing intervals in my head. I became friends with beautiful, inspiring people. I could say the corniest things about the experience and they'd all be true. Of course, there were a few times when I wanted to throw my violin across the room and renounce music in all its forms, but that's just part of the love-hate relationship. I wish I'd practiced more; I wish I'd listened to my violin teacher when she taught me proper form and technique. I wish I'd realized she did it for a reason and she wouldn't have wasted her time on it if it hadn't been important. I'm so sorry I neglected my violin so much, and I wish I could keep the spirit of camp with me so I don't do it again. But it's hard to keep it up when that environment and camaraderie is gone. I have to keep myself inspired now; I have to keep listening to music and trusting that I can create it myself if I practice enough. I have to remember to be stoic and not berate myself when I mess up. I'm scared I'll become apathetic again, like I did last year. But the only thing I can do for the large scale is to work on the small scale. So I will practice tonight. I promise myself I will practice tonight.