Alex and I are at the National Cello Institute right now. When we come to this program, as we have for the past three years, I repeatedly find myself thinking that the world is going to be okay, despite everything that is wrong with it. This program highlights everything that is right with the world.

This morning I was reading a post on a blog I found out about recently from my friend Jessica. The following statement resonated with me: “What Anne’s essay has me thinking about today, though, is about the way we make time for that which we really value. In fact, I think that if we each looked back over how we have spent the last day or week, we would see, in neon animation, a graph of what it is we really honor and think is important. That’s what we make time for.  Most often, this happens instinctively, without much forethought or analysis. It simply is. We just say yes to that which we care most about. Other times, we have to actively, even fiercely guard the time for certain activities or people who are near to our hearts.”

Some time ago I remember thinking about someone who didn’t have time to work out but did watch a lot of TV, that working out just wasn’t important to this person. Yet, that isn’t the main point here; rather, what I’m thinking about is what it’s meant to value music and cello and making time for this in our lives. And, more than anything else I can think of, it has shown Alex what it takes to make something of quality. I can’t say that he has come to love practicing, but what has happened over the past five years is that practicing is simply part of everyday life. And, I think he has come to understand what practicing enables him to do. I also believe that cello has been, and will continue to be, a remarkable part of his education. What he had learned is tremendous. We’re starting our four-year-old on the cello in the fall. I can’t wait to see what the whole process will be like with him. I’m also looking forward to the opportunity to do this for the second time and to have Alex’s help.

Many years ago, a family of one of the students I was teaching gave me a signed copy of a poem called “Cello.” At that time I didn’t have a personal connection with the cello or even have much cello music in my life. But that gift now seems like some sort of prophet, some sign of things to come. Here’s that beautiful poem:

Cello

by Adam Zagajewski

Those who don’t like it say it’s

just a mutant violin

that’s been kicked out of the chorus.

Not so.

The cello has many secrets,

but it never sobs,

just sings in its low voice.

Not everything turns into song

though. Sometimes you catch

a murmur or a whisper:

I’m lonely,

I can’t sleep.