Sweet serenade
My bow is an extension of myself.
I can’t imagine life without my bow. Top athletes say things like, “I could do cartwheels before I could walk” or “I took to water like a fish.” For me, I have no conscious memories of my life without a bow in my hands. There are photos of me in diapers holding a plastic bow and cello. It was one of the many toys in my room, but somehow it was the one that changed my life.
I couldn’t tell you why I picked up the neon-colored instrument as a child. The bow had no strings, but I do remember it feeling like an extension of myself. My dad would say I carried the toy around the house like other kids did a security blanket. Eventually, my parents put me in lessons, and that is when I truly came into myself.
I certainly did not take to it right away. I was dreadful. But my parents wouldn’t let me quit, even when my fingers were bleeding and tears stung my cheeks. They saw in me not greatness but the chance for contentment. None of us ever dreamed that music would take me so far, both physically and metaphorically.
At 21 and a new college graduate, I was selected as lead cellist for the Iceland Symphony Orchestra, the youngest person to hold the honor. My tryout was what everyone calls an out-of-body experience. While I did not black out, my body and mind were separate entities. My bow was an extension of my being, creating everything beautiful that I had to share. I played with my eyes closed, letting the music flow through my fingertips and into the world.
The opportunity took me touring around the world to place I had no hopes or dreams of seeing growing up in a remote Iceland village. Paris. London. New York. Amsterdam. Tokyo. No matter the place or the audience, I found comfort in my instrument. When the nerves kicked in, I would think back to the joy of my plastic cello and channel that inner child. Music was more than something I did; it was who I am.
Even in death, I want people to know how I moved through the world. Seeing this grave markers tells visitors something about it, something about how I lived and wanted to be remembered. On quiet days, I can almost hear the wind making notes that I played. That still stir my soul.
I like watching people stop to admire my gravestone. It feels like I have an audience again to sweetly serenade.
