When I went to my parents' house for Easter, I tried to talk my freshman-in-high-school brother, Sam, into joining the conservatory of music at my college alma mater. Then I remarked, "
if you go into music."
Sam is well aware that I started out in college as a double major in music and psychology. I waited until my junior year to drop my music major, which I wrote about at the time in my post,
Trusting God. I told him on Easter that I am glad I made the decision I made. He asked why and I stammered for a couple half-sentences before saying it would take too long to explain.
Music is fantastic. 99% of the population would agree with me. I know I'm not the only one who leans my head back and closes my eyes when that gorgeous chorus comes around and I'm overwhelmed and consumed by it. I know I'm not the only one who feels restored and rejuvenated after expressing myself musically. I know I'm not the only one who feels the music on more than an emotional level, but on a physical level, causing me to tap my foot, dance, or pound my fist into the steering wheel.
It feels good to excel and become skillful at music, whether anyone else is around to admire you or not. In high school I was involved in marching band, concert band, extracurricular honors bands and orchestras, pep band, quintets, competed as a soloist, school choir, church choir, and I took private lessons for three instruments and voice. I loved (almost) every moment of it. Eventually, I tried out for college music departments.
I knew before I even got to college that music would not be my number one career choice. I wanted to go into psychology, and I wanted music to be a hobby to some degree. I was alarmed the summer before I started school to find that I was in about four or five music classes and only one psychology class. I remember calling the dean's office from the camp where I was working as a counselor, and being told that the music program starts out heavy and the psychology program starts out light. I was told that as my school career went on, psychology would become more intensive and music would lighten up.
It was pretty obvious at the conservatory I got into that there was no room for mere hobbyists. I had a professor that made the class chant, "Music is a lifestyle, not a hobby." I wouldn't join in, just sit there and glower at him. The program was intensive and not only was I not prepared, but my heart wasn't in it. I was told I needed to practice four hours a day, but I practiced about four hours a month.
I'm still not exactly sure what changed for me or why I stopped loving the thing that my life once practically revolved around. I still loved music as a concept, but what I was doing felt like a chore. By the time my junior year rolled around, my music requirements were still overwhelming my ability to complete my psychology requirements. I wasn't going to let a false passion override a true one.
I gradually realized something that would frustrate me profoundly. Performing music was not worshipful for me. I could worship God through music easily when part of the crowd, whether around a campfire or at a Cru meeting or in a congregation. But put me in the front of the room and suddenly it was a contest of talent against myself or others. Playing or singing was a selfish pleasure. I asked God that he would help me worship him more through my music, but it didn't happen. He had given me another way of worshiping him: work in the mental health field.
So that's why I left.
I still graduated with a music minor (which I had already earned and far surpassed by the time I dropped my major). I am now doing something far better and well-suited for me. I still love music, but I mourn the fact that it has become such a small part of my life. However, I think it makes those moments of getting lost in the song even more precious.
God bless.
