Silent Night

On most nights, by midnight I would be too tired to play. Even in college, I don't think I practiced that late. But on many Christmas eves, I'm in church to play Silent Night just before the end of the service. The lights dim, and people pass flames from their candles along the pews. We usually play in D, so it's in a low, singing part of the oboe. I always hope I have a reed that will do it justice. It's at the same time very solitary and very connected. I focus on playing each note well - both in time and in tune, and on playing in a way that will feel natural and peaceful to the congregation when they sing. I feel connected to the other people in the service, and I want the final notes in the room to be the most beautiful I'm capable of playing. But I'm not playing for a conductor, or a teacher, or a judge, and I won't leave the service hoping it would be considered a good performance. Unless I struggle with the mechanics of the instrument, more than any other time I play, I just enjoy the experience in the moment that it's happening. And though I've done it for many years, in it's own way, it is always a pivotal experience. The next time I play with an ensemble, I will still sit on the front of my chair, count with my fingers on my leg, and remind myself to relax and breathe when I have something hard to play; but I will try to take some of the in the moment playing from Silent Night and let it be part of the pieces and places where it doesn't come as easily.