The Real Me

Every Sunday evening, I get together with an eclectic group of four men for a play date. I play my flute and they play their oboe, horn, clarinet and bassoon. This isn't a euphemism, it's a woodwind quintet. 

We might not normally socialize except for that love of music. You've got a 61-year old math teacher, 40-something church music director, 30 or 40-something appliance salesperson/expert, an 80-year old insurance salesman and me, a 32-year old blonde realtor/mother. 

Being a flutist is something that has defined who I am for such a long time; I've been playing for more than 2 decades. After I got married in 1999 (to a non-musician) and moved to Florida and then to Oklahoma, I didn't have that musical outlet anymore. The way I used to make friends no longer existed and making friends in other ways was a real challenge for me those first few years of marriage. 

Up until 2007, I hadn't played with anyone at all. And then one day a stranger with an oboe called and said, "I hear you play the flute."

What's interesting about this quintet is that, even though we've only been playing together for less than 2 years, I sometimes feel this is my most authentic moment of the week--when the girl I envision in my head really comes out to play. This is the person I was before I became a wife, mother, Okie or professional. In those moments, I'm just that girl who was playing the flute back in middle school, high school and college--the same girl who seems to be lost as the years flit by. I miss her.

Aside from family, I have a "post-1999" friend who attends all my performances. By coming, not only does she have stellar musical experience (ha!), but I feel like she's really interested in who I am and who I've been. That may sound a little dramatic but there's hardly anyone I see regularly that has any acquaintance with the "pre-modern me." And the fact anyone might be interested in that girl is refreshing.