Jonathan Palmer Lakeland

I’m returning to tumblr . YES IT’S TRUE

I wish that all of you would remember this a little more often:

“When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward.

But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.” (Matthew 6:5-6)

I just remembered a little story that I’ve been wanting to share to the world for a long time.

When I was a freshman in college, I began participating in a special collaboration with the NY Philharmonic to observe rehearsals as a student conductor. The experience is extraordinary.

Anyways, one day I was at Avery Fisher Hall to observe a rehearsal conducted by a young maestro who, at the time, was just hitting it big in the world of classical music: Gustavo Dudamel. He was conducting Mahler in this performance, and my experience on that day would revolutionize my understanding of Mahler, music, and conducting.

At 9:45 AM I arrived at “66th Street, Lincoln Center Station” on the uptown “1” train from Penn Station. My train from Princeton had run late that day, so I was hurrying to make the downbeat at 10 AM sharp. I got off the train, still not quite aware of who this “G. Dudamel” was that was listed on my NY Philharmonic rehearsal schedule (I am, of course, ashamed to admit such things). I sprinted across the street- narrowly missing the early-morning rage of a few yellow-cab drivers. I straightened myself, and began the half-block walk down “Leonard Bernstein Way” to enter the stage-door at Avery Fisher Hall. As always, this felt like a religious pilgrimage in so many ways. Who was I- a young, aspiring, STUDENT conductor (at best)- to be entering through a pair of heavy metal doors that had been opened, walked through, and closed by the greatest musicians the world had ever seen? Would I perish just by touching the handle of these heavy, sacred doors? So many people tirelessly longed for the ability to enter here, and I am one of the few that has gained access. Every time is the same- I stop to breathe, often forcing some straggling Philharmonic musicians to walk around me as I slow and prepare myself for the experience that lies ahead.

I open the doors- security buzzes me through with a couple of violinists: we enter, the doors close, and we part ways. The musicians turn left to head to the stage. I turn right to go up the long staircase, through the dressing rooms, into the house and to sit in my box. I turn to head up the first flight of stairs, and three men are walking down. I haven’t had coffee, and am in a slightly dreary state. The first two pass by me, and the third is a few paces behind. Without thinking of it, I look up at him, smile, and say, “Hello”. His eyes connect with mine, and with a beaming energy I get a, “Hello!”, in a now unmistakable Venezuelan tone.

I continue up the stairs. Then, a thought crosses my mind, “Was he carrying a baton?”, I asked myself?

“Yes, yes he was.”, I replied to myself.

“Did I just pass by the maestro, and say nothing but, ‘Hello’?”, I asked myself, pleading that I had mysteriously selectively forgotten some element of our brief dialogue.

“Yes, yes you did, you stupid fool.”, I said.

Then I thought, what would have I said? I probably would have said something rather similar, just with a giddier, schoolgirl-like tone. So, in a way, I was content with our dialogue.

I became more content with this dialogue as I walked through the eerily empty first-tier lobby towards my box. It’s so odd to walk through a space like this- a space that is almost always imagined teeming with life and filled to the brim with people- but is now empty, except the lone janitor cleaning the rug. And as I walked through this place, I remembered the expression Dudamel gave me as we passed eachother and exchanged pleasantries. He said to me, “Hello!”- That’s what he physically said to me. But his eyes said so much more. They said, “Welcome”; “I’m excited for this rehearsal!”; “You look tired.”- they said all these things and so much more. They said so much more than I could ever put into words.

I didn’t fully understand what his eyes said until the first time I got in front of an orchestra. Then, as I journeyed from my dressing room to the backstage, and then readied myself on the podium- I realized what Dudamel had been saying to the world through his eyes. It was an unmistakable eagerness; it was a never ending passion; it was the deepest connection I have felt through a “Hello!”. It was music. He gave me music through his eyes.

Perhaps I’ve said this before? I feel like what I’m about to say is practically a mantra, at this point. I’ve thought it and said it so many times, I don’t know why I’m so bothered still.

There’s a difference between confidence and egotism. Confidence is a leveled belief and trust in one’s talents. Egotism is the self-centered, detrimental attitude that has no place in truth, and is nothing like confidence. What is so difficult about separating the difference between the two, when observing and analyzing someone’s behavior, is that they have relatively similar symptoms. The one difference is that “egotism” tends to create a nasty human being, but “confidence” creates a level-headed, kind, yet strong person. Because of the similarity in symptoms, however, no one can observe another and accurately report on the truth. We can only accurately evaluate ourselves. We are the only ones that know what talent and attitude lies within. I suppose what I’m hinting at is, really, it’s not that important. If someone is nice to you, who cares if they’re confident? Isn’t that an admirable trait?