![]() I felt myself slipping into their quicksand of lost dreams. There, I found myself surrounded by a stage full of jaded, cynical musicians whose songs had all been robbed long, long ago. During my senior year I took a job playing in an orchestra in upstate New York. I didn’t even notice my song was gone until the day I got a glimpse of my future. The thief kept me well distracted as he stole my song. As the years progressed, the cold concrete of judgment slowly seeped in to my bones. I liked this feeling of superiority, so I let him in.īashing quickly became a habit, and soon I could cut any performance to shreds. ![]() He taught me how to focus on the faults of others. But he lived within well-meaning friends. Now let me introduce you to this thief that would eventually steal my song. My song lost its footing, and right in that slippery moment, a thief stepped in and saved me. I entered into a whole new world of personal insecurity. So I left Pittsburgh, where I was a regional treasure,to study cello at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, where I was just another cellist. When I graduated high school in 1985, I needed to find out how far my song could take me. I was inspired to start cello when I was 6, and spent my youth studying music and performing in Pittsburgh. The love that came alive inside me told me that as long as I had music, everything was going to be all right. I remember being 5 years old in 1972, listening to my father’s youth group sing in our living room. As a child, my song lived in me, and I lived in my song. Why couldn’t I take a deep breath? Why was I tying myself in knots trying to please everybody? Why was I looking outside of myself for fulfillment? And where in the world had my song gone? ![]() I wrote page after page, discovering more questions than answers. “David, if you are throwing up in the middle of the night, YOU’D BETTER TAKE A LOOK AT YOUR LIFE!” She left the room. So I just waited for it to pass like it had all those other times.īut THIS time was different. My body was trying to tell me that something had to change, but I had no idea where to start. I had just spent the whole night throwing up. I was curled up in a ball one bleak morning in 1996. I’m going to tell you the story about the thief that stole my song (my deep joy of music), the journey I took to find it again, and the unexpected treasure I discovered.īut let me start in the middle, with the wake-up call that was not pretty.
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