Who’s Responsible? (Part 1 of 2)

September 2026.

“I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you.” Luke 10:18

Anxiety got its hooks in me early on, as a young violinist. Music became linked with worry: worry about failing, of not measuring up. My childhood household ran on perpetual high alert. For Mom, who was naturally anxious, everything was A REALLY BIG DEAL. Life was a fire drill. We were always in a hurry, and impending doom was around every corner. Mom’s anxiety was contagious. By association, everything became a life-or-death emergency for me, too: doing well in school, meeting expectations, and especially my performance as a violinist. I was an over-functioning, overthinking, overly responsible, world-class worrier.

My panic attacks started at age 6, during orchestra rehearsals. The conductor of my Suzuki chamber orchestra happened to be the assistant conductor of the venerable Chicago Symphony Orchestra. He was scary, and would intimidate us with yelling, cussing, and singling out anyone who wasn’t cutting it. He’d make us play tough passages alone, one at a time…for maximum terror and humiliation. This maestro loomed larger than life, with his signature 1970’s pointy-collared, black polyester shirt, with red Japanese lettering on it. Even the shirt seemed to sneer, “You’re DEAD, kid!”

Orchestra rehearsals were on Saturday mornings. “The Stomachache” would start like clockwork, every Friday after school. That’s when the dread would slither in…and the worry…in a continuous thought loop. Failure, shame, repeat. I would whine to my parents that I was sick and couldn’t go to rehearsal…that I just couldn’t do it…but my protests got me nowhere. The march to the scaffold would proceed as planned.

I was in way over my head. I could barely read music yet, and mostly played the pieces by ear, which doesn’t get you very far in orchestra. Reading music would come later, but for now, I was in a pickle. What’s a clueless, terrified little kid to do? Copy what everyone else is doing and try to be invisible. Not a solid game plan for the serious repertoire we were playing: Tchaikovsky, Grieg, Barber.

Fighting the stomachache, trying to slog my way through a terrible piece called Dover Beach by Samuel Barber, I couldn’t figure out for the life of me, how the notes on the page were supposed to fit into the conductor’s beat pattern. By the time I got one measure figured out, I was 3 measures behind everyone. Baffling melodic fragments, indecipherable rhythms, time signatures that required subdivisions….it was all Greek to me.

The maestro stopped us mid-phrase, sharply rapping his baton on his music stand. Ugh, here we go again. Throwing his hands down in disgust, he started down the row of violinists, first with the concertmaster, having each kid play the offending passage. My heart was beating out of my chest. No way out now. My hands shook, my body felt frozen. I might be able to play the first note, but after that, the charade would be over.

When my turn came, I thought I might throw up. I was cornered; all eyes were on me. I played the first couple of notes that I knew from memory, then I crumpled. The predictably awkward silence fell over the room, then the expletive-filled rant from the conductor; filled with words like “shameful” and “unacceptable.” I was just glad it was over. For now, at least. The worst part: I’d have to face the whole debacle again the next Saturday. No one was coming to rescue me; I was alone in it. I felt like a gargantuan let-down. And I felt responsible for fixing it…but I didn’t know how.

That painful season of floundering through orchestra rehearsals mercifully passed. I eventually learned how to read music; and went on to have a career as an orchestral violinist. And cringe-y as my early failures were, nothing fatal ever happened. Anxiety didn’t get the last word! Good came of it in the end. I learned this: in a situation that seems impossible, sometimes it’s enough to just keep showing up to take another whack at it. We’re not responsible for things out of our control or ability; but we are responsible to do what we CAN. To endure IS to overcome.