SURRENDER
Freedom is a privilege, and this year, I’ve come to feel its edges in new ways, through leaving my job, committing to ethical choices in my job search, experiencing homelessness, navigating the end of a relationship, and choosing my artistry. This freedom, found in the spaces of unemployment, houselessness, and singleness, ultimately led me to Japan and Seattle, where I had the capacity and prior knowledge to both perform and listen to the various forms of musiking. As my cousin Lisa reminded me, we each live through unique experiences, some beautiful, some difficult, and most others will never understand. These are markers of our individuality. Rather than questioning my worthiness for these moments, I’ve come to see them as reminders of my path and an invitation to surrender to the unexpected whenever I can.
It’s easy to forget how to truly live, but prioritizing the arts—especially music—brings me back to life. How can we live more fully in the present and in our truest forms? It takes a blend of willingness, boundaries, sacrifice, and love. But wouldn’t you rather take those risks for your happiness? You may stumble, but you will grow, and you’ll see how beautiful life becomes when you surrender to possibility.
This reminder is as much for me as it is for you.
When Needed Most
In Japan, I had the opportunity to perform with Miho Masuda, a pianist and the owner of “Space & Cafe Mon Ton,” an experience that came about because of the kindness, creativity, and spirit of my aunt, Hiroko Long, whose energy seems to ripple into every encounter she creates.
When we began planning the concert, ideas were swirling. “August 18th works,” was suggested, and with that, anxiety hit me. 'Two weeks!?' I thought, realizing I left my music in Pittsburgh. I’d have to learn new pieces quickly. Given my current focus on uplifting the voices of those strategically marginalized, finding meaningful, accessible works added another layer of challenge. But I took a deep breath and said, 'Let’s do it!' This was not only about spotlighting women, Black, and emerging composers but about releasing the need for perfection. It was better to play with joy than to hold back out of fear.
Thankfully, I had my family’s support and my own experience to lean on.
We ended up performing 'Accept Cookies' by Nicholas Fagnili (1997 - ), Suite for Flute and Piano by Madame Clémence Grandval (1828 - 1907), Mei for Solo Flute by Kazuo Fukushima (1930 - 2023), and Adoration by Florence Price (1887 - 1953). Each composer brought a distinct voice and vision to the music, challenging boundaries and redefining cultural narratives. Nicholas Fagnili, a modern composer and educator from Pittsburgh, seeks to liberate music from traditional frameworks, encouraging students to improvise and explore natural sounds. Madame Clémence Grandval, a Romantic-era composer, broke social norms by composing under pseudonyms and made profound contributions to both sacred and secular music. Kazuo Fukushima blended Japanese traditions like Noh and Gagaku with Western techniques, using instruments like the flute and shakuhachi to create unique musical experimentations. Florence Price, the first African-American woman recognized as a symphonic composer, incorporated African-American spirituals into her work, establishing a powerful voice in American music. Together, these composers expand the limits of music while reflecting and reshaping the cultural landscapes of their times.
As we played the last note, I felt gratitude. My artistry had meaning, bringing people together and opening new perspectives; a reminder of why the arts matter.
My musical journey didn’t end with that concert. I continued to explore, attending performances by my aunt’s favorite opera singers, like Miki Nakayama, and seeking out jazz and experimental music venues across Tokyo, including Jazz Someday, Ftarri, and OTOOTO.
It was a shared experience—feeling seen and seeing others.
Get Out of Your Way
In Seattle, I found myself not yet ready to return home, welcomed instead by my cousins. Gratitude carried me through, although it mingled with a different kind of anxiety; a feeling tied to self-worth and a sense of identity. I worried that if I didn’t practice the flute, I’d fall behind, as though my title of “musician” might slip away. But simultaneously, it was clear that music was one of the things that gave life meaning for me.
If I wanted to play, I could make it happen, but my ego sometimes got in the way. I could practice in the apartment, but only with silent fingering to avoid making noise. I could go to the park, but that meant being exposed. I could even travel to another cousin’s house, though it required coordination. Ultimately, I was creating barriers, real but self-imposed, ones that held me back.
Then, during one of our first explorations in Seattle, we discovered practice rooms at the downtown Public Library. It felt like finding a treasure. For many musicians, practice rooms are sacred spaces, places where growth takes place. Like a butterfly developing in its cocoon, we work privately until we’re ready to emerge and share our art with the world. I felt ready to grow again. Although I worried about not having a library card, it turned out I didn’t need one. And, lucky enough, one of the rooms with a broken piano was less frequented and more available. So, Monday through Friday, I was practicing and felt alive again, as though the blood was flowing freely back into my body.
I was grateful to the library that on my last day of practice, I even brought them cookies.
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In Seattle, as in Japan, my musical journey focused on connection with others. My cousin reminded me that life isn’t about sticking to comfortable routines. Who knows if I’ll get another chance to be here? Life is a balancing act: honoring the past, staying present, and looking forward. Yet I realize that I often let the present slip away, held back by never feeling fully content.
This realization shook me in a good way, inspiring a quick shift in focus. I started planning to experience more of Seattle’s music scene. I went to concerts with friends, like MYXA and Romare, explored the city’s art scene, from the Opera’s Jubilee Day to the Earshot Jazz Festival, KEXP’s Public In-Studio Viewings, and vinyl bars like Life on Mars, watched friends perform Rachmaninoff on piano, and even joined Jai, Niccolo, and Evan in a Racer Session, where Jai offered me an alto saxophone, an instrument I’ve wanted for years. These experiences became as essential as my practice, enriching my understanding and appreciation of music.
What did I learn from these performances?
Creative People Are Everywhere: Inspiration is all around us, often found in the people we meet, each bringing their unique vision and style to the art they create.
Creativity Spans Genres: Truly creative people explore diverse musical styles, breaking down genre boundaries and enriching their own work in the process.
Experience Music From All Sides: Engage with music not only as a performer but as a listener, a researcher, something entirely different. Each perspective offers new insights and deepens one’s connection to the art.
Musiking Requires Joy: Joy fuels the creative process, transforming music from mere notes into something vibrant and alive.
Musicians Are Courageous: It takes bravery to share art with strangers, knowing each performance reveals a piece of oneself.
Don’t Obstruct Your Artistry: Avoid self-doubt or perfectionism that stifles growth; instead, allow the freedom to create without fear.
Investments in Artistry Pays Off: Every step forward, every lesson learned, strengthens the craft, even if the rewards aren’t immediately visible.
Music is Omnipresent: Music will always be there to support and inspire, as long as one continues to nurture the relationship.
Several Ways to Succeed
I recognize that none of these experiences would have unfolded without my own choices. While the support of others has been essential, ultimately, I decided to prioritize music. My path is unique, as is every artist’s, and I know it will remain in flux for as long as I live because we’re always changing. I want to be a performer, a listener, and a supporter, expanding my musicianship with a deeper awareness of myself and those around me. This requires intentionality, and I’ve shown that I’m willing to put in the work. I just have to keep betting on myself, accepting that this journey will be messy as I discover what resonates most deeply.
“I’m right where I need to be,” and I keep repeating this to make sure it sticks. Growth isn’t linear, but if I trust my purpose and my potential, it’ll feel just as close. Joy, courage, and presence have become essential to my art—and I’m excited to see where they take me next.
