There’s a lot that can divide us. But music unites us.

I recently was invited to audition for a professional orchestra . . . in Helena, Montana! The friend who extended the invitation had heard me play when I was trying violins out at his shop in Idaho. I also heard him play. We were both instantly impressed with each other’s playing. Later, when I did indeed make it into this orchestra, he offered to give me rides from the host family’s home I was assigned to. Such kindness was not lost on me.

As I reflected, I realized that this man had had a lot of life experience I didn’t exactly relate to. He had been married young and recently divorced, where I had been married for the first time relatively recently, at a much later season in life. As he and his girlfriend drove me around the back roads of Helena, MT, listening to Richard Strauss’ Also Sprach Zarathustra, I marveled at the singularity of the experience and the respect I had for my fellow musicians, even though the angst of the music didn’t exactly match the aloof grandeur of the surrounding snowy mountains. The song choice seemed out of place, even though we had it playing because we were all trying to learn it for an upcoming performance. But this experience of listening to the loud, emotional, conflicted music of Strauss together, amidst the calm, cold majesty of the mountains, also reiterated to me that despite a potential sense of disconnect, the three of us new friends had a lot in common! Indeed, we all do! What it came down to, was 1) music itself and 2) the feeling of mutual respect borne of knowing firsthand the years of work that go into doggedly perfecting our talents!

Later, in rehearsal, I met my stand partner for the first time and was instantly impressed with her willingness to collaborate. She had a friendly, unassuming manner. We looked nothing alike and hailed from opposite sides of the country.

I think we both had bright smiles. (After all, you're never fully dressed without one.) But any differences in appearance didn’t affect our friendship in the slightest. The music did. It automatically connected us. She listened to my whispered excitement and frustrations alike with a warm acceptance, and she seemed to pay attention and relate to everything I tried to tell her, without even a hint of annoyance. Whether I was expressing my vulnerable desire to overcome the difficult passages in the music, writing in a comment from the concertmaster or conductor, fixing a fingering or bowing, acknowledging my embarrassment at silly mistakes, or proclaiming my awe at the brilliance of the composer’s work, she was consistently attentive and kind.

I had other experiences like this: meeting people who led completely different lives than my own, with different priorities, but who were nevertheless very kind and respectful—the music being the common denominator. One lady and her wife were especially welcoming and kind to me. But it was inevitably their music that really spoke to me in a way that made me feel connected to them.

Even in a small community group, the positive vibe of group collaboration can be similar, when everyone comes together to give all they can with patience for each other’s weaknesses. In a community orchestra, the level of playing of individual players may vary a lot. But the musicians are all there for a common cause, and comparison and competition don’t really have a place. The players are simply there to celebrate the joy in the music, contributing however they can.

An audience is a big part of a musician’s world too, whether it be a crowd of millions or an audience of one. The recent worldwide pandemic threw my appreciation for listeners into sharp relief. I’ve never appreciated an audience more, or realized my dependence on those there to listen, until they were temporarily absent.

Exploring the value of audiences further, I’ve heard that people who know they are going to die sometimes request a last song to be played or sung for them by friends or family before they depart this life. I’ve recently wondered if I’ve ever unknowingly been part of recording a CD track that was specifically requested by someone about to pass away. If so, I would consider it a special honor. I would feel as though I were a part of their journey, strangers though we may be.

Like many people, I value these types of connection—connecting to a friend, a fellow violinist from the community, an audience, or even a stranger—through music. Music has a spiritual and emotional power. I’m incredibly grateful for the unifying power of good music in this world and how it brings out the best in people, time and time again.