One week ago today, after a week of busyness and exhaustion, I made an excellent decision. Frequently I realize I have fallen prey to a "routine," predictable and dull. For some reason, that Sunday evening I was convinced I needed inspiration and a night of leisure. Enter the North Carolina Symphony and Ben Folds.
Unhindered by the thought of going alone, I reserved one seat and anxiously anticipated Thursday evening. Another friend decided she would like to join me, and we arrived just in time to watch the sun drop beyond the patio of Meymandi Concert Hall at the Progress Center. The evening was perfectly spring, and the guests were a comforting visage of folk art simplicity.
Having listened to Ben Folds in high school and college, the first notes drew me back to moments of joy, driving down generic streets, singing along merrily to odd lyrics and playful melodies. The brilliance of the evening shone from the black suits and polished instruments to the very last row of the concert hall.
Occasionally there are moments in listening to live music when I am blessed with the novel sensation that I am hearing music for the first time. This evening was a first breath of winter air, the smell of salt air when stepping off a plane, a string of chords that sends chills up each note of my spine.
Mr. Folds offered tremendous praise for the symphony musicians and a gem of wisdom for the audience. In our society, he noted, there are few organizations left that consist of individuals who selflessly perform for the corporate good. Rather than a stage filled with fame-seeking pop stars, symphony musicians perfectly complement each other and glorify the whole.
For two hours my ears danced along with the strings, and I found it nearly impossible to resist the thought "I am the luckiest." Making time for substantive regeneration faithfully yields a lifetime of irreplaceable, keepsake memories.
