What I learned from a Young Street Musician

What I learned from a young street musician was really that which came about by reflecting on the event.

Asheville Art Galleries

My granddaughter and I were visiting art galleries in Asheville, North Carolina. She was enthralled with the various mediums and was especially drawn to the blown glass and cut glass. We commented about the way the light traveled through the depth and colors, some randomized, some distinctly and magnificently floral or patterned.

One of the galleries had a co-op of nine artisans. The pieces were diverse in every conceivable way, from the colors to the medium, and the styles to the elements, and the form to functionality. It was a great experience for both of us. We looked at the pieces and asked questions.

What do you see? What do you think the person depicted is thinking? How does it make you feel? Would you like to look at this every day? Which piece is your favorite? Why? At each group of similar work, we stopped to compare and contrast. We spent a couple of hours. She was ecstatic.

A Young Street Musician

As we started toward the parking garage, we passed a young street musician. He looked very young, maybe as young as 12, but looks can be deceiving. His slight built and pale blue eyes topped a button-down dress shirt and dress pants. He played the violin beautifully. A few steps from the curb, I noticed my granddaughter hesitated. Her head slightly tipped to hear him a moment longer, I asked, “Would you like to turn back? I have some quarters.”

I didn’t have any cash, other than five dollars in coins. It was intended for laundry. In a few seconds and a few steps, we were back in front of him. He stopped playing. I looked in his eyes. He lowered his bow by his side. Then, the instrument. With the look of accomplishment, as though he had completed all he had intended. So, from the handful of quarters, I counted out only four quarters for her to drop next to the one-dollar bills into his case, which was at his feet.

I put my arm around her and said, “Let’s be on our way,” as pleasantly as I could. She appeared confused, as did I, I’m sure. “I wonder why he stopped playing,” she said. “Me too. I’d think he’d play for more money. It seemed to be the purpose,” I said. We held hands and swung them back and forth to the garage, smiling at one another. “You chose our activity well. It was a perfect time for me,” she said.

What I learned

While I have no earthly idea what prompted the young street musician to stop playing, I realize it could have been simply the end of the piece of music he had. I didn’t actually learn anything directly from him, but from the experience.

Perhaps, he heard me say that I had quarters, rather than dollars. If so, he could have felt like a slot machine and maybe dehumanized. That was as far from my intention as possible. I wanted to show my appreciation and would have happily emptied all of my ‘laundry money’ into his case. I learned that my heart didn’t stop when he stopped. It did, however limit my gift, because he limited his. Isn’t that interesting? People respond to one another. We give and withhold according to social cues.

Neither of us allowed our disappointment to diminish the grand hours we had just experienced. We acknowledged it and revelled in delight for the beauty and adventure we shared. I learned that we all have the ability to choose how we respond to our world and the ever-changing expectations we have. But further, I think it’s important to note that we were full of good feeling and that probably made it easier. If you are having a hard day, it is much more effort to ignore unmet expectations.

We should not and really, cannot control other people, even with money. I learned that we should be gracious and kind in every circumstance, regardless of our desires. My granddaughter and I would have loved to hear the young street musician play a bit more, but he did not. Neither of us had any thought of rebuke. We freely gave without requiring anything in return.

Most Importantly

When I dropped her back off at her parent’s, she was still smiling. I learned that showing love is immensely more important that saying it.