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I found myself looking for something interesting. I was looking for something to help me sift through my emotions. What was I in the mood for? I don’t exactly know.

Stumbling along Albert Einstein’s rhetorical question, I stopped to think.

“A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin, what else does a man need to be happy.”

It struck me that barely anyone I knew would actually agree with the fourth object that Mr. Einstein had included in the list. I can just hear them saying, “Einstein’s brain has too much physics and math. He’s gone crazy. A violin isn’t something that would make your life happy. It would make more sense if the scientist behind the famous Theory of Relativity should have said that something like Physics would make a person happy.”

Call me a lost dreamer or call me a hopeless idealist, but never let it be said that I think Einstein is wrong for coming up with this particular statement. I only happen to agree quite strongly with him because I too am a violinist. My relationship with my violin (yes, I now treat it as if it’s an individual) did not quite start out so well. During elementary, my classmates and I were required to learn how to play this particular instrument. To make a long story short, I grew together with my violin and ended up growing attached to it through every lesson and recital. It was especially during recitals that being a violinist was the most rewarding. Just imagine being in front of a whole sea of faces and ears hanging on every note, every line. The melody of the violin enchanting them so much that their jaws could not help but stay open.

It gave me such a thrill to put people into a trance every time my classmates and I started playing the timeless notes and tunes of various composers. High school was different though, the school no longer gave violin lessons. Continuing with a private tutor, I was eventually given a chance to perform solo during one recital. To play solo for an audience is no ordinary thing to do. It meant all ears were concentrated on me and my violin. Each note had to be perfect because every person would be scrutinizing the melody, the pitch, the timing, everything. There could be no room for mistakes; to make one would put the soloist to shame and future embarrassment. One little fumble on a certain line could destroy the whole performance.

I was on the verge of declining to play at the recital. The pressure was too much for me and I thought I did not have it in me to handle the crowd alone with my violin. The risk of screwing up was horrifying. I could not take the big leap to finally perform on my own.

I did not have the guts.

I did not have the courage.

There is almost nothing worse than to admit my fear, the fear of looking like a fool in everyone’s eyes, my fear of making mistakes, of failing and so much more. It’s definitely something you and I have in common, right? No one wants to be called a coward, a chicken, a scaredy-cat or what have you. More often than not, we keep the fear to ourselves and make sure we keep a straight face when confronted with that fear. We cower deep inside and act all cool on the outside. Have I struck a familiar chord yet? You know what I’m talking about.

I am very tempted to tell you to just forget the fear and focus on your strengths. It would be something that my optimistic side would say, the side that knows no problems and knows no nerve-wrecking object in life. The courage in me, would tell both myself and my reader (that’s you) to go through the fear, to experience it and to embrace it as part of your identity. Though it is socially more impressive to appear fearless, it’s just not fair to yourself to keep your fears hidden from the rest of the world. The fear has to be realized, has to be admitted, and it has to be a part of your life since it is something that will keep emerging if you keep trying to suppress it.

Facing the fear alone won’t help. No one can get over something scary by himself, it’s not humanly possible. You’ll end up running away from the fear or becoming more afraid as time goes on. I remember trying to think of so many ways to get out of the recital. From skipping a few rehearsals to pretending that I had an important family gathering on the day of the recital, my lies were as smooth as silk, but my mentor soon saw through everything. It must have been the fear behind my eyes and my violin-playing every time I went to rehearsal. I blurted out everything, my anxieties and my worries about screwing up the music. It was exhausting, but soon I felt like an empty music sheet with no marks or blemishes, just waiting for the courage to compose a tune for my life that I can jive to.

The day of the performance came. Let me just say that my knees were shaking and my hands were sweating. The shaking and sweating stayed with me until the whole performance, but then I didn’t mind because I delivered the piece exactly the way I imagined I would. I dare not say it was perfect because in music, nothing will ever be perfectly done. As long as I heard the applause and as long as I knew that courage had been there for me, I was sure that had given the audience a melodious rendition to make their jaws drop. I will never be able to express my joy, neither words nor melodies will suffice. Einstein was right, he just missed one important thing: courage.

Now, how about you? Have you found courage? Or do you need to perform in front of a live audience to find it?