The last drop of sweat my body has to offer slowly falls from my forehead onto my two-year-old neatly pressed black concert dress. In the first oboist's chair I sit, horn neatly propped in my lap, as I wait for the conductor to walk onto stage. My slightly trembling hands make physical the instinct to run, hide, offer some excuse and exit stage left. My mind flashes to the earlier part of this day, filled …showed first 75 words of 408 total…

…showed last 75 words of 408 total…my talents, oboe performance has come to be my favorite activity. I am brought back to reality by the baton waving in front of me, signaling the opening notes of tonight's performance. My thoughts are subdued, and the butterflies in my stomach kick into overdrive. Just like players of the past, thousands of players around the world today and those to come, I set my feet firmly, take a deep breath, and prepare to soar.