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May 17th, 2022. 7:00pm. Concert time.

He is standing on a stage that many others have only dreamed about. The lights that shine from the balcony blind him and all he can think about is how he got to this point in his life. He’s always loved to sing. Music has been a part of him forever. He thinks back to the practices at  night that he never wanted to go to, but loved once he got there. Jon Noyes and his constructive criticism that seemed harsh in the moment, yet he realizes that without it, he wouldn’t be here. Those nights were the necessary practice that he needed in order to get to this moment in his life. He never really liked the classical genre of music, but he had never before played with the Cross Border Orchestra. At Carnegie Hall.

The smell of brass and valve oil drift up to his nose as he stands on the risers, waiting for the conductor’s signal. Spit is released from a valve in the trumpet section. He wonders what it would be like to be in their place. All the years spent perfecting the tone that comes out of a mess of brass is extraordinary. Yet, it is just as extraordinary how he has perfected his own tone, his own sound. He doesn’t need an enhancer such as a trumpet to create something beautiful.

The vast audience takes up his peripheral space. Excited chatter fills up the hall as the audience anticipates the music that they came for. His heart rate speeds up a bit as he realizes what’s coming.

Finally, the wait ends and his brain kick starts and once again remembers those Monday and Wednesday nights. Dreamlike. Unreal. Once in a lifetime. Only through practice could he be here.

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The University of Scranton, Linden Street, Scranton, PA

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The University of Scranton Basketball Gym, Linden Street, Scranton, PA

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The University of Scranton Basketball Gym, Linden Street, Scranton, PA

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Drip. Drop. Drip.

My knees are in an angled position, poised, waiting for the ball to get in the air. Experiencing déjà vu, I realize I’ve been in this same spot hundreds of times, at center court,  and today should be no different. Yet, my heart beats a little faster, correlating to the ricocheting “booms” going off in my head. The court looks a little sleeker today, the shine of artificial lights reflecting off its surface. My built-in cooling system works a little harder than usual. My muscles twitch as I get ready to elevate.

Pound. Pound. Release.

The size 29.5, Wilson Evolution ball rises. My eyes perceive it like a slow-motion scene in a movie. My instincts kick in and my body reacts to what my mind tells me to do. I shoot into the air and immediately realize I have no chance of winning this tip. Too short. Not good enough. No bounce. Doubt floods my brain. Coach Kort’s deep, raspy, yet encouraging voice pops into my head. He's the reason I’m here. Without those 4th grade practices at Riverfront Sports, where my fundamentals were being cemented, I would have never attained these skills. I wouldn’t be in this place, getting the opportunity to go against players from around the country. It doesn’t matter if I don’t win the tip.  In the words of John Wooden, “Success comes from knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of becoming.”

I love this game. I always will. I love it because of the times I’ve had to struggle through the pain and the hard work, so I could get to this point in my life.

Persevering practice is just one step in the process of getting to do the things you love.

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Keystone College, College Road, La Plume, PA

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*imagine a young boy sitting down at a piano inside of this gorgeous home* ... 

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Hedgewood, Keystone College, College Road, La Plume, PA

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Hedgewood, Keystone College, College Road, La Plume, PA

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Chords: harmony.

Belting: song.

Happy place.

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A form slides onto the leathered, black bench. “Yamaha”, the label on the bench reads. It is a gateway into the mysteries and creativity of the world and it sits, waiting, yearning to be accessed. The musician scrolls through the song list, hoping to find inspiration. Swipe. Click. Yes. One song out of millions has been picked out., the one with the melody everyone knows, with the bridge no one can seem to get right. Taking position, the musician searches for the sleek, golden pedal. This foot has guided itself here many times before and knows its job. Memories flood the musician: “No, Thomas. Like this! See how my foot goes down on the pedal just before I hit the chord? Watch.” Carl Shinko strikes the black and white, Bavarian Spruce keys, yet seconds before, the gold-painted pedal of the baby grand “STEINWAY & SONS”, is pressed down in such a manner of both elegance and power. His hands are a choir of angels singing their way to heaven; his fingers are lifting up off the keys, and the celestial chorus from the piano resonates still. “Oooohhh! Okay!” The smaller form in the room plays a simple C major chord on the black and white, music-making machine. What was instructed has been done, and Mr. Shinko seems pleased with the work of his student.

Back to reality, the form seems to hesitate before starting to play the introduction. A hum is released from the form's mouth, as arched fingers dance across the keys, like a skilled artist performing their craft. Words of Frank Ocean are sung: “That's a pretty big trunk on my Lincoln Town Car, ain't it? Big enough to take these broken hearts and put 'em in it.”

The music comes to life and it’s as if a portal opens for this artist to go through - a portal created by the music that isn’t visible to the outside world, but is only in the head of the artist playing. He is transported to a world anew: musical notes and rhythms swirl around creating a surreal experience where dreams become reality, and memories are made.

In the outside world, the ballet on the keys continues as the word, “REFRAIN” pops up on the Ipad. “I'm about to drive in the ocean. I'ma try to swim from somethin' bigger than me.”

He finds a perfect song for a perfect moment and realizes that only through years of practice could this wonderful dance commence.