The Dispassionate Violinist

You are a classically-trained violinist in your early 20s.

You come from a music-loving family. Your grandmother particularly loved the violin and always hoped that one of her descendants would learn to play, so when you were 7-years-old, your parents enrolled you in violin lessons. Occasionally you needed to be reminded to practice, but everything came easily to you and you did extremely well. You enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment and were proud of the fact that students and teachers in high school—even those who knew nothing else about you—knew you as “The Violinist.” You were concertmaster of the school orchestra, won competitions, attended a prestigious conservatory on a full scholarship, and graduated last spring. Now, people close to you believe you have what it takes to make a career out of playing the violin, either in an ensemble or maybe even as a soloist. You begin to plan auditions.

Yesterday you attended a piano recital. You were surprised and moved by the real passion emanating from the performer. She and her instrument seemed to be one and the same. As you were leaving the auditorium, you had a sudden realization: You have never felt an emotional attachment to the violin. You excel at it, but do not love it. On the verge of making a major commitment to a demanding career, here you are, wondering whether you've been on the wrong path all along.

What would you do?