First Composition Period (1918-23)
   At the onset of World War I Hinde­mith was drafted and played in a string quartet and a regimental band, but toward the end of the war he fought in the trenches, an experience that prob­ably influenced his late-compositional style. Early 20th-century composers, such as Schoenberg and other 12-tone advocates, rejected traditional har­mony and form and were known as expressionists. Like them Hindemith wrote such works as Sonata for Cello and Piano (1919), the one-act operas, Das Nusch Nuschi, Op. 20 (1920), and Sancta Susanna, Op. 21 (1921), and the song cycles Des Tades Tod, Op. 23a (1922) and Die junge Magd, Op. 23, # 2 (1922) in this style during his early career. He balanced the tension of the expanded harmonies with formal, tra­ditional designs, such as sonata allegro form and theme and variations, although he did not write strictly in a 12-tone style.

Second Compositional Period (1924-33)
   Historian Gustav Fredrich Hartlaub (1884-1963) first used the phrase Neue Sachlichkeit (new objectivity) to des­cribe the social trend toward democ­racy in all areas of life. Music in this compositional style was functional and practical. During this stage in his development, Hindemith rejected ex­pressionism and returned to writing clear musical lines, textures, and forms. He wrote Kammermusiken #2-7, a series of concertos that are similar to Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. In Concerto for Orchestra (1925) Hinde­mith used a ritornello theme, and in vocal music he incorporated the text into the structure of the music. In Cardillac, an opera he wrote in 1925-6, Hindemith used such Baroque forms as fugues, passacaglia, variations, osti­natos, and arias.
   From 1920 to 1930 Hindemith per­formed in the Amar Quartet and was on the program committee of the Donaueschingen Festival, one of the most important contemporary music centers of the day. While teaching at the Berlin Musikhochschule in 1927, he studied theory, acoustics, and also learned Latin and math in order to read the text of old treatises. Hindemith learned to play many of the early instru­ments in the Hochschule’s collection and gave private lessons. As technology developed, Hindemith dabbled in exper­imental music for the gramophone and taught a course in film music.

Third Compositional Period (1933-63)
   Hindemith refused to stop perform­ing with Jewish musicians after the National Socialists came into power in 1933. His wife was part Jewish, and he helped several Jewish friends escape from Germany. During this period Hindemith worked on Mathis der Maler, which became his most famous opera. It depicts a painter who tem­porarily leaves his art but triumphs after great tragedy and returns to being an artist. He used excerpts from the operatic score and some other material to create the symphonic work, which was premiered by the Berlin Philhar­monic in 1934 with Wilhelm Furt­wangler conducting. The work was well received, but within the year the political climate changed, and Hinde­mith swore a formal oath of allegiance to Hitler in an effort to appease the government. Furtwangler wrote a let­ter in support of Hindemith that was published in a major German newspa­per, but despite this Goebbels accused Hindemith of cultural Bolshevism and banned his works in that country. Hindemith and Furtwangler conse­quently resigned their positions, and Hindemith focused on music theory and composition because he was unable to teach or conduct. He wrote The Craft of Musical Composition in 1937, a book that explained a new harmonic system based on natural laws of sound and the overtone series. This new tonal language, for which Hinde­mith is known, used perfect fourths and fifths instead of the triadic empha­sis on thirds.
   For a short period the Hindemiths lived in Switzerland but left for the U.S. a few months after the outbreak of World War II. Surprisingly, he com­posed 25 sonatas for almost every orchestral instrument during this time, as well as the Violin Concerto (1939), the Cello Concerto (1940), and the Symphony in Eb (1940). All of these works point to a more conventional style of composition. Yet intervals of the fourth and fifth governed his har­monic lines because Hindemith believed that they expanded the har­monic content of music.
   In the United States Hindemith taught composition and theory at sev­eral major universities, most notably at Yale, and he wrote Exercises in Two-Part Writing (1939), A Concentrated Course in Traditional Harmony (1943), and Ele­mentary Training for Musicians (1946). His continued fascination with early music led him to found the Yale Col­legium Musicum (1945-1953), which performed early music in a historically-­based style, long before Baroque per­formance practice became popular. He began to include isorhythmic passages, fugues, canons, and other contrapuntal devices in his music, culminating in Ludus tonalis (1942), a 20th-century counterpart to J.S. Bach’s Well­Tempered Clavier.
   Hindemith became an American citizen in 1946 and later commuted between Zurich and New Haven as he taught in two universities. In this compositional period Hindemith often wrote for wind instruments because he thought they were underrepresented in the repertoire. He wrote in a style that reflects his return to discernable tonalties.
   The city of Hamburg gave Hinde­mith the Bach Prize in 1952 for "dis­tinguished service to German music." In his acceptance speech Hindemith said of Bach, "The literal heritage, his music proper, has conquered our souls as has hardly another master’s work. It was hidden and forgotten for a long time, like buried treasure in romantic tales, but finally several generations ago we found it again. We acquired it to possess it, to quote Fauste."¹

Music for Flute
   The most notable compositions Hindemith wrote for flute are the Canonic Sonatine for two flutes, Op. 31, # 3 (1924), 8 Pieces for Solo Flute (1927), Sonata for flute and piano (1936), and Echo for flute and piano (1942). Hindemith also composed sev­eral chamber works that include flute, most notably the woodwind quintet, Kleine Kammermusik, Op. 24, # 2 (1924 ). Other chamber works are the Septet for flute, oboe, clarinet, trumpet, horn, bass clarinet/bassoon, and bas­soon (1948), and Speilmusik, Op. 43, # 1 for flute, oboe, and strings.
   Hindemith wrote the flute sonata while working on Mathis der Maler. Richard Taruskin explained in The New York Times² how this opera was a para­digm shift in the composer’s life. The main character of the opera, Matthias Grunewald, mirrors Hindemith’s life as he retreats from a world of class warfare and book burnings into the timeless world of art. Hindemith also admired Bach and during this time described him as one "who, two centuries later, proves to be a traditionalist in the stream of musical development."³ Baroque polyphony and the musical forms of the 17th and 18th centuries clearly inspired many of Hindemith’s works, including his flute sonata.
   At the invitation of Oliver Strunk (1901-1980), chief of the Music Divi­sion of the Library of Congress, Hinde­mith was the featured guest at the 1936 Eighth Washington Festival of Contemporary Music, which was attended by the musical elite from all over the country. Georges Barrere (1876-1944) and pianist Jesus Maria Sanroma ( 1902-1984) premiered the flute sonata; other works on the pro­gram were Holderline Songs for tenor and piano, the Solo Viola Sonata, Op. 25.1, which Hindemith played; Four Songs on Old Texts for chorus, and a third piano sonata. In a subsequent let­ter to his wife, Hindemith wrote, "Barrere and Sanroma blew the flute sonata magnificently. They made a very good impression, the large audi­ence responded warmly at once."
   Less severe than many of Hindemith’s works, the flute sonata has three move­ments, the third of which is divided into two distinct and contrasting sections, a form that none of his other brass or wind sonatas use. The tonal language denies reference to any key, and key signatures do not occur in the score, although the tonal relationships between movements are Bb, B natural, Bb. Contrapuntal writing includes imitation, non-imitative coun­terpoint, pedal points, repetition, and sequences, as well as more modern tech­niques of planing or parallelism and quartal harmonies.
   At first Hindemith referred to the sonata as an example of Gebrauchs­musik or music for a purpose, such as music written specifically for amateurs to play. Later he objected to the term and said that music should be "human, purposeful, absolute, and above all, accessible to all and utilitarian."⁴ That the work is now considered standard repertoire proves that Hindemith’s goal was met.

¹ Paul Hindemith, Johann Sebastian Bach (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1952) p. 25.
² Richard Taruskin, "In Search of a ‘Good’ Hindemith Legacy," New York Times (January 8, 1995), p. 30
³ Taruskin, "Hindemith Legacy," p. 30.
⁴ Jean Mary Ohlsson, "Paul Hindemith’s Music for Flute: Analysis of Solo Works and Stylistic and Formal Considerations of Chamber Works," (D.M.A. diss., Ohio State University, 1975), p. 14.
 

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   A few months before Murray Panitz died from an aneurism on April 13, 1989 at the age of 63, he announced his retire­ment, effective in September 1990, as principal flutist of the Philadelphia Orchestra. His death was a shock to the musical community and violist Sidney Curtis said he had never seen the Philadelphia Orchestra so demoralized. At a memorial service at the Academy of Music fami­ly, friends, and colleagues spoke of Panitz’ warmth, generosity, wit, and magnificent play­ing. He endeared himself to others not only with his sense of humor, but also with his effortless musical ability.
   One month before his death Panitz spoke lightheartedly about his retirement, saying he planned to move to Louisville, Kentucky where he would enjoy teaching, giving master classes, and gardening. "I’ll have more time to myself. I might even practice."
   Reminiscing about his early music study Panitz said, "When I was only five years old, I went to the Settlement Music School in New York but was too young to study the piano. I was placed in a boys’ chorus where I sang soprano. I ap­peared as a soloist in two film shorts with two singers from the Metropolitan Opera: baritone Lawrence Tibbett and tenor Richard Crooks. The only thing I remember about my experience is that each singer gave me a box of candy, but my father and brother devoured them before I could."
   Panitz began to study the piano when he was seven years old. He was a talented student with an excellent memory, and could finish a book in a week. Panitz later entered the High School of Music and Art, now Performing Arts High School, in New York City. Two of his fellow students were pianist Myrna Rubinstein whom he later married, and bassoonist Bernard Gar­field, who became the principal bassoonist in the Philadelphia Orchestra.
   The school required each music student to study a second instrument and a teacher told him he would play the flute. "I didn’t even know what a flute was, and wasn’t interested in it. One teacher, a clarinet player, taught me so many wrong fingerings I’m surprised I could get a sound out of the instrument. When I took my first real lesson, however, I was hooked."
   Panitz studied in New York with Harry Moskowitz and William Heim, a former piccolo player in the New York Philharmonic. "My claim to fame in high school was that future Miss America Bess Myerson was in my class and she also played the flute, sitting next to me in the band. Frequently I heard, ‘Sonny, move over’ while they took her picture."
   When he was only 16, Panitz entered the Eastman School of Music. The flutists who at­tended Eastman at the same time included Doriot Anthony Dwyer, Robert Willoughby, Walfrid Kujala, and Roger Stevens. They all studied with Joseph Mariano. "He was one of the world’s greatest flutists. Most things came easily to me so that I didn’t have to work too hard. Who knows? I could have been a success if I had practiced."
   During Panitz’ freshman year, Mariano en­couraged him to audition for the Chicago Sym­phony. "I could play a lot of notes, but I only knew a few lines of orchestral pieces from an ex­cerpt book. At the audition the conductor pointed to other passages in the music, but I didn’t have any idea how they should be played. From that point on I never wanted to see an ex­cerpt, only a complete part."
   After graduating from Eastman, Panitz was named principal flutist of the National Sym­phony. A short time later he was drafted into the U.S. Air Force and stationed in Washington D.C. where he played in the Air Force Band.
   "The concert master of the orchestra suggested that I play in the orchestra, but the command­ing officer disliked me because I was not a career man. He said, ‘I wouldn’t use Murray Panitz if he were the first flute in the Philadelphia Or­chestra.’"
   When Panitz left the Air Force, he moved to New York rather than re­turn to the National Symphony. He studied at the Manhattan School of Music where he earned a graduate degree in music theory. Eventually he became a successful free-lance flutist in New York. He enjoyed playing first flute in the Symphony of the Air, the Little Orchestra Society of New York, the New York City Ballet, as well as for shows and television productions such as The Producer’s Showcase, The Defenders; and The Bell Telephone Hour.
   "My first break in New York was when Albert Goltzer, an oboist who later joined the New York Philhar­monic, was walking down the street with one of the biggest contractors in town. We stopped and greeted each other. The contractor needed a flutist and had exhausted his entire list of flute players. Goltzer said, ‘Why don’t you use Murray Panitz?’ He did.
   "Playing in New York was fun be­cause there were excellent musicians. At that time, the option to take a sym­phonic job was not ideal because the salary was poor. When I joined the Philadelphia Orchestra, we played a 30-week season, maybe 6 weeks in the summer, and the pay was around $6500 a year. Most of the players had to sell ice cream or used cars in the off season to make ends meet. I took a pay cut to join the orchestra, but this was my life’s dream."
    Conductor Eugene Ormandy in­vited Panitz to audition for the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1961 along with 13 other flutists. "I played for about 20 minutes. Afterwards, Or­mandy asked me to come into his of­fice, and he offered me the job. One of my closest friends told me I was crazy to leave New York to go to Philadelphia. He told me I would be giving up 50 tax withholding slips for one.
   "As soon as I arrived in Philadel­phia the orchestra went on strike for six weeks. Never being a saver but rather a spender, I found it was very difficult to make ends meet. People were still calling me for jobs in New York, but I had to be in Philadelphia when they settled the contract nego­tiations.
   "During the strike, the orchestra per­formed a memorial concert for Dag Hammarskjold at the U.N., and we played Beethoven’s 9th. This was the first time I played with the orchestra and Eugene Ormandy. I have to thank my bassoonist friend Bernie Garfield for warning me not to play with the conductor’s beat, especially because I was used to television where one needs to react immediately to the beat. This orchestra under Ormandy had a delayed beat, but it was incredi­ble how accurately everyone played. The attacks were fantastically together. I could see Ormandy’s hand go down and then, somehow, every­one came in at the right time. It was scary. The concert went well, and I didn’t get a pioneer medal, as we said in those days, for making an early at­tack.
   "Once when we were on tour, we tried to get Ormandy to make us play with the beat. After our concert­master, Anshel Brusilow, had spoken to the maestro about the idea, Or­mandy called me backstage before the concert. ‘You’re the concertmaster of the winds,’ he said. ‘From now on we play with the beat.’
   "I returned to the stage and gave the winds the message. The first half of the concert was chaotic. At intermis­sion, I was again summoned by an up­set and irate Ormandy. Glaring at Brusilow, he said, ‘It’s all your fault. We go back to the way we always play.’"
   When Panitz won the position of principal flute in the Philadelphia Or­chestra, the playing of former prin­cipal flutist William Kincaid was a vivid memory for Philadelphia audi­ences. "Following a legend like Kin­caid was difficult. He was a great player, and, besides, he had much more hair."
   Soon after he took the job in the Philadelphia Orchestra, Panitz realized that it would be important for him to establish his own musical personality. "A few weeks before one of the first recording sessions I did with orches­tra, Ormandy asked me if I had ever played Scheherazade. ‘No, sir,’ I replied.
   "’Do you know that we’re going to record it?’ ‘That’s nice,’ I said.
   "’Have you ever heard our orches­tra play it?’ ‘No.’
   "’Have you ever heard Kincaid do the solos?’ ‘No.’ I could see that Or­mandy was getting edgy. ‘Well, I’ll let you have another recording of Scheherazade we made, and you can listen to it.’ ‘Thank you very much, Maestro. I’ll listen to it as soon as the recording session is over.’
   "I had decided that as great as Kin­caid was, I was not going to be his mimic. Either I was going to stay in Philadelphia under my own name or leave."
   Although Panitz wanted to express his own musical ideas, he admired Kincaid and acknowledged Kincaid’s influence on American flute playing.
   "Basically it’s a concept of sound. Kincaid was able to produce a big sound by using more embouchure, unlike the Quantz method of covering more of the hole while ascending into the upper register. I don’t enjoy a trumpet-like sound in the low register and a shrill piccolo sound in the up­per register. I want consistent sound in all registers. A more edgy sound is possible in the low register, for exam­ple, as an alternate color.
   "I use vibrato as a variation in tone color. I use a range of depths and speeds to help me interpret the music. That doesn’t mean everyone will agree with my interpretation, but I have to work within my natural abili­ty. A flutist can’t play the Afternoon of a Faun solo and the Brahms 4th solo with the same vibrato. If the vibrato is too fast for the Debussy solo, it sounds like the Faun is neurotic and in need of a psychiatrist; rather, the sound should be placid and warm, not edgy. On the other hand, Brahms’ 4th needs an electric, exciting tone because that is what the music demands.
   "It’s not sufficient to have a beautiful sound. I like to hear a flutist interpret with a full range of dynamics and a controlled sound. A musician should know how to interpret music, giving it direction and flow, adding rubato to give the music a human ele­ment. We are not metronomical in­struments. If you put a metronome to any recorded piece of music, you won’t be able to keep it with the beat for more than a few measures.
   "The push today is towards robot­like playing, perfect technique, perfect rhythm, without saying much. Music is an emotional and aural response. If given a choice I would rather have the emotional response. I tire of a beau­tiful sound that says nothing."

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One Month Prior
   Beginning 30 days before my performance, I started to set aside 20 minutes each day to conduct one positive visualization of myself performing this concerto. A positive visualization is a form of meditation that includes visualizing something you want, seeing it, feeling it, and believing it. For musicians, this involves visualizing all aspects of a performance or audition in as much detail as possible from start to finish. These visualizations can be done sitting in a comfortable position or lying on your back. They can be done with your eyes open in a soft gaze or closed. I recommend picking a time of day that you feel most energetic to conduct your visualizations. For me, this was in the morning before my first class of the day. It is crucial to leave enough time for this visualization so that you do not feel rushed. Feeling rushed may compromise your ability to focus which is the most important part. I chose to conduct most visualizations away from my flute so that I could really test my memory with each and every note of this piece and not be tempted to play along.
   I began each positive visualization in a comfortable and quiet place in my room and closed my eyes, beginning by visualizing how standing backstage would feel before I walked out in front of the audience for this concerto performance. Since I was performing in the Manhattan School of Music’s Neidorff-Karpati Hall, I was fortunate to have a good mental image of how this hall looked and felt as it served as the home of all orchestra rehearsals and concerts. This allowed me to visualize the backstage area in great detail. If you are beginning a positive visualization, and you do not know how the backstage area looks, you can imagine a generalized version of a backstage area. If you are able, search online for a picture of the hall and the backstage area or consider reaching out to a personnel manager to ask if they can describe the stage for you.
   After becoming visually comfortable backstage, I imagined myself walking out to the center of the main stage with confidence in the exact shoes and dress that I was planning to wear for the performance. This element of the visualization is incredibly important, especially if you have not yet performed in the outfit you plan to wear. I imagined myself greeting a full audience and smiling at them, thanking them all for being there. At this point, I began to feel waves of self doubt entering my mind. I noticed my mind beginning to convince myself that I would have a memory slip or make a mistake, causing the audience to boo me off the stage. Each time this happened, I would acknowledge this thought and tell it “no,” immediately following with a positive counterthought such as “I am excited to share this work I have done with the audience” or “I feel prepared and confident to give the best performance of my life.” Acknowledging and shutting down negative thoughts proved to be difficult at first, but the more I did it during mental visualizations, the more effectively I was able to do so during my physical run-throughs.
   During the first two weeks I conducted my visualizations while listening to Amy Porter’s incredible recording of the Trail of Tears Concerto since I had not yet had the opportunity to work with the orchestra. It was important for me to continue hearing the orchestrated version in order to aurally memorize where the different parts of the accompaniment would switch instruments. When preparing for a concerto performance, it is helpful to know where each new sound is coming from in the orchestra so that you are prepared for these differences from the piano reduction during the first rehearsal. Being able to sing the flute melody in your head as you are playing adds an additional level of security to your memorization, and spending this time listening to this recording improved my overall level of understanding and connection to the piece.
   After I visualized myself walking out confidently in front of the audience, I turned on the recording on my phone and imagined myself playing it from start to finish, deciding how I would use the time in between movements and the time I had onstage when I was not playing. Positive visualizations take an incredible amount of focus and concentration, something that proved very difficult at first. Starting this process 30 days before the performance gave me enough time to develop this level of concentration so that it was resilient by the time I stepped in front of the audience.

Two Weeks Prior
   I stopped listening to the recording during my daily positive visualizations two weeks before the date of my performance. The first few attempts after removing this element provided many new challenges, but it also helped me to level up in my preparation. My daily visualizations now became a test of my memorization of the orchestral accompaniment and generating a deeper understanding of how my solo part fit into the overall piece. This step forward included a much higher level of concentration as I no longer allowed myself to have a solid recording to rely on. I experienced days where I had complete memory slips in my visualizations and was unable to keep going. When these memory slips happened in my visualizations, I made a mental note to go back and work on this spot later, but I also forgave myself and told myself, “these things happen, and it does not define your worth as a musician.” As soon as I completed the visualization, I took out a hard copy of my score to study and mark that specific part to prioritize it in my next practice session.
   Experiencing all of these memory slips during my visualization process strengthened my confidence overall. The memory slips never occurred in the same place, meaning that I was working through all of the possible pitfalls I might have, decreasing my chances of having memory slips in the actual performance. I identified and strengthened all of the spots I was least comfortable with. I have learned to love failure as a part of the learning process. If you never fail, that means you are never allowing yourself to take risks and push your boundaries.

One Week Prior
   I started to experience physical symptoms of nerves and performance anxiety one week before the performance. Rehearsals with the orchestra had begun, and although they were going really well, I was experiencing a loss of appetite, constant jitters and a general inability to focus. My daily positive visualizations helped me work through how to handle these symptoms and center my mind. The mental and physical preparation I had put in both on and away from my instrument provided a vital safety net during times of low energy and focus levels, and the meditative component of these daily positive visualizations provided me with an ability to calm myself down during times of high energy and anxiety. Although my mind continued to jump to all of the “what ifs,” I was able to effectively acknowledge these negative thoughts, counteract them, and re-center to a positive and confident mindset.
   This week posed unique challenges that I had prepared myself for during my visualizations. In the hall that I was performing in, there are multiple windows on the back doors that allow you to see people walking by in the hallway, sometimes stopping to watch you perform through the glass. Some people even walked in and out during the dress rehearsals and recorded bits of my playing. I asked friends and colleagues to sit in on the dress rehearsals so that I could better visualize faces of people I may see during my performance, which was incredibly helpful and supportive of them. Although I thoroughly prepared for all of these possible situations to occur throughout my daily visualizations, it was helpful to experience everything in person and greatly improved the details of my positive visualization the next day.

Day of Performance
   The day of my concerto performance of Trail of Tears began with a dress rehearsal with the orchestra. After thoroughly warming up on my instrument, I actively chose not to do a visualization in the morning because I wanted to give myself one last chance to test my memorization without my usual safety net. During the dress rehearsal I felt calm and confident, and I used my positive visualization skills to visualize myself wearing the dress and shoes I had chosen for my performance later that evening while I was physically playing with orchestra. I welcomed any and all distractions. During this run-through, people were coming in and out of the hall with cameras, taking photographs and recordings to post on the Manhattan School of Music social media accounts. I convinced myself that if I was able to fully concentrate through all of this, then I was set for nearly anything that may happen during the performance. I left the dress rehearsal feeling confident and I tried to manifest positivity for the remainder of the day by putting away my flute and focusing on the present.
   This plan worked for a few hours until the usual symptoms of performance anxiety began to settle in. I took the afternoon to greet my family that came in town for this performance to take my mind off of things, and then I returned to my room three hours prior to the performance to make sure I ate a nutritious meal, drank water, and gave myself time to re-center. My piece was scheduled at the very end of the concert, so I also had to account for the time that I would have sitting backstage in a dressing room. An hour and a half prior to the beginning of the concert, I took my dress and makeup into the dressing room and began to get ready. This left one hour during the concert to make any final mental preparations. I found myself pacing back and forth in the dressing room, growing increasingly distracted and anxious. I took this time to go through one final positive visualization, and this one proved to be the most difficult and the most important. Since the performance was so close, I made sure to incorporate the energy and passion I wanted to share with the audience into this visualization. I also recited positive mantras to myself throughout including “I am prepared,” “I am confident.” “I am excited to give this performance.” This final visualization helped me to center and quiet my mind, focusing all of my energy on giving the best performance of my ability.
   As it became time to wait backstage, my heart was pounding and I noticed feelings of self-doubt starting to creep in again. I was able to acknowledge these thoughts and let them go because I was used to doing so every time they would appear throughout my daily visualizations. Once I was on the stage, I felt in control and confident. I was able to effectively manage and play confidently through any minor mistakes that happened, and I experienced an overwhelming feeling of connection to the audience throughout. I was truly able to let go and trust my preparation.
   This performance was one of my most successful performances to date, and I credit most of this success to all of the mental work I did in preparation. Prior to this performance, mental work played a minor role in my preparation process for auditions, competitions and performances. I now realize how important mental preparation is for all musicians, especially if you frequently experience performance anxiety like I do. Positive visualizations can benefit musicians in any setting including orchestral auditions, school placement auditions, competitions, and any type of performance. The most important thing is committing to the details during these visualizations and acknowledging any negative thought that may come up and counteracting it with a positive one. The more you continue doing these positive visualizations, the more confident you will become with your playing. This mental preparation allows you to work through any insecurity and self-doubt you may experience and come out as a resilient flutist on the other side.

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