Someone said to me yesterday, “I wish I could go to sleep tonight and wake up on the 5th or 6th.” At first I was inclined to agree. I voted last week: wouldn’t it be nice to quietly bypass the anxiety, the unknowns, the what ifs? But the more I think about it, the more I know that’s not at all how I feel.

When I was a kid, we took a family vacation to Tennessee. We “mined for gems” - sifted through what I assume were pre-stocked buckets of sand and dirt, searching for what could be raw semi-precious stones. We found a ruby and three garnets, each no bigger than a matchstick head. It felt like we hit the jackpot.

All these years later, I am still sifting. My father-in-law is in the hospital. We can’t just get on a plane to be with him - we might as well just get on a spaceship. So I think of him. I open a little door in my heart and let love out. I imagine it crossing the Atlantic, urged on by enormous windmill arms, gathering speed.

There is a lot of shit in this world, but there are jewels, too: hidden, perhaps, or disguised as rocks. Still, they are there: small joys, moments of peace, bits of beauty. Some we create, determinedly, and others we chance upon. They are waiting for me, and they are waiting for you, too.

If you are struggling to find them, do not despair. You will need patience, and practice. Take a deep breath. Now turn off the bright screens and turn down the loud noises. Pay attention to the tiny, unassuming things. Turn them over, one by one. You may have to polish them a bit to see them shine. Whatever you do - keep searching. This is not a pre-stocked bucket, but that doesn’t mean there are no gems.

No matter what, I do not want to wish away hours, or days, or years of my life, short and fragile as it is. I do not want to close my eyes and wait until it’s over. I want to be wide awake for all of it, looking for diamonds in the debris.

Late 2015, I took some (non-musician) friends to Carnegie Hall to see the Budapest Festival Orchestra conducted by Maestro Iván Fischer. Once inside the hall, we gazed around from the cheap seats; then the lights dimmed and the BFO filled the hall with rich, warm tones. There were many strikingly beautiful moments throughout the program: the horns in Weber's Overture to Der Freischütz, the bell-like sweetness of Marc-André Hamelin's pianissimo, the many colors of the strings and a particularly musical clarinetist. But once the orchestra had attended to the expectations of its audience, Maestro Fischer turned to face the house and waited for us to settle. Some concert-goers had already left (a gaggle of students in front of us dashed out before the musicians had quite finished taking their first bow) but those of us that remained quickly quieted with curiosity.

The Maestro explained that they had prepared a Russian Orthodox hymn from the 4th century, arranged by a 19th century composer. "We do this not to impress anyone," he clarified, but to assure everyone that if you want to make music, you can do it. You don't need an instrument, or fancy training, or to be a part of a world-class orchestra. You already have the music within you. Sheet music held casually in hand, they stood and sang.

It would be enough to say that their performance was luminous, tenderly sung, a truly lovely encore. But I was moved because these musicians - who do have expensive instruments and fancy training, who are members of an orchestra worthy of distinction - made music with their most basic, human instrument. I was moved because they clearly enjoyed sharing this music with us. I was moved because they were moved. I was moved because they shared the music they already had within themselves.

Some days I feel like my own instrument is foreign and unknowable; some days it feels like a puzzle I’ll never quite solve. On the days I get it “right,” I question my use of it, whether I have enough to say, whether what I say is worthwhile. I know these questions never really go away, and that’s alright. I’m happy to, as Rilke says, live the questions, because more than ever before, I know the music is already within me.

Which brings me to this ridiculous late 90s music video: don't let go, you got the music in you. (I couldn't find a YouTube example of the Orchestra's encore, so this is the next best thing.)