As you gather to bask in the glory of football on Thanksgiving weekend, I must tell you that there is more depth and dimension to the musical experience on the gridiron than your flat screen TV will be able to convey. In fact, what the marching band has to offer you is of epic mystical proportions: perennial and profound life lessons.

I was in high school when my family moved from a big city in New York to a small town in the Midwest. I had studied the flute for many years—but in my new school, if I wanted to play in the orchestra or jazz band, I had to march. Marching band was not only mandatory at Highland High School, it was competitive with grand exhibitions at Regional and State. Reluctantly, with the rolling eyeballs of a transplanted New Yorker, I acquiesced and signed up.

At the time, I perceived marching band as a punishment for wanting to play in the orchestra, and that there were two sub-punishments that went along with being first flute: (1) playing that blasted, shrill, tiny woodwind from hell, the piccolo; and more importantly (2) having to lead several sections of the band behind me as we formed the design on the field.

This was real responsibility for my 16-year-old self, and in a different way from other club activities that I had experienced involving practice and teamwork.

Marching band was demanding. There were practices in the hot sun. There were practices in the rain and mud. There were few acceptable excuses for messing up. As time went on, there were fewer attempts to find those excuses. There were brilliant drummers who discovered ways to be creative within the rigorous structure. And there was, of course, the joy of the music, being played seemingly against all odds.

We got to State that year. All these years later, I don’t recall if we won. But I do recall what I learned that season:

1. This is not a drill. Walking out on the field, there is no looking back. There is no second-guessing, rehearsing or restarting. If you lose focus or doubt yourself, you will stumble, and those following you will stumble too.

Life Lesson: We have people following us in life—at home, at work, on the road. “Get on the good foot.” Stay focused. Stay present. Trust your instincts. Move forward with confidence.

2. Make choices. The pressure was on. I stepped my left foot out to the beat, to walk eight steps to the five-yard line, and either turn left or right to make my part of the design. There were times I could not do everything needed. I had to make a decision in the moment: do I play the flute or count steps for the design? Instinctively, I held the flute silently in place at my chin… and focused on leading and counting steps.

Life lesson: We can’t always provide every given component in a situation. It is all right. Determine priorities, make clear choices and discard ego. Don't attempt to 'do it all' if it will be detrimental to the larger picture of life, events and relationships. 

 

3. Perspective is everything. This is perhaps my favorite aspect of marching band: when you’re walking on the field, forming a design, you can’t see what you’re making. It is simply too big. You are just a pinpoint on a map. Like one of those enormous Nazca drawings in Peru, you can’t see the design from your perspective on the ground; it can only be perceived from above.

Life lesson: Often we will not be able to see the ‘big picture’ of our lives as we are living it day to day. We create our designs as best we can, with others. We may feel our efforts are not fruitful. It takes an element of faith to keep walking forward in trust, even when you feel that you are not yet seeing results. Stay strong. Keep the faith that your  life is effective, whether are able to see the big picture or not.

 

 

4. Impermanence. Finally, like a sand painting in a Buddhist monastery, the design we have worked so diligently to make is complete. We stand still and just breathe, glowing, basking in it. Then, after a moment’s satisfaction and joy in its creation, the design falls away as we leave the field.

Life lesson: It doesn’t last long. Enjoy it. We may not be permanent, but we can leave our mark, our essence, and the effects of our efforts and love in this place. Our designs do not last... but the beauty remains.

 Happy Thanksgiving to All

 

 

P.S. I still walk eight steps to the five yard line.