Introduction
“…From the moment I saw the cliffy shoreline through the clouds, I was transfixed. Scotland is beautiful…”
Well, this is it. It’s time for me to tell my story. I’ve tried (several times). The first time, I cried almost right away. The second was pretty much the same. Other times, I didn’t like the way it sounded. I couldn’t decide in which order I should tell it. And every time, I had to put it all aside. Days turned to weeks, to months, and here we are; it has been nearly two years, and it’s time to tell my story.
It took a long time for me to figure out what it all meant, and I’m sure I’ll be discovering new lessons long after this book is finished. Anyways, here it is:
Shortly after completing my undergraduate degree in piano performance, I set off on a solo tour of the Scottish Highlands. To say that I love music would be a gross understatement. I live and breathe it- a day without practice leaves me longing for the touch of the keys beneath my fingers. Seventeen days? Well, that’s simply unheard of. Obviously, pianism and mountaineering do not form a likely pair. But, then again, my life is full of such juxtapositions. I love the careful, methodical practice of delving into music just as much as I love the thrill of climbing. Music and adventure are close companions of mine, and I wouldn’t have one without the other.
I planned to spend the majority of my trip outdoors- camping, hiking, and “free-soloing” some of the most difficult heights that Scotland has to offer. Among the proposed summits were Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the U.K., as well as Skye’s famous “Inaccessible Pinnacle”. Free soloing, if you are not aware, is exactly as it sounds- ascending anything by oneself, with the added danger of no equipment. I suppose it just adds another dimension to the paradox of the thrill-seeking musician that I am. You would think that I would have known better. And I should have. It was foolish. It was daring. It was dangerous. But it was also beautiful, and a profound learning experience. And despite the many reprimands I have received because of it, it was something I needed to do.
The idea of visiting Scotland was an old dream of mine that had stuck with me ever since I was a child. I have no family and no heritage there, but something about the rugged wilds of that land, reflected in its music, has always drawn my heart to the highlands. In the last year of my undergraduate degree, I found myself completely and utterly exhausted, fed up with long-lasting injuries caused by inefficient and improper practicing. I was deeply and passionately in love with music, but I wanted to give up (a concept I am loathe to acknowledge). I hoped that Scotland would clear my mind, provide me with a much-needed break, and allow me to figure out what I truly desired in life (both musically and otherwise). I felt lost in many ways, and believed that Scotland could be a life-changing adventure. Little did I know how right I was.
My adventure began in Fort William, at the foot of Ben Nevis, and it was nearly the last anyone ever saw of me. But we’ll get to that…
