The Music That Almost Wasn't
My father poured his soul into music. He taught two hundred children, repaired instruments with patient hands, and spent countless hours creating beauty in a world that often viewed passion with suspicion. Music was his mission, to him it was the thread that stitched him to God, to people, to purpose. It wasn’t just sound to him; it was the breath between heaven and earth.
But after one particular production that showcased what was possible when people worked with freedom and trust, something shifted. When meetings were called about music and culture, my father and his collaborator weren't invited. Words like "ambition" and "attention-seeking" began to circulate.
I watched something dim in him after that, though he still showed up, still taught with passion, still played with the same zeal. But the message was clear: shine too brightly and you become a threat.
This lesson followed me into adulthood. The delicate balance between excellence and acceptance. The way success can make others uncomfortable. The political cost of doing something too well.
The subtle pressure to dim your light so others don't feel overshadowed.
But here's what I learned from watching my father continue despite the resistance and judgement: excellence isn't about recognition. It's about integrity, staying true to who you are. It's about doing the work because the work matters, it fuels your purpose.
The music program eventually faded from what it had been. But the children who learned? We carried it forward. The beauty created? It existed, even if briefly, and it is still part of our stories. The truth that excellence is possible, that we are all capable of it? That couldn't be erased.
Sometimes, your best work will make others uncomfortable. Do it anyway—not out of spite, but because mediocrity serves no one. Your excellence gives others permission to strive for their own.
Please don’t rob yourself or the world of the extraordinary gift of who you are meant to be by playing small. Go all in on you.
- Jasmine
