I struggle with what is seen. It seems that I have never been able to accurately illustrate the images that come across my mind and I'm never able to truly hold on to images that I see. They become muddied or sharpened by emotions and time, smells and sounds. So, I've always been reluctant to create physical bits of something out of nothing.

Music has always been present. As the granddaughter of a pianist, music often got to me and soothed me before words or hugs. As I reflect on my time as a student and artist, I am struck by how persistent and consistent music has been in my life and now in my arts in medicine practice. When I first began my studies at the Center for Arts in Medicine, I did not wholly consider my music as a part of my artistic identity. After injuries and anxiety associated with being a violinist, music was a part of my past that I used for my own comfort, like a bowl of hot beans and rice.

When I began my practicum, I found that my music was the key to connectivity. I could jump from generations and regions and languages, just by playing a familiar tune. I found that I had created a pathway towards healing and peace, not only for my patients, but for myself. Past years of separating my music from my profession had gifted me a sense of freedom and creativity, and enjoyment that I found swelling during my practicum. As my patients requested Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, hymns and jazz standards, I found that more of myself, my presence, my history, was required to show up in rooms. Underneath the band-aids that covered wounds of perfectionism, creative exploration was blossoming underneath. Music has become an essential daily practice for my wellness, and I am seeing firsthand how music is a medicinal support particularly for patients in hospice care. Music has helped to foster closeness between family members and generates memories in memory care patients that were once believed to be irretrievable. Beautiful blossoms can spring up when there is freedom in artistic practice.

As I practiced my instrument without purpose, I saw my son doodling on an old magazine. He's an analytical boy and rarely ever doodles or colors. He left his scraps on the table and I was impressed to find a logo of his name, 'King Chi'. How wonderful that we might be inspired, in our space to just be, to imagine ourselves at our highest potential.

I'm grateful that though pathways are rarely ever planned, they just find us, or we find ourselves on paths, rather, where endings may seem ambiguous, but beginnings are always clear.

Simple Pathways