A Lesson About Life

A Lesson About Life
By Aaron Miller
Finally the day had arrived. I was on my way to Aspen, Colorado. I had heard
wonderful stories about the Aspen Music School from friends who had attended in previous years, and I was certain that this summer would be an unbelievable
learning experience. I was especially excited to be studying with Mr. Herbert Stessin, an esteemed professor from the Juilliard School.
After just a few lessons with Mr. Stessin, I knew that I would not be disappointed. Mr.
Stessin is so incredibly sharp that no detail gets but him. He notices every turn of each musical phrase, catches wrong notes in complex chords, and interjects his wry
sense of humor into every lesson. As I was preparing Beethoven's Sonata, Op.31, No.3, for a master class, he warned me at the end of a lesson, "Don't play this too well, Aaron, or I'll have nothing to say!"
The master class went quite well considering that it was my first performance of the sonata. A few days later, as I walked across the bridge over the creek which winds
through the music school campus, I saw Mr. Stessin's wife, Nancy, who was also on
the Aspen faculty. I waved to her, and as I walked past she said something to me
which I didn't catch over the roar of the rushing water. I stopped for a moment as she repeated, "That was a very nice Beethoven you played the other day." We had a
brief conversation, and I was touched by her thoughtful comment.
On July 15 I had my last lesson with Mr. Stessin, and walked with him to the dinning
hall. As I was sitting down with my friends to have lunch, someone whispered to me, "Mrs. Stessin passed out!" we naturally assumed that she had fainted from the
altitude or the heat. However, we soon realize that the situation was more serious,
as an ambulance was called to take her to the nearby hospital.
Nothing could have prepared me for the news that two distraught friends brought late that night to my roommate and me. Mrs. Stessin had never regain consciousness and had died of a ruptured aneurysm. That night, my roommate and
I could not sleep; we talked about our memories of Mrs. Stessin for hours on end. In the morning, Dean Laster called us together to officially announce the sad news.
Numb with disbelief that this vibrant and dedicated woman was gone, we wondered
how Mr. Stessin could possibly cope with this terrible tragedy. Surely he would be
heading back to New York as soon as arrangements could be made.
I couldn't have been more wrong. Only days after, Mr. Stessin was back in his studio, teaching!
Initially shocked by Mr. Stessin's decision to stay, I soon began to understand his thinking. He and his wife had been teaching at Aspen for many years and had built a strong sense of community with the faculty and students. Furthermore, I realized
that he found comfort through his love of music and his commitment to his students.
Leaving Aspen would have meant leaving behind his fondest memories of Nancy.
After studying a Mozart piano concerto with Mr. Stessin all summer, I was fortunate
to have the opportunity to dedicate my performance to the memory of Mrs. Stessin. At the end of the concert, my last evening in Aspen, I was greeted by friends and
faculty members backstage. When I saw Mr. Stessin approaching me, he was
beaming. "That was a wonderful performance!" he said, and gave me a hug. He
continued, "And thank you for the dedication. I'll miss you." We hugged again.
Laste summer did indeed turn out to be an unbelievable learning experience.
Although Mr. Stessin taught me a great deal about music and the piano, in the end
his greatest lesson about life.
ANALYSIS
Miller builds a strong essay around two big stories: a phenomenal accomplishment
and a moving death.
He has a good ear for coupling dialogue and narration, and projects himself with
attractive modesty. Miller offers the reader a chance to appreciate an especially
wide range of qualities: empathy, virtuously, wisdom, and generosity, although he misses a good opportunity to describe how he feels about the music he performs,
and his conclusion is somewhat trite.
Miller limits his essay to allowing the reader to appreciate one's maturity, but one must have a gentle touch and health emotional distance.