It's like the writing is music to my ears, and music is pain to my ears

I hated playing the flute as a kid. I hated to practice. I hated concerts in the gym/cafeteria (gymeteria?). I hated the long, black skirts all the girls somehow owned that make them (fine, us) look Pentecostal. I hated talking about aperture and 8 counts. I hated the oboe player behind me. I hated the stentch of my band teacher's dreams deferred that even a 13 year old could smell.

I'm not sure if this ties in or not, but I was also really bad. Last chair all the way throughout my short and painful middle school career. I was this kid who would relucantly practice, only to have the teacher say, "You didn't play this week at all, did you?" "Yeah jerkface, I did. I'm just really not the musical type" is what I did not reply.

To entice me to pick up my silver wand of doom, my mom would dangle the New York carrot in my face. True story: She hated the idea of me being a writer so much (unstable career move!) that she'd entice me with "But if you get good enough you can live in New York like you want and play on the subway for money!"

She was not joking. Sadly, this was all too real. (Because whereas writing might not be stable, subway music is, as everyone knows, a straight shot to greatness and a 401(k).)

Despite being in 7th grade and living in Iowa, states away from a subway system, I knew this was probably not the brightest path my future could take.

But every time I pass a subway musician, I can't help but think what might have been.

The underground musical range is staggering. Would I have been part of a professional duet? Playing that sad-sounding Chinese string insturment? Cranking out the Christmas tunes on a trumpet? An accordian version of "Guantanamera"? Or been like the man under the 42nd street stop who just listlessly inhales and exhales into a harmonica? Because let's face it, no matter what instrument I picked up, it wasn't going to sound any worse than my flute skillz.

(Sidebar: I went to visit a friend at 125th street last summer and heard "Guantanamera" literally three times. Thrice! On the subway, outside a restaurant and then blasting from a car. I like when people embrace stereotypes.)

I usually see these minstrals while I'm on my way to my job. At an office. Where I write. But I can't help but thinking how great it would be to make people pay me to go away.