The Flute

When my mom was nearing the end of her life with us some years ago, she shared that she had always wanted to learn to play the Native American flute. This simple wish opened up something unexpected for me.

Over the years, we had both been drawn to this music, often sharing recordings that seemed to reach somewhere deeper than words.

So I found someone willing to come to her home and we had our first lesson together. Mom’s spirit still shone brightly through her eyes, but her body was tired. The teacher gently adjusted the lesson and spent time simply playing for her. And she took it all in, quietly and fully.

I took my flute home and began practicing simple scales, trying out a few songs. The scales were fine, but I didn’t last long trying to follow the notes. I could feel myself pushing against it.

And once I let go of trying to play what someone else had written, it changed everything.

Playing became a way to express whatever I was feeling in the moment, letting emotion move through breath and sound. I’d experiment with different finger positions and breath—sometimes something surprisingly beautiful would come out, and other times there were cracks and squeaks that made me laugh out loud. Other sounds would carry and release something I’d been holding inside.

I’d just play and see what happened. It became a practice of letting myself feel what I was feeling, without trying to fix it or shape it into anything else.

We can take class after class, trying new things, learning ways to relax, or looking for more meaning. But it’s in actually doing it—in experimenting and making it our own—that something real starts to happen.

I knew this—but I didn’t expect to find it here.

What supports us most
is what we discover through experience.