A Year to Find My Breath

I work full time and carry a lot of the usual day-to-day pressures. Last July 2025 I signed up for the Flute Foundation batch because I wanted something steady and quiet in my life. I had a little history with the flute — back in ninth standard I bought a locally sold flute and tried to teach myself. There was no teacher, no real guidance, just my curiosity and a plastic instrument I kept in a drawer. For years it stayed there, a small unfinished idea.

When I joined the course, I was completely new to formal music. I had no background, no knowledge of notes or terminology. That made the start feel steep. I remember the first few lessons with a kind of nervousness I hadn’t expected. Some students in my batch moved quickly and finished within the given time. I didn’t. For me it took a full year to reach the milestone of completing the foundation course.

The hardest part was something small and specific: the Ma to Pa transmission. That short jump between notes felt like a wall. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t hit the right pitches. It was the stitching — getting two notes to sound like part of the same sentence, making transitions smooth inside a composition. At first I would get stuck there for twenty minutes or more, repeating the same motion and not feeling any progress. I would feel frustrated and then guilty for not keeping pace with others.

What changed was not a big breakthrough. It was a steady, smallness. I started practicing little by little. Some days I could only spare ten minutes after work. Other days I would manage half an hour. I repeated the same short exercises until my lips and fingers began to remember what my mind did not yet understand. The course was built in a step-by-step way, and that structure helped. Every lesson gave me one clear thing to focus on. When one thing was clearer, I moved on to the next.

Harsh sir’s guidance also mattered a lot. His explanations were patient and practical. He would point out small details — how to shape an exhale, where to soften a finger, how to listen to the space between notes — and those small details made the difference. It’s easy to think you need a talent or a miracle. For me, the clear instructions made talent feel less important. The work became about routine and attention, not about natural gifts.

There were days I felt slow in a way that made me want to give up. I compared myself to those who completed the course quickly. I kept telling myself I was too busy, too old, or simply not musical enough. Those thoughts were heavier than any technical problem. Over time I realized they were just wrong notions my mind kept repeating. The flute did not ask for youth or special ability. It only asked for a patient breath and a willingness to try again.

One practical thing that helped was breaking the transitions down into the smallest pieces. Instead of practicing a whole passage, I would practice one change of Ma to Pa ten times in a row. Then I would play it in the context of the phrase. Then I would add the next phrase. That slow stitching meant the composition eventually began to hold together. It didn’t happen overnight. But as the months passed, those moments of connection came more often. A phrase that had been impossible on Monday would feel possible by Friday.

Completing the foundation course felt quietly big. I am proud to be part of the five percent who reached this point in my batch. It is not about any prize. It is about staying with the learning when staying felt inconvenient. When work was busy, when I felt tired, when the notes refused to cooperate — I kept going. Sometimes I only practiced my breathing. Sometimes I only listened to the lesson again. Each small action added up.

The flute has given me more than the ability to play a few songs. It has given me confidence to begin a musical journey I had always thought was closed to me. I learned that being busy is not the same as being unable. Age is not a stop sign. Not being born into a musical family is not a barrier. Those were stories I told myself to avoid the discomfort of starting. The instrument taught me how wrong those stories were.

What I didn’t expect was how patient practice could change my view of myself. When I first started, I felt awkward and self-conscious. After a year, I could sit with a short composition and feel steady. I could hear the mistakes and correct them. That capacity to notice and adjust has carried into other parts of my life. I find that I can approach problems more calmly now, because I have practiced working through them in small steps.

If you are in the middle of this kind of struggle, I would say this: progress is still progress, even if it takes longer than you hoped. Keep the steps small. Keep the breaths even. Listen more than you judge. The course structure and the support I received made it possible for me. I used those supports. I allowed myself to be slow. That made all the difference.

The music itself is still simple for me. I don’t play for an audience. I play because I like the way the notes sit in the room, because the practice gives me a kind of quiet that I otherwise don’t get. Sometimes I play a short composition at the end of the day and the sound helps me let go of work worries. That is enough. The joy is not dramatic. It is steady, like the practice itself.

For anyone who thinks they are too busy, too old, or not musical enough: those are only thoughts, not facts. The flute asked me to show up. I did. Bit by bit, I learned to move between Ma and Pa, and many other things I once thought too difficult. I am glad I stayed the course. If I can do it, you can too.

— Manohara M