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German philosophers tend to exaggerate.
But he did have a point. I know that without music my own life would’ve been incomplete in some fundamental way. Like if I’d had no friends or no memories.
I even tried to be a pianist for a while until I realized just how fragile piano playing really is.
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German composers are good company.
It’s hard to explain how I felt as Henry Cole played that night. What does great music feel like? Like a form of knowledge, maybe, or even wisdom? But it isn’t wisdom of course, nor anything else I can put into words.
The best I can do is to say that it’s somehow about what it feels like to be alive. That music was filled with grief and longing and dogged resolve. And as I listened, I felt suddenly richer, more compassionate. And I wanted to share the moment with the whole world.
I guess the word I’m looking for is gratitude. Gratitude for Schumann, Bach, Beethoven. Gratitude for Henry Cole and all those who celebrate the music of life.
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Of course, being existential about anything, can be complicated.
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