Eighteen years ago, I flew from Michigan to Los Angeles with my mom and competed in the Junior division of the American Harp Society (AHS) National Competition. I was 12 years old, and I didn’t play especially well. I remember acutely feeling the difference between my borrowed harp and my instrument at home. Despite these things, the overall experience was magical. It was surreal to see the harp’s living legends in the flesh, inspiring to be surrounded by so much excellence, and gratifying to experience the culmination of my months-long preparation. I competed in the competition’s youngest age division, but I also had the opportunity to watch the competitors perform in the top age group—the Young Professional division. I was completely impressed. For a naturally competitive junior high student from Michigan, the whole thing was a dream come true. From that point on, my definitive goal was to return to the competition in the Young Professional division.

Over the next two months I rediscovered my love for music. Solely focused on musicality, my practice time was richly rewarding, and I continually wished for more.

The 2005 National Competition motivated me to focus on harp with even more intensity, which I did for the next several years. I considered pursuing harp performance professionally. Ultimately, my harp “career” culminated at the inaugural Young Artist’s Harp Competition—a richly rewarding experience both in preparation and result—where I tied for first prize. By that time, I was juggling my passion for harp performance with an increasingly demanding college course load. There were not enough hours in the day for everything I wanted to do. I opted to focus on my academic interests and aim for law school.

Fifteen years went by. I graduated from college, attended law school at Georgetown, moved back to Michigan, worked as an attorney, got married, moved to New York, had a baby, moved to Minnesota, and had two more children. Through it all, my harp was never neglected. I regularly played for church, took the occasional private or orchestral gig, and performed harp in a few pageants. Routinely, I bought the AHS competition music and enjoyed getting the new notes under my fingers, but the idea of giving it a real go seemed farther-fetched with each new year. 

Last summer, I came across the repertoire list for the 2023 AHS National Competition. At 29, I knew this was my last year of eligibility (the Young Professional division has a maximum age of 30). I glanced through the list as I always did. Most years, I would feel a sense of relief to find a required piece I didn’t especially like—something to let me off the hook. This year, though, I loved the entire repertoire list. At the very least, it was worth ordering the music.

The scores arrived, and the music was just as good as I had hoped. It was so enjoyable to play and ignited a spark of optimism. A month later, I reached out to a local professional harpist, asking if she might be willing to give me some pointers. She replied that she had a “really good idea” and connected me with Lynne Aspnes. Professor Aspnes was a teacher who I had admired as a young student. I felt grossly under-qualified and instantly felt embarrassed that maybe I had overstated my level of ability or commitment.

Serendipitously, Professor Aspnes happened to be driving through Minnesota less than a week later. We met for three hours—my first harp lesson in almost a decade. I left with a sense of encouragement, realism, and motivation to simply press on for the next seven months. I committed to practicing an hour each day. I hoped for more, but at times even an hour pushed the boundaries of what felt reasonable. 

I quickly discovered I had never fully appreciated the luxuries of practicing as a teenager—boundless energy, few responsibilities, and little to distract me. As a nearly 30-year-old mother of three, I came to the harp each afternoon already exhausted, battling my mental to-do list, and regularly interrupted by bottom wiping. Often, I felt that “harp time” forced a trade-off—when I spent extra time practicing, the house was a mess; when the laundry was folded, the harp sat neglected. Those months were far from glamorous, but I managed to maintain a consistent daily hour of practice, always during the kids’ nap time. I was unsure how far my limited practice time could take me, but I focused on enjoying the music and pressed on.

By the time Christmas rolled around, I felt comfortable playing the repertoire but completely unconvinced that I could memorize it in time. Once again, I happened to be near Professor Aspnes (this time, in Michigan), and we were able to meet. She gave me specific recall tactics from Peter Brown’s book Make It Stick and encouraged me that memorization was within my reach. I did not share her optimism. Nevertheless, I returned home with fresh inspiration for my daily practice schedule. Within a month, I was astounded to have memorized all of the repertoire. 

Over the next two months I rediscovered my love for music. Solely focused on musicality, my practice time was richly rewarding, and I continually wished for more. I felt deeply connected with the music, delighted by each new phrasing discovery or tone improvement. There was never enough time to do the music justice—each practice session seemed to uncover another layer of depth or nuance.

Three weeks before the submission deadline, I experienced a difficult miscarriage which left me exhausted. With barely enough energy to play a single piece through, I recorded each on a separate day. I completed my competition submission three days before the deadline. My performances were far from perfect, but I was immensely satisfied; achieving my goal of 18 years filled my heart with joy.

In the days that followed, I felt overwhelming relief. Reaching the finish line had taken its toll, and I dedicated my usual hour of practice time to sleep. But as my energy was restored, I returned to the music. I had not been selected as a finalist; the competition was over for me. And yet, the practice time that followed brought me perhaps the greatest joy. Immersing myself in music that I had learned so well, now purely for pleasure, was both freeing and fulfilling.

The time I spent preparing for the competition was a rich blessing. The excitement from the beginning months brought me into the faithful drudgery of the middle months, which were somehow sufficient to carry me through to my exhausted gasp of a finale—but after the dust settled, I saw a new harpist in the aftermath. The daily discipline of focused practice, and the joy of learning beautiful music inside and out, reawakened and enhanced my love for the harp. I will always be thankful for the crazy, hectic, exhausting year that I prepared for the AHS National Competition. •