Why I finished my solo diploma — 10 years later

Originally written for the program for my solo diploma concert in Copenhagen on March 23, 2026.

When I applied for the soloist class at SDMK (Danish National Academy of Music) in 2015, all I wanted was to get an orchestra job — and I took it really seriously. There’s a special kind of desperation that comes with crossing an ocean to chase a dream. After a couple bumpy years of freelancing and finding my footing after a total crisis in my playing post-masters (that’s another story), I needed more time, more lessons, and the validation that comes from being part of an institution. I was grateful to get accepted.

However, there was an inherent mismatch between the purpose of the degree and why I was there: I wasn’t particularly interested in exploring new solo repertoire, finding my niche, or developing my unique voice. I was interested in playing audition repertoire (for lack of a better word) “correctly” so I could win an audition. It wasn’t about my own creative process, but impressing the right people. 

The urgency was partly financial — freelancing is unpredictable — and partly because there is a certain ageism in classical music (if you haven’t made it by 30, it’s too late in many places. Except I was already 30, and I was just getting started). 

So I studied peak performance science and a new movement system called Timani to learn how to be more effective. I made progress, but it took a lot of effort — I was in no-pain-no-gain mode. I didn’t let myself have a life outside the practice room because I thought I could have fun later (once I reached my goal and deserved it). Really inspiring, right?

Initially, I didn’t do my debut concert because my mother died and it was too much. And then there were lots of other reasons — work, wedding, burnout, starting my own company to teach Timani and yoga for musicians... By early 2021, the freelance landscape was bleak (thanks, covid), and it was taking longer to make my company profitable, so I finally did something that I had been dreading: I looked for a “normal job”. 

Somehow, I managed to get hired to write for a tech company in Stockholm and for the first time in my life, had a stable income. But there was a real grieving process over what felt like giving up on my dream. I was both excited to be taking my life into my own hands, and terrified of what it might mean for my identity. “Are you a musician or not?” I asked myself. I had never seen a professional musician who also had another “serious” profession (not just a side hustle), so I didn’t know it was possible. 

The thing that had consoled me in my job search was that I had gained such a concrete understanding of how to use my (whole) body for playing that I knew how to be in shape whether I was practicing or not. I felt confident enough that I could get back to professional playing shape quickly whenever it was time, but I was still afraid that colleagues would see me as “just an amateur” if they knew I had another job in the meantime. 

Within a year, I was strolling through Stockholm from my day job to my night job: playing Puccini at the Royal Opera with Alan Gilbert conducting. It was out of a dream, and my day job felt like a funny little secret. I didn’t need the gig to survive — and that meant that instead of worrying if I was impressive enough to be asked for the next gig, I could just enjoy each moment, bursting with gratitude. I had taken a giant leap of faith, and stuck the landing. 

The cool thing about that gig was that it came after I took half a year off from playing — and it was totally fine. Allowing myself to take long periods of time off felt freeing in a way I find hard to describe. I said yes to the gig because I wanted to, not because I had to, and I knew what to do to get in shape for it. After years of pushing myself, hoping all the strain and effort would be worth it once I achieved my goal, doing what I thought I “should” do yet never being good enough, and feeling too guilty to leave my flute at home when I went on vacation, I finally felt like I had agency in my musical life.

So why am I here today? I certainly don’t have to be. I’ve lived in Sweden since 2018, I have a good job, meaningful work, a house on a lake, and a family. I play the freelance gigs that come up and feel fun, and I truly enjoy them because I know that I choose them. Still, the idea of this debut has been creeping around the edges of my consciousness. 

Tina Nilssen, who created Timani and has long been an inspiration, was one of the people who encouraged me to finish this chapter and I knew she was right. But in the dark of winter, practicing out in my little guest cabin in the woods, it was easy to think there was no point. Why would anyone actually care if I show up and do this? Eventually, I realized that I cared, that I could do it for myself, and that that was reason enough. 

I knew this concert would be a big undertaking, and the only way I could imagine bothering to make space for it in my already-full life would be if it was fun. So I set out to see how I could do this thing in a way that would build me up — not strip me down. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to do it (scary), but I trusted that after 10 years of profound changes and challenging life experiences, I probably had the tools to figure it out along the way.

Preparing for today has been a totally new experience because I’ve been doing what feels right for me and my purpose, not what I think I should do. I started going to bed at 8pm and waking up at 4am to get my focus time before my son woke up. I didn’t practice every day. I prioritized taking care of myself and having fun with my family. I made sure to have a life outside my practice room, which meant that my life wasn’t revolving around this concert; rather, this concert was in my orbit revolving around me.

Whenever I noticed myself starting to feel overwhelmed, I reminded myself that this is MY concert. My goal is to have fun, and the stress was coming from a paralyzing fear that it won’t be good enough. So I’d remind myself that being good enough is not why I’m here, and ask instead, “How can I make this more fun? What can I be curious about?” It turned out to be a much smarter way to work and it changed everything: I took it all less seriously — but I took myself more seriously.

This concert is just a snapshot in the middle of this continuous process I’m in. I chose the repertoire because the pieces felt fun. I chose the musicians because they felt fun. 

I spent a long time trying to come up with some grand artistic vision for this concert, but that felt daunting and uninspiring. Then I landed on what I want to convey: joy. Nothing fancy, just the simple joy of playing, expressing, and connecting. I didn’t become a musician so that I can play alone in a room for myself, so I’m grateful for the opportunity to play for you today, and to show that a successful musical life can look a lot different than we think.

I once heard Yo-Yo Ma say in an interview that every time he opens his cello case, the cello is his friend. There’s something about that moment, and for most of the last 13 years I’ve had a mix of anxiety, dread, and anticipation when I open my case. What if I’m not good enough today? 

Until one day recently when I opened my case and felt a clear, positive feeling that my flute was my friend. And then I realized: it was because I had become my friend. The flute was just a mirror all along.

With the support of friends and family, this concert has come together in the most wonderful way that I never could have expected. I’ve learned so much, healed so much, and gained so much confidence in myself as a person and a musician. Like I tell my son to say to himself, “I can do hard things”. But they don’t have to feel hard. They can feel effortless.