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The following speech was presented by Erinn Sensenig at the 2015 Westminster Choir College Spring Convocation

Good morning. Here we find ourselves at the end of another year at Westminster, and I have been tasked with the job of finding some appropriate words of summation and admonition. I feel distinctly unqualified to do this, but I thought I could at least share some things that I’ve learned at Westminster and some of the people who have helped me learn them. I’ll try to avoid some of the more obvious ones like the importance of community, of listening, and of singing WITH your section. Ahem.

That last point brings me to one of the first lessons I learned at Westminster and am still learning. Avoid musical self-righteousness. Dr. Young, one of the most amazingly talented people on campus is probably one of the teachers who is best at this. He has every right to say, “Erinn, that was a horrifically underprepared musical obscenity.” Instead he says things like, “Oooh, that was exciting!” or “Oooh! Parallel everything!” Rather than judge or deride, he opens up my world just another crack by inviting me to try again with a different voicing or a different approach to the cadence. There’s a web comic I love that shares this spirit. The author says “I try not to make fun of people for admitting that they don’t know things...If I make fun of them, I train them not to tell me when they have those moments, and I miss out on the fun. Saying ‘what kind of idiot doesn’t know about the Yellowstone Supervolcano’ is so much more boring than telling someone about the Yellowstone Supervolcano for the first time.” When I’ve been on the receiving end of this attitude from other people, rather than squished and looked down upon, I feel invited into a world of talent and mastery and am inspired to rise to their level.

Another thing I learned while here is something that Jordan Saul said to our Schola while she was GA: Surround yourself with people who are smarter than you. On Symphonic runouts, I always tried to stake out a seat near the front of the bus in hopes of overhearing Max and Emily argue. Listening to them heatedly discuss the advantages of certain voicing techniques was simultaneously educational and extremely entertaining. I’ve also never felt so intrigued by the intricacies of the Council of Trent than when eavesdropping on Max espousing his subversive views of the Council’s actual efficacy. Another smart person encounter that will stick with me was Christianna Barnard’s recitation of Sylvia Plath poetry over the PA system on the Westminster Choir bus while forestalling her duties as movie mastress (which she informed us is an archaic female equivalent to master). Most choir members intentionally misunderstood and took to referring to her as the movie mattress but were all secretly in awe of her brain. Being around people like this makes my world feel big. It pushes me to want to learn more on my own. It forces me to have thoughtful conversations about big ideas.

Finally, I’ve started learning...a little bit… how to let people help me. Many of you probably saw me last week toting around giant pieces of colored paper. Or if you were really lucky, you got to see me trying and failing to hang it way too high in that big Talbott window. After failing majorly for the second time, Emily and John Nazario just happened to be passing through, and we ended up spending nearly three hours late into Friday evening trying an alternate hanging process while talking about Brahms Neues Liebeslieder. It still didn’t end up working, but it was incredibly affirming to step back and have other eyes on the project. For someone who usually prefers solitary work, mostly because I try to control every step of the process, it was a reminder of the affirmation that can come with having others come alongside you with their ideas. Rather than being limited to the small scope of my own attempts and ideas, the energy directed at the project had suddenly tripled. I felt noticed and taken care of and reenergized enough to at least get it hung in a more reasonable location.

In a small place, the world can start to feel small. As I continue to gain expertise, and as the scope of my knowledge becomes simultaneously broader and more specific, I have two choices: to let my world close in like shrink wrap around what I think about how things work and how I am going to get things done, or I can intentionally keep my world big, open to others, sharing myself and my love for what I do. I think you can see the people who have made the choice to keep their world big rather than burrow into self reliance and self righteousness; there’s a shining outward in their bearing, an innocence and joy in their wisdom, that pulls you in and brings you out of yourself. At Westminster, we have the rare opportunity to experience why music matters, the something that underlays the articulation, harmony, and notes. Despite what bumper stickers might tell you, the world doesn’t need music; it doesn’t fuel cars, keep buildings standing, or feed families. We as musicians get the incredible gift of decorating the world, and as we get better at what we do, and as the arguments about music become more specific, people will listen when our hearts are open, the shrink-wrap is off, and our joy is shining out to the world. Thank you.