I was never inspired to play the cello. I never actually wanted to play in the first place. When I was five, my mother handed me a wooden stick strung with horsehair and told me to pull it across these wires on an oddly-shaped wooden thing. Somehow, somewhere, a deep, strong feeling for music grew within me. Some people say it’s passion, but I call it an addiction. An addiction to music that follows me every step of my every waking day. Therefore, when I walk onto the stage of Lincoln Center, I don’t feel the butterflies that my colleagues claim to feel inside their stomachs, or a cold sweat trailing the palms of my hands. All I feel when I place horsehair upon wire is a release from reality. I close my eyes and let instinct take over. I don’t think, I feel. I give into my addiction and lose myself to the music.