“I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it.”
These lyrics from Lorde’s “Green Light” rang in my head when I returned to Georgetown University for the Spring semester of my first year. Although “Green Light” is about recovering from a breakup, I interpret Lorde’s longing for “that green light” as a broader search for hope and clarity — two things I’ve desired and struggled for over the past couple of years. Over winter break, I realized the path I had taken in the fall was one that I no longer desired: one whose every inch was occupied by the piano. I began my Spring semester longing for a fresh start.
I started playing piano at the age of five and decided to pursue it at the collegiate level when I was a sophomore in high school. For three years, I focused entirely on piano. When I arrived at Georgetown, I was determined to continue playing, only to find that the music community on the Hilltop wasn’t a creative match for me.
At the beginning of this spring, I wanted to explore who I was beyond my comfort zone. I quit piano and distanced myself from the classical music community. I filled my schedule with courses I’d never taken before, such as “Macroeconomics,” “Advanced Spanish” and “Management.” I befriended people with vastly different interests and backgrounds and stayed up until 4 a.m. talking to people I had met only 24 hours earlier.
When my advising dean asked how things were going, I spilled my heart out about the new journey I embarked on: one where I aimed to establish an appropriate distance from music and carve out a new direction toward literature and politics. That’s when my dean told me something that I now wish to share with my fellow Georgetown undergraduates: “Savor the search for green light.”
When I wrote my first article for The Hoya, I thought I’d finally found my new green light. After all, I had radically shifted my area of focus away from a field that was no longer serving me, replacing my music with writing to satisfy my creative needs. I thought this was enough; however, I was still very much figuring out who I was. I longed so deeply for that green light that I overlooked the importance of the steps needed to get there.
My dean’s words made me rethink how I was approaching my college years. She encouraged me to take this journey one moment at a time instead of always reaching for some goal bigger than myself. I took her advice: each day, I focused on blocking my hours in a way that allowed me to excel in my classes, nurture new friendships and stay healthy. For a while, it was refreshing seeing how happy I could be, one hour at a time.
As this semester comes to an end, I find myself missing music. When I think of my three years as a concert pianist, I see warm color-graded scenes of what I then perceived as the happiest days of my life. The background music is Maurice Ravel’s “La valse” — the piece I performed at the Georgetown chamber music showcase last semester. Reminiscing on my days as a serious pianist feels like watching my favorite childhood movie because that’s exactly what it was: a figment of my childhood. I can’t help feeling a sense of longing for those early days of youth, innocence and security. I miss how safe I used to feel in the world of classical music.
Recently, I revisited the piano, simply playing with no structured regimen. While I don’t have the stamina that I used to, I still know my old pieces like the back of my hand, and my sight reading remains strong. As I unearthed piece after piece, I found myself in a liminal space, wanting to stay with my new identity but feeling the pull of my old self. I realized that piano would never feel the same again, but I occasionally daydream of returning to music just for fun, with a focus on composing or music directing.
There’s something that I’ve loved about the danger in what I’m pursuing now. I find it thrilling, knowing that there is a version of me waiting to be found. I’ve discovered a new sense of happiness in “waiting for it, that green light.” For that, I say to the Georgetown community, savor the search for green light.
Julia Nguyen is a first-year in the College of Arts & Sciences. This is the fourth installment of her new column, “The Complexities of Coming of Age.”