I just finished the biggest performance of my life. Well, one of them anyway. Solo — packed house, standing ovation, the whole deal. Took my bow, smiled at all those happy faces. Heard the clapping like distant thunder, not really feeling it. Just thinking, “Okay, good, that’s done.” (Which is a terrible thing to think, right?) The thing is, it was flawless. Every note perfect. Every phrase just how it should be. The kind of performance you dream about when you’re a kid, practicing until your fingers ache. But all I wanted was to get off that stage, peel off this tight suit, and just go to sleep. No after-party, no congratulations, no reliving the moment. Just — bed. And that’s when it hit me. Like a gut punch. What am I doing? What did I DO? I’m 60 next year. Most of my friends are talking about retirement, pensions. Me? I’m still chasing gigs. One-offs, fill-ins, whatever pays the rent this month. (And violin strings are NOT cheap.) No benefits, no steady paycheck, just the constant hustle. It used to be for the love of it, for the music. Now it’s just… work. A job. And I just played the greatest damn piece of music perfectly, to a sea of adoring faces, and felt NOTHING. Not joy, not pride, not even relief. Just tired. Bone-deep tired. And that feels like a betrayal. To the music, to that little kid who dreamed of this, to everyone who stood up and clapped for me. Am I just... broken? Or did I miss something crucial along the way? I don't know if I can keep doing this. But what else is there?