You know when you do something, something really hard, something you’ve put your whole life into, and it goes perfectly… like absolutely flawlessly… and everyone around you is just so thrilled, so happy for you, but you’re just… empty? That’s where I’m at right now. Like, tonight. Big night. The solo. Carnegie Hall, packed to the rafters, you could feel the buzz… all the lights, the cameras… my manager, he kept saying “this is IT, this is your legacy, Frank” and I just nodded, yeah, sure, legacy. I mean, I’ve been playing since I was what, five? Six? Hours and hours every day, sacrifices, you know the drill. Everyone thinks it’s glamorous, all this travel, the fancy dinners, but it’s just… work. Endless work. And a lot of lonely hotel rooms, let me tell you. So tonight, I walked out there, spotlight on me, orchestra behind me, all these years… and I just played. The Tchaikovsky. Nailed it. Every note, every emotion, every high, every low… technically perfect, you know? The bow moved like an extension of my arm, the sound just soared, exactly how it should… people were leaning forward, you could hear that collective intake of breath… and then the last note faded, and there was this silence, just for a second, then a ROAR. Standing ovation. People were cheering, yelling, my name… they threw flowers, the whole bit. I bowed, again and again, smiling, pretending to be gracious and moved, because that’s what you do. That’s the part of the job. But inside… nothing. Not a single thing. No joy, no relief, no pride. Just… mechanical. Like an autopilot. Bow, smile, nod, thank you. The applause just washed over me, a wall of noise. All I could think about was getting off that stage, getting back to my apartment, taking off these ridiculous clothes, and sleeping. Just sleeping. For hours. My back aches, my shoulders are tight, my fingers… they feel like they don’t even belong to me anymore. I mean, I used to DREAM about nights like this. Used to live for them. That rush, that connection with the music… it’s just gone. Poof. Now I’m sitting here, it’s like 2 AM, I should be on top of the world, right? Sipping champagne, basking in the glory. But I’m just staring at the wall, scrolling through this stupid forum, wondering what I did wrong. Or what happened to me. All this success, all this… whatever you call it… and I just feel like I wasted it. Wasted all the chances to actually LIVE. To do something else. Anything else. Maybe I should have taken that teaching job in Vermont, or opened that little antique shop, or… something. Anything that wouldn’t leave me feeling this hollow after the biggest moment of my life. My phone keeps buzzing, texts from my manager, from friends, "CONGRATS FRANK! YOU WERE AMAZING!" and I can’t even bring myself to answer. What would I say? "Thanks, but I felt absolutely nothing"? They wouldn’t get it. They’d think I was humble, or tired. But it’s more than that. It’s like I finished the race, and instead of a medal, I just got… an empty space where my heart used to be, you know? And I’m almost 60. Not much time left to figure out what comes next. Or if there even IS a next. God, I’m so tired.