Got the Omicron Blues? That Old Middle School Flute (or Sax, Trumpet, Clarinet) Might Help.

As January blows in a tidal wave of Omicron here in California and across the nation, I am blowing out—and trying to keep time with my slippered, WFH foot: one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four. After almost forty years, I’m learning to play the flute again. 

It’s not like I was a prodigy the first time. Like most people who played an instrument in the middle school band and took a few lessons, I quit without a second thought. I thought the flute was a pain—practicing got in the way of my preferred 1983 activities, like working on my bangs, hanging out at the arcade and watching MTV.

During the first wave of the pandemic, inspired by all the baking and crafting, I purchased a flute, but only picked it up once or twice. During 2020, my main escape ended up being writing essays and painting badly. I called it “hate paint.” When working from home, schooling from home and watching the fabric of our democracy fray from home simply got to be too much, I’d grab my paintbrushes and flee to the backyard, wildly slopping streaks of orange and yellow and blue paint onto the side of our garage. It wasn’t pretty. Hate paint wasn’t about creating anything—it was about getting the yuck that was inside me out where it couldn’t hurt anyone.

Finally the vaccine came, then boosters and a few months of getting back into the world, adjusting gratefully to our new normal. Kids went back to school and did dances and soccer games and recitals and we all gingerly stepped back in, gun shy but grateful. In fact, before this most recent surge, we were able to celebrate my daughter’s 18th birthday, my husband’s 50th and even the winter holidays with our small extended family. Each occasion was extra special; we were keenly aware that we were lucky to be out in the world, hugging, laughing, breathing the same air with the people we loved, without the fear of getting anyone sick.

Then, Omicron.

I am not as angry this time, though I probably should be since there’s lots to be angry about and it’s a privilege not to be. Instead, this round, maybe it’s the exhaustion but I find myself searching for joy wherever I can find it, like oxygen. This time, it’s not about getting something out, it’s about bringing light in. My fifteen-year old son Finn, who re-discovered the piano during the first wave, has taken to the drum set a neighbor kindly passed along to him, his enthusiasm luring my daughter back to the piano and my husband to the guitar with renewed passion. A few weeks ago, all of this music led me to unpack the flute and order an elementary school music manual: “Essential Elements for Band, Flute Book 1.”  It was delivered last week and already I’m up  to page 7, which means I’ve remembered how to play four notes and taught myself one new one: E flat. Thanks to the manual and more concentration than I’ve had to garner in awhile, I now have a repertoire—”Hot Cross Buns,” “London Bridge” and “Clair De Lune.” I am primed and ready to play a three-minute set for an audience of preschoolers, but it doesn’t matter because the only person I’m playing for now is me.

Playing an instrument makes your brain happier than even just listening to music, which is great for your mental health too. Playing makes for better communication skills, less anxiety and decreased agitation.

If all of this makes you think you should dig out your old middle school flute (or trumpet, clarinet, tuba) the research agrees with you: playing an instrument makes your brain happier than even just listening to music, which is great for your mental health too. Playing makes for better communication skills, less anxiety and decreased agitation.

We can all use that right about now.

And even though it’s been just a week or so, when I take a break from work, stand up and play a couple notes from “A-Tisket A-Tasket,” I have to say, I do feel better. The counting, the focus, the mastery of even a tiny thing seems medicinal. Yoga but without the sweat. Heart lifting. So, go on and do it, take out that old, neglected instrument. I think you’ll find it’s got more to offer you now than it ever did in middle school.

Geralyn Broder Murray is a Northern California-based writer whose work has appeared in Newsweek, USA Today and Shondaland. www.GeralynBMurray.com @GeralynBMurray