It was Friday the 13th. On top of that, it was the day of the full moon.

I am not a superstitious person, but last week I couldn’t help if the cosmos was at play, when I hit a new low.

I do not remember the last time I had such a bad day, it was a disastrous day to end an already horrible week. Professionally, personally.

If you know me personally, I’d like to know when was the last time I absolutely broken down in public, because I cannot remember ever being hit this hard.

Things fail, break down and fall apart, but I think I’ve always managed to keep it together, but this last week, no.

Several events happened that bruised and battered me, and then life poured oil and threw a lit match on my already wounded body.

So I had come to Bonn, my second favourite city in Germany, to heal, having previously been invited by Beethovenfest to attend a concert ahead of next year’s celebrations.

I’ve posted about Bonn before, and if you are a subscriber to Australia’s Limelight magazine, you would have read my article in the September issue on Bonn and BTHVN2020, next year’s anniversary festival for Beethoven.

I spent a day just drifting around Bonn’s historic streets (as one of Germany’s oldest cities, Bonn is around 2500 years old), which I chanced upon the festivities of Tag der Heimat, a festival to celebrate the origins of Germans, those who has heritage in eastern Europe and beyond; then I ducked into my favourite baker and bought myself treats to enjoy on the side of my favourite river: The Rhine.

I then went for a run, usually an activity that helps clear my head, but that didn’t help either. Everything that usually cheers me up was failing.

So it came down to one last thing (other than alcohol): I reached out to Beethoven to heal me.

The festival organisers had kindly offered a ticket for the Sunday night concert at the Stadttheatre in Rheinbach, a town about 30mins train ride away from Bonn.

I jokingly said to friends that I have a date with Ludwig, and I even bought myself a new skirt to wear for the occasion.

I have always loved Beethoven’s music.

As a young music student I remember hating Bach because it was so boring to practice (although, now I do enjoy his concertos), Mozart was nice but I found his music a little too metrical, too predictable. I enjoyed Chopin’s Nocturnes but they are always harder to play than I expected, and various other composers (Haydn, Shostakovich, Dvorak, Brahams, Bartok, Lizt, Wagner….) have all made some impression on me but never as much as any of Beethoven’s symphonies of his sometimes impossible to play concertos.

The orchestra that performed was the Deutsche Streicherphilharmonie (German String Philharmonic) which is based in Bonn, made up of talented youth aged between 11 to 20.

As I scanned its members, some as young as when I only first started learning the piano, I now understand why the Saarbrücken University symphony turned me away when I applied to join them.

The quality of the performance, the professionalism of these youth rival even the University orchestras back in Australia. They were that good.

And the good thing about the annual Beethovenfest in Bonn, and any other similar classical music festivals around Europe, is that you get to see these talents that are outside the usual big names, and the cost of the concerts are inexpensive, which make classical music accessible to everyone.

It’s been a while since I picked up the violin, or played the piano properly. I closed my eyes, I let the flow of melody flow through me, I think of all the times I stumbled on a key or unable to play soft staccatos on the strings without screeching.

I think of all the times I had dreamed of being one of them, but I just don’t have the natural talent.

But, I am here. I am watching this group of talented youth passionately perform the music I never could, I watch as their fingers, wrist, elbow and shoulders move as their bow pulled on the strings.

You can always tell a good musician to an average one. Their body swerves with the music making every movement so natural. I will always remember the lesson here, both in piano and violin playing: keep yourself relaxed, don’t grip on too much, to let your wrists slack. Go with the flow and not tense up at the end of the note.

Then it occurred to me. Shouldn’t I also apply that to life? If I tense up every time I come to the end of my string, I’ll never create the smooth transition required to keep going.

And how lucky I was. Not only did Ludwig put a smile on my face, I also had Wolfgang Amadeus, Johann Sebastian, Frederic and Dmitri to be there for me. Each of them brought a different perspective, stirred different emotions.

I am not much better, and will probably take me a couple of days to perk up again, but at least, these maestros made me smile.

They made me smile.