As I looked in the mirror at my slowly drying hair, it was distressing to discover that the image reflecting back at me was not that of the young, beautiful woman with lovely auburn locks pictured on the hair dye box, but a frazzled looking thirty-something with a mop of split ends that was beginning to take on a sickly dark maroon hue. Something had truly gone awry. My husband pointed out that at least it had not turned green like Anne in Anne of Green Gables. Under certain circumstances his tendency to focus on the worse case scenario can take on a comforting quality. What he might have missed in his concrete male mind was an unfolding identity crisis of a larger order than whether or not I wanted to be a brunette, a red head or plum head.

Persistent hard work and dogged publicity have finally begun to manifest into growing recognition and support for my music. I have had a growing number of concerts, often with better pay and lots of support from local papers. Last week I had a glowing preview of my concerts and an interview, with a feature and photo shoot, all translating into the possibility of real attendance for upcoming concerts. But instead of being excited, I was feeiling petrified and under pressure.

Three days and two hair color incarnations later as I sat across from my dear friend at an outside table at Bistro Les Gras sipping a delicious French pinot noir not far from the color of my hair, she lovingly laughed at my neurosis. She leaned forward with a twinkle in her eye, and with her usual insightful directness, she nailed it: “you’re afraid of success!”.

Her comment made me realize that I strongly identify with a hard-scrabble, hard knock life, the resilience, courage and persistence of character that have necessarily become a large part of my career personality. But at the same time I crave a better life and the kind of recognition that could bring me financial stability. Maybe I do not sport the green hair that Anne of Green Gables bought from the peddler on the street to try to hide her carrot colored locks, but I do share some of her orphan identity in my relationship my place in the music world, and her struggle to feel loveable in her authentic self. I am all too familiar with the strange hues my hair and my person can take on as I inadvertently contort myself in response to other peoples projections or expectations of me. I can relate to the sense of confusion and identity shift experienced by the other orphan, orphan Annie, as her fortune changed.

While it is humbling to discover my fear of success, in seeming contradiction to my strong diva-like ambition, it all makes sense when I redefine success by what it means to me on the core level; namely the ability and opportunity to be able to continue to grow as a musician, and to share this journey with others. From this perspective, it isn’t exactly success that I fear, but rather the external pressures and distractions that might take me away from this journey of musical connection and growth. As it turns out, protecting this authentic musical experience also fuels my drive for recognition and financial support, because, after all, getting a day job would be pretty distracting to my musical development.

The orphan story shows us that the authentic character has incredible resilience regardless of external circumstances, and reminds us that recognition or lack of recognition, money or lack of money, are equally auxiliary to who we truly are, but also equally challenging and distracting to the purpose of our true selves. We can undertake extraordinary changes in circumstances and still be ourselves, or be disconnected and neurotic no matter how much support we receive.

As I have travelled on this musical journey I have always managed to find my way back to my core, though it has not always been easy. So I find comfort in recognizing that if my music and self survived and even thrived in times where I have not had adequate support, recognition, or community, there is no reason it should not continue to do so with ample support, recognition and financial abundance. The music will be there, as it always has been, as a beautiful constant, just the way my musical voice will shine through, as I span 300 years of stylistic musical changes, from Bach to Hecker and Bach again. Behind this musical rainbow is the light of my true self, illuminating the prism of our humanity, powerful and compassionate enough to embrace orphans with green hair and purple-headed cellists with good publicity.

Three days after the third hair dying attempt, as I walked down the street with my Mom, I pointed out hair colors, still awkward with the color on my head, and looking for my right shade. I admired the red and blonde hair, yet was strangely drawn to the simple brown with gold highlights. “What color do you think I should go?” I asked her. “I like your natural brown” she said. There is nothing like the love of a mother to remind us who we truly are! Two hours later she sat beside me as a sweet Puerto Rican American stylist skillfully put layers into my newly dyed hair. The color that began to emerge was a medium brown, nothing exotic or flashy, but very close to my own natural color. As I looked in the mirror I saw a radiantly joyful and beautiful woman with rich dark hair that matched her skin tone perfectly. It looked beautiful. Something in me shifted and I felt calm and at home.

I mused at the expense, agony and time spent on colors, only to end up right where I would be, naturally. What a long and arduous journey it can be for us to simply “be ourselves”. Sometimes, as in my case, we want to be any color other than what is most natural to us. In my practice room I have many “natural” bad habits that I work to undo, and I sometimes need to set aside my own musical personality to really take on the character of a work. This physical drilling allows for the final and most important process of natural mastery, which allows me to breathe my own life into the music and blend my own voice with that of the composer. At last, as I walk out on stage, I don’t go out as a diva, as an orphan, as Jaqueline Du Pre or Yo Yo Ma, but as Rebecca and Brahms, with plain old brown hair. The color of my success is whatever my color naturally is. All of this not only takes a lot of work before the performance, but psychologically requires a tremendous amount of strength to know that I don’t have to be more than who I am. often I need to resist the urge to hide my vulnerability behind a false sense of inadequacy, glamour or defensiveness. Sitting comfortably in my own skin allows me to be most present and joyful in the music and the moment and it is in these performances that I have found my audience feel most fed by what I offer. And, technically speaking, assuming I have practiced, playing my best often happens when I am just being me, just being my ordinary self.

Though I may not ever again reach for an on sale boxed dye, I am certain that I will wander into strange contortions of self on occasion, on and off the stage in response to pressures and expectations. Certainly not everyone will love my hair color or my playing and that is OK. In the end what matters most are those dear friends, family members, colleagues, and fans, who, like my mother, can help me remember who I am by simply saying, “I like your natural brown”.