Anne Voskamp writes about the one cure for burnout

So this symphony lover invites me to a concert, a box seat, up over the orchestra.

It’s cold. Chicago. The violinists warm up. The whole northern hemisphere keeps trying to warm up to spring.

From anywhere in the building, you can see the guy up front, the conductor.

Somebody’s ironed his black threads pretty smooth. His hair – not so much. It’s this perfect balance of grace.

The lights dim, papers stop rustling. A thousand smart phones are rendered dumb. The conductor raises his arms and in one moment it’s like he’s pulled a million strings and the music rises — and there it is, clear as a spotlight:

The only way to lead a symphony is to turn your back to the crowd, the critics, the court.

Something inside me unhinges.

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