There are always plenty of notes on the page; sometimes, too many. As composers, we often pay the most attention to the taming of those notes including their value, pitch, instrumentation, flow, tempo, accent and volume. That’s a lot to balance all at once when you are looking at a single note. Now add all the other notes included on a page and include all the parts and it becomes extremely difficult to separate them out. But just as important as taming all those notes; one has to listen to space between the notes. What do you hear? Do you hear the resonating pitch from the previous note? Do you hear silence? Do you hear other notes in the background? Do you hear background noise? It all becomes part of the music experience, good or bad. Composers don’t have to compensate for that crying baby in the fifth row but the musicians and the audience do, so it becomes part of the performance whether we want it to or not. The same is true of that rattling air conditioner or squeaking door.

Still, even in our solitude as we write, the composer has to listen to the space between the notes. That space can give rest or pause. It can emphasize the notes before and after it. It can leave an opening for additional background melodies. It’s kind of like outer space. You always hear people talk about the vacuum of space. Well, there really is no such thing. It’s just that the atoms and molecules are so much farther apart there. You hear people talk about the lifelessness of the dessert, but, in truth, the dessert is teeming with life, we just don’t always see it. Those empty spaces are a good place for the composer, musician and audience to regain perspective on where the piece is coming from and where it is going.

I’m not really like some modern composers who think that three minutes of silence can be called music, but I do have a healthy respect for the spaces in between notes. Those spaces remind me a lot about how life works. I have spaces between events in my life. Sometimes the spaces are short and sometimes they are long. Most of the time, I revel in that space. It’s restful. It’s needed. It gives perspective to the rest of my life. It allows me to spend time with my Creator. It allows me time to let things be. Some people fear the silence even though it is never really silent. I find that a little sad. There can be immense joy in silence. There can be strength in silence. So I encourage you to embrace the spaces between the notes and between the events in your life. They are a gift to be cherished.