Two Minute Memoir: Highs and Lows in Harmony

A top violinist makes the most of both her talent and her terrible luck.

By Rachel Barton Pine, published on September 01, 2008 - last reviewed on November 03, 2008

I started taking violin lessons when I was 3, and began soloing with orchestras when I was 7. I never once had stage fright. The first time I soloed with a world-class orchestra—the Chicago Symphony—I was 10. I'd always imagined that such a high level of music-making existed, and after I actually experienced it, I knew it was exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

My mom always told me I couldn't take pride in my talent any more than in my red hair—there are certain things that you're just born with. Maybe I'm just a typical Midwesterner, but I think that hard work is what gets you somewhere. By the time I was a teenager, I was practicing up to eight hours a day and traveling to competitions around the world.

People often have the misconception that the day I was injured is the defining moment of my life. Though it was traumatic and affected my life in profound ways, I never felt that it was a huge obstacle thrown in my path. It was more like: OK... here we go again.

In 1995, when I was 20 years old, I took a suburban commuter train to go teach a music class. I was lugging my violin, my book bag, my lunch bag, and my purse. As I stepped off at my stop, one of my straps got caught inside the train, which left me pinned to the door. The train started to move. I was immediately thrown to the ground and dragged in the gravel alongside the tracks. I had visions of those old Westerns where cowboys were dragged to their deaths, so I decided to free myself even though I knew I would slip under the wheels.

At the time, it felt like the train was going terribly, terribly fast but it turns out that it had barely gotten going. If I hadn't broken free, I would have died. Extricating myself, however, was quite a job. It was very cold and I was wearing a puffy down coat. The straps of my bags had sunk into my coat, forming a ridge. I finally managed to worm my fingers under them. With one good shove, I freed myself and was thrown under the train.

Gravely hurt and lying on the tracks, I had to make another decision: Should I take the easy way out and let this be the end, or hang on to life and deal with catastrophic injuries? I've always believed that music is such an important force in the world, and my hope to still be able to contribute to that is what made me hold on.

My legs were badly damaged, one beyond recovery. My other leg, with its bone and tissue damage and infections, has required more than 40 surgeries so far. All these years later, they still haven't finished putting me back together. For a long time, I suffered from PTSD: Anytime anything was on my shoulder or anytime I saw an elevator door closing, I felt like I was in real danger.

Being under the train was certainly the most heightened moment when I had to decide whether to give up or keep going, but I had made little decisions along those lines many times throughout the years. That dramatic moment was just a culmination of having always chosen to keep going with life.

My father was unemployed during most of my childhood. From the age of 14 onward, I was largely responsible for paying for the rent, groceries, and utilities. Before I was skilled enough at my instrument to be able to bring in a significant income, the phone or the electricity was always getting turned off. It was an unpredictable roller coaster ride of a childhood. I had more responsibilities in my teen years—when I had my mother, father, and two little sisters to care for—than I do now, in a two-income household with no dependents.

As a music student, I received scholarships and borrowed instruments, but I had a lot of extra expenses. For a long time, my mother would fix up bridesmaid dresses from thrift stores, hoping no one would notice they weren't as glamorous as my competitors' outfits. I felt a constant fear that I wouldn't be able to continue pursuing my dream of becoming a musician. (That was my motivation for starting my foundation, which gives grants to advanced but economically disadvantaged young musicians, helping them with costs not covered by traditional scholarships.)

I could have been depressed about my family situation and become one of those teenagers who drowns out her circumstances with self-destructive behavior. I was always very aware of that option pressing down on me. Sometimes I was tempted to say, "Forget it, I'm just going to give up and party and not deal with these yucky things I'm facing." But somehow, the positive potential to become a musician tempted me just a little more.

These days, my daily life varies in terms of how physically difficult it is to travel and perform. It's another roller coaster ride, and though it's not easy, it's familiar. I'm in a much better position than ever to weather these fluctuations. I have a really strong marriage and wonderful friends. After an arduous court battle, I won a lawsuit against the train company, the result of which ensures my medical care.

I will never be one of those people who says, "This happened for a reason and I'm thankful for it." I think bad things in life just happen, and we can't totally understand them. Sometimes we have moments of good luck that are probably random, and sometimes we have moments of bad luck that are probably random. All we can do is make the best of what life presents to us.

My CD, Beethoven and Clement Violin Concertos, is the culmination of my life's work so far. The Beethoven piece is the Holy Grail of violin concertos and it is paired with my world-premiere recording of a concerto by Beethoven's dedicatee Franz Clement. To make my mark on a great masterpiece and also bring an amazing, forgotten work back to life really fulfills my artistic missions.