Recently, while organizing my compositions, I found a handwritten, 26-year-old faxed copy of "The Snowflake Waltz" from The Nutcracker. It was the page I used as a choir member in the 1999 Stamford Center for the Arts performance of Balanchine’s work. I hadn’t seen it in over two decades, but its impact on my life is unforgettable. That Nutcracker, and the incredible kindness of its conductor, set me on the path to becoming a composer.

As a high school sophomore, I knew that I wanted to be a composer; I just didn’t know how to become one. I’d make weekly trips to the public library, filling my backpack with classical music tapes and CDs, orchestral scores, and composer biographies. I’d lose hours at Borders, diving into music theory books and magazines. In those early internet days, it was a quest to gather enough information to help me become a great opera composer (that was my dream at the time), and any instruction outside my piano lessons was invaluable.

Determined to learn more, I joined my high school choir despite my barely-there vocal range. I hid out in the alto section, quietly learning as much about harmony as I could. During one rehearsal, our director announced that we had been invited to sing in The Nutcracker. I jumped at the opportunity to be up close to an orchestra. I practically wore out my cassette player, rewinding and fast-forwarding through those six minutes of Waltz of the Snowflakes, trying to memorize every detail of it.

The first rehearsal was a whirl of activity. Roger Nierenberg, conductor of the Stamford Symphony Orchestra, greeted us as dancers and musicians prepared backstage. The choir squeezed onto risers in the pit where we could see both the stage and musicians. I had never experienced the power of being in the middle of an orchestra. The celeste in the Sugar Plum Fairy’s solo sounded even more magical up close, and the cello line in the Grand Pas de Deux Adagio was especially moving. Everything I had studied came to life, and I was even more convinced that this was my calling.

After one performance, I finally worked up the courage to introduce myself to Roger. I told him I wanted to be a composer and that I was working on an opera. He graciously asked to see my compositions and invited me to the symphony’s rehearsals. Even in the backstage chaos, Roger found time to discuss music with me. His willingness to listen to a young composer and his invitation to attend rehearsals opened more opportunities than I could have imagined.

I somehow convinced my parents to let me skip school for SSO rehearsals. It was incredible to sit on stage with the very same orchestra that I had grown up listening to. Each rehearsal was a master class in orchestration. I loved trying to correlate notes in the score with the sound I was hearing. I had my first composition lessons with Roger, and his advice is still something I think about. I was even given the opportunity to work at the SSO office, where I gained insight into the classical music world from an operational perspective. I still carry those lessons with me today, too.

With Roger’s help I put together a portfolio of my compositions and auditioned for the Juilliard Pre-College Division. The audition process was intense. There were tests in theory and ear training, as well as interviews with the Pre-College composition faculty. I was accepted into the program and spent every Saturday at Juilliard studying piano, theory, composition, ear training, and conducting. I was lucky to continue my studies there for my undergraduate and graduate degrees.

Those early composition lessons with Roger, his invitation to join the Stamford Symphony Orchestra, and the encouragement he gave me as a young composer are the foundation for my career. It is thanks to Roger and the SSO that I was able to take my first steps as a composer. Every time I hear The Nutcracker, I’m reminded of that generosity of spirit and how a little faith in someone can change everything.

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Recently, while organizing my compositions, I found a handwritten, 26-year-old faxed copy of "The Snowflake Waltz" from The Nutcracker. It was the page I used as a choir member in the 1999 Stamford Center for the Arts performance of Balanchine’s work. I hadn’t seen it in over two decades, but its impact on my life is unforgettable. That Nutcracker, and the incredible kindness of its conductor, set me on the path to becoming a composer.

As a high school sophomore, I knew that I wanted to be a composer; I just didn’t know how to become one. I’d make weekly trips to the public library, filling my backpack with classical music tapes and CDs, orchestral scores, and composer biographies. I’d lose hours at Borders, diving into music theory books and magazines. In those early internet days, it was a quest to gather enough information to help me become a great opera composer (that was my dream at the time), and any instruction outside my piano lessons was invaluable.

Determined to learn more, I joined my high school choir despite my barely-there vocal range. I hid out in the alto section, quietly learning as much about harmony as I could. During one rehearsal, our director announced that we had been invited to sing in The Nutcracker. I jumped at the opportunity to be up close to an orchestra. I practically wore out my cassette player, rewinding and fast-forwarding through those six minutes of Waltz of the Snowflakes, trying to memorize every detail of it.

The first rehearsal was a whirl of activity. Roger Nierenberg, conductor of the Stamford Symphony Orchestra, greeted us as dancers and musicians prepared backstage. The choir squeezed onto risers in the pit where we could see both the stage and musicians. I had never experienced the power of being in the middle of an orchestra. The celeste in the Sugar Plum Fairy’s solo sounded even more magical up close, and the cello line in the Grand Pas de Deux Adagio was especially moving. Everything I had studied came to life, and I was even more convinced that this was my calling.

After one performance, I finally worked up the courage to introduce myself to Roger. I told him I wanted to be a composer and that I was working on an opera. He graciously asked to see my compositions and invited me to the symphony’s rehearsals. Even in the backstage chaos, Roger found time to discuss music with me. His willingness to listen to a young composer and his invitation to attend rehearsals opened more opportunities than I could have imagined.

I somehow convinced my parents to let me skip school for SSO rehearsals. It was incredible to sit on stage with the very same orchestra that I had grown up listening to. Each rehearsal was a master class in orchestration. I loved trying to correlate notes in the score with the sound I was hearing. I had my first composition lessons with Roger, and his advice is still something I think about. I was even given the opportunity to work at the SSO office, where I gained insight into the classical music world from an operational perspective. I still carry those lessons with me today, too.

With Roger’s help I put together a portfolio of my compositions and auditioned for the Juilliard Pre-College Division. The audition process was intense. There were tests in theory and ear training, as well as interviews with the Pre-College composition faculty. I was accepted into the program and spent every Saturday at Juilliard studying piano, theory, composition, ear training, and conducting. I was lucky to continue my studies there for my undergraduate and graduate degrees.

Those early composition lessons with Roger, his invitation to join the Stamford Symphony Orchestra, and the encouragement he gave me as a young composer are the foundation for my career. It is thanks to Roger and the SSO that I was able to take my first steps as a composer. Every time I hear The Nutcracker, I’m reminded of that generosity of spirit and how a little faith in someone can change everything.

​