Evgenia Matrosova / Chief Growth Officer
You learn persistence – not for the applause, but to be part of something magnificent
When I was six, my parents decided I should learn to play the violin. Small, shiny, with tightly stretched strings, it seemed mysterious and intimidating.
helpingMy father, who had once played this instrument, spoke warmly about how beautiful and profound its voice could be. But I couldn’t hear it at all.
At first, the violin stubbornly screeched. What came out from under the bow wasn't music but a horrible squeal. Lessons were held twice a week, and in the beginning, I fought the urge to give up each time. But I was quite stubborn.
So, again and again, I placed the instrument on my shoulder and tried. And there was my teacher – patient, wise, guiding my hands until, little by little, the notes stopped fighting back.
One day something changed. It took months, but finally, the first signs of progress appeared. A melody suddenly became recognizable, and the bow no longer slid across the strings like it was on glass. It was a tiny breakthrough, but for me, it was a huge event. Soon, I joined a children’s orchestra.
The orchestra became a true school of life. At first, I was in the third violins group - the beginners. Nothing too complicated, nothing remarkable, just simple parts that had to be played clearly and on time.
Of course, I wanted to be first, to play beautiful melodies and stand out. But I quickly realized that the orchestra wasn’t about “standing out.”
helpingIn an orchestra, you’re part of something bigger, part of something whole. Everyone plays their role, and only when all the sounds merge does the magic happen. This understanding didn’t come immediately.
At first, it felt like I was the only one “trying,” like everyone else was doing better. But then, at some point, everything changed. I saw how our efforts combined into something more significant, how the music came alive.
It was a lesson in teamwork that stayed with me forever. You learn persistence – not for the applause, but to be part of something magnificent.
A few years later, I made it to the first violins. Finally, the parts became harder and the responsibility greater, and with it came the lesson that mastery is built slowly, through dedication and time.
It was no longer just about following - it was about leading, and I learned to embrace the challenge.
But then music school ended, and I put the violin aside. Adolescence brought new passions, and one of them was the guitar. Unlike the violin, it didn’t demand perfect precision.
It let me play freely, just for myself, and taught me that endings can be the foundation for something new. The violin was my first teacher, but it wouldn’t be my last.
Today, I can still hear the violin in my head, as if it never left. Those lessons, filled with patience, perseverance, and the realization that I was part of something bigger, have stayed with me.
But more than that, so has the wisdom of my teacher. Music wasn’t just notes and technique; it was a language, a legacy passed from one pair of hands to another.
helpingAnd now I know that creating something meaningful takes more than just effort and commitment: It’s about teamwork, mentorship, and carrying forward the knowledge and experience of those who came before us.
When different pieces come together in harmony, that’s when real magic happens – creating something extraordinary, something that doesn’t just touch the heart, but has the power to inspire and even shape the future
