August in New York is hot, hazy, and filled with people holding on to the last bits of summer. Today was particularly warm. The sky was blue and alluring. Even on such a picturesque day, New Yorkers sought shade and a cool breeze wherever they could find it. Walking through Washington Square Park, I noticed people gathering under trees or finding a shady spot on a bench to sit and eat lunch. But the thing I noticed most? This distinct, clear, and captivating sound of a saxophone coming from the northwest corner of the park. I peered in that direction and saw a large group of people braving the sun, gathering around what seemed to be a jazz duo.

Curiously, I walked over to the crowd of people. Each of them were strangers; no one was talking or seemed to know one another, yet they all sat or stood next to each other, bopping their heads and enjoying the music as a collective experience, a beautiful sight in itself.

At the center of it all was a man who played the saxophone like he was born to do it. Between each breath, he would smile, tap his foot, and listen intently to the beat of the drum before he went on his next run. It was like watching a bird fly; it was just simply in his blood.

After his set, I had the chance to meet this man. His name was Steve Carrington.

Charming, witty, and passionate about his craft, Carrington told me he has been playing saxophone for 48 years. My eyebrows raised as he told me this. I was in awe at how someone could do something with so much intention and care for nearly 50 years and still seem to be so in love with each moment he played a note to this day.

Steve’s devotion to the saxophone started at just seven years old. He first heard the instrument played by a neighbor outside his grandmother’s rowhouse in Maryland. With a warm look in his eye, he said, “His name was Allen. When I was little, I would listen to him and watch him. There was no fence to separate his yard from my grandmother’s yard, so one day, I walked over to him and asked him to try it. He let me use his horn, and I got a sound out of it, and I had my fingers just right.”

Eventually, Steve came to New York City, where he started playing jazz around the city. “I met the guy I am playing with today at the Fat Cat club in the West Village. After the show, he invited me to play with him. Later that week, I asked him where to meet, and he said the West 4th train station, and I thought that was pretty random. I got there and asked him where we were going to go play, and he said, ‘Right here.’ So we ended up playing for four hours in the train station that day. That was 15 years ago, and we still play around the city.”

Enthralled by Steve’s inherent wisdom and sincerity, I asked him what he would tell someone who wants to start playing the saxophone or any instrument. “Well, with anything, I think people need a teacher. You need somebody that is a master at it. My grandfather used to say, ‘If you have been doing something for 20 years or longer, you know it.'” He continued, “People today, these kids, they are going to these fancy schools, but the way you learn is from people who are going to let you play in real-time. You first have to learn how to get a sound out of the instrument; that’s what you need a teacher for. Like there are plenty of people out here playing, but the sound is really not a resonant sound. My early teachers were a stickler for sound; it really is a lost art.”

Steve then turned the interview on me, “So what is music really, Laura?” I sat, thought deeply about my answer, and said, “I think it is the highest form of expression. I think it is the way people connect with each other.” Steve smirked, silently chuckled under his breath, and said, “Okay, Laura, check this out, so what is music reduced?” I paused, a bit perplexed because I thought my answer was good enough, but I reflected on his question and answered, “Well, it is sound. Music reduced is sound.” Steve clapped his hands together and said with elation, “That’s exactly what it is. There you go. That’s all it is. So if the instrument does not get a good sound, the music does not come out right. It’s that simple.”

I learned a lot from Steve that afternoon. I learned that you could have the best song in the world, but if the sound is not clear, it won’t have the same impact. I think that is really applicable to life itself. It can look good on the outside and seem great, but if the core of it is not genuine and aligned, then it won’t flourish the way it is supposed to.

Above all, I learned simplicity is superior. I really thought I was doing something special by giving Steve a profound answer to his question about music, but when in reality, the real answer was right in front of me, simple as can be. I think oftentimes we over-complicate our lives, and I am guilty of this myself. It is alarmingly easy to get overwhelmed by all that life throws at us in this high-speed world. But maybe the answer to all the questions swirling in our heads are just sitting in plain sight. Perhaps all we need to do is pause, take a beat, and seek out the joy in sheer simplicity.

You can follow Steve on Instagram at @jazzhealer.