by Elissa Sonneberg, MSEd

Last week, in a moment of crystal clarity, I realized why it is that I love my job. Why it doesn’t seem like work so much as exploration—less duty, more wonder. I am a teacher. And so is Wynton Marsalis, who I watched lead a master class and talk music at the University of Cincinnati. I quickly moved him from the “superstar” to “real human” category as I sat within 10 feet of him and his meticulously tailored suit. He perched on a small stage where students who joined him sat in cheap folding chairs and wore flip flops and madras shorts.

At first, it was easy to read his quiet as disdain, or paper-thin tolerance, especially when he answered questions. But in his awkward glances, his almost-whispered replies, he seemed more restless than arrogant. The portion of the class that focused on him—the laundry list of jazz greats who hung out in his childhood kitchen, his feud with Miles Davis—just plain bored him.