Finding Beauty in the Noise

I went out to a jazz club with some friends last night to watch/listen to a multi-piece jazz orchestra. The music hit me like a wave—loud, layered, a little chaotic. At first, it felt like the musicians were all playing different songs. Trumpets, bass, drums, keys—each one going in its own direction. Nothing made sense.

But the longer I sat with it, the more I started picking out the parts. I started focusing on different musicians and the instruments they played. There were clarinets, trombones, saxophones, drums, a piano, bass, trumpets… a lot of instruments crammed onto a tiny stage. I heard a saxophone run here. A syncopated rhythm there. I noticed how the bassist stayed grounded, how the drummer played around the beat instead of on it. There was something playful in how each musician moved through their piece.

The sound that first felt overwhelming became something else entirely when I stopped listening for the whole and started focusing on the parts.

What looked (and sounded) like chaos was actually a kind of planned freedom. Not random or messy, just built differently—on structure that holds space for improvisation.

When everything feels chaotic or out of sync—whether it’s a career shift, a health scare, or just one of those times where nothing lines up—it can feel like we’re stuck in a noisy mess. But if we zoom in and pay attention to the individual parts… we might see something else.

A small rhythm here. A moment of insight there. Something sturdy to hold onto.

Jazz, I realized, isn’t chaos. It’s structure wearing a costume of spontaneity. It’s complexity that invites curiosity. And maybe that’s how we can meet our own messy chapters, too—with a little more attention, a little more playfulness, and the faith that it will come together… even if it doesn’t make sense right away.