I have a confession to make.

I've fallen for another man.

It happened years ago... before I ever met my husband. When I was a young, impressionable teenager -- a fascination I've never quite been able to give up despite being happily married for ten years now. Over the years I've been in the same room with him on several different occasions and have paid quite a bit of money to enjoy his company.

The one major impediment to our relationship is that he doesn't really know I exist and I've never... what's the technical term for it?... oh yeah... met him.

But now, he's won the Avery Fisher prize and I think it's high time we met. He can probably support me in the manner to which I'm accustomed (that is, not much) and he needs something to do with all the money right?

Since I was a teenager and Joshua Bell first arrived on the classical music scene, I've been fascinated with this guy. It started as mostly awe and envy for the coolest instrument I've ever seen.

But then he started with the rock star like album covers and making classical music seem accessbile and enjoyable to young people. He was my age and made it seem like there was actually a future in the stuff I was interested in - not just high brow passtimes for old, rich dudes. The fact that he was a hell of a musician didn't hurt any either.

This weekend's Washington Post has a fascinating article about him, classical music, talent, beauty and whether or not we recognize or acknowledge it when we see it in our daily lives. It's a bit long, but a really interesting read if you're up for it.

I wonder if I would have recognized him had I been at the Plaza that day. Probably not, I'm ashamed to admit - even as often as I've seen him in person and in photographs. I know I would have recognized that he was talented but would I have stopped to listen? I'm not sure. Like most, I get caught up in the "gotta get to work" mode and feel like I can't take time to notice things or enjoy them on the way, which is a shame, because what a performance I would have missed.