The Day I Almost Lost My Flute – and My Future

There are days that never leave you. Moments that burn into your memory so vividly, you can recall the smell of the air, the pressure in your chest, and even the sound of your own breath. One of those days happened to me during my time as a student at the Saint Petersburg Conservatory.

It started like any other. I was on my way to a flute lesson with my professor. Winter in Russia had settled in – biting cold, heavy coats, fogged bus windows. I took a crowded public bus, holding the bag that carried my flute – my only flute. I had worked so hard to reach this point in my life. I was a student at the Saint Petersburg Conservatory, nearing graduation after 20 years of music education – years that began with full-time music school alongside a regular academic school, followed by music college, and finally, the Conservatory itself. I had gone through every level, every step, and was now approaching the completion of my doctoral degree. This wasn’t just an academic milestone. It was the culmination of a lifetime of discipline, sacrifice, and passion. Everything I had built rested on this instrument.

When I arrived at the Conservatory and stepped into the old elevator, just before the doors opened, a single thought crashed into me like ice water:

I had left my flute on the bus.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I collapsed to the floor of the elevator. My legs simply stopped working. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I had left everything behind on that bus – years of practice, my future performances, my final exams, and a flute I could never afford to replace.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Maybe ten minutes. Eventually, I stood up, ran out into the street, flagged down the first taxi I could find, and begged the driver to chase the bus. I remembered the route and knew it looped back through the city. We had a chance – but only if we moved fast.

We didn’t. We got stuck in traffic almost immediately. I begged the driver. I cried. At first, he was unmoved. But slowly, something shifted. He began weaving through streets, pressing forward with a new urgency. He saw what this meant to me. It became his mission too.

Then – miraculously – after about 40 minutes- we saw it. The bus.

The driver sped up, passed it, and cut it off from the front. The bus had no choice but to slam on the brakes. I remember hearing the sudden hiss of the air brakes and seeing all the passengers jolt forward in their seats. There was a collective “ahhh!” from inside the bus as it lurched to a stop. I leapt out of the cab, in a long fur coat, in the bitter Russian winter, and ran to the bus like a madwoman. I pounded on the doors. The passengers looked alarmed. I must have looked completely unhinged. The doors opened. I ran to the seat where I had been sitting.

The bag was gone.

I dropped to the floor. My legs gave out again. It was over. I was so close to graduating, and now I had nothing. I remember thinking, “How can I tell this to my professor? What will I do with my life now?” The world went silent around me.

And then – I heard a voice.

“Did you forget a bag?”

It was the bus conductor. I couldn’t speak. I could only nod, sobbing on the floor.

“I have it,” she said. “It’s with the driver.”

She ran to the front, then returned – holding the bag that held my flute. Everything was inside. Untouched. Safe.

The passengers who had watched all of this unfold began clapping. People were crying. I was crying. The conductor handed me the bag, and all I could say – over and over – was “Thank you.”

I returned to the taxi in silence. The driver had been watching everything from outside the bus. We looked at each other – no words were needed.

I sat in the car, clutching my flute, still shaking – and suddenly remembered something: my students were supposed to be performing in a class concert, organized by me. I looked at my watch. It was scheduled to begin about 10 minutes ago.

They couldn’t begin without me. I was their teacher and the organizer of the concert.

That meant at least 80 people – parents, students, colleagues – were sitting in a concert hall right now, waiting for me, wondering where I was.

A fresh wave of panic surged through me. I shouted the new destination at the driver, and just like that, we were racing across the city again, back through dense Saint Petersburg traffic.

There were no cell phones then. No way to call. No GPS, no credit cards in Russia. I was very lucky to have enough cash to cover the taxi rides. I think back on that today – how different the world is now and how quickly it has changed.

We arrived at the music school I worked at – an elegant mansion with a breathtaking concert hall. When I ran in, about 40 minutes late – nearly 80 people were still waiting.

I must have looked completely unwell. Disheveled. Pale. I wanted to explain – but I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would fall apart all over again. So, I said nothing, and the concert finally began.

The physical numbness from that trauma stayed with me for at least a week. My arms, my back, my breath – everything remained stiff and unsteady. It was as if the stress had embedded itself into my body, refusing to let go.

And yet, it taught me the most unforgettable lesson of all.

---

Flute Safety: 10 Strategies to Protect Your Instrument and Your Peace of Mind

The flute is not just an instrument – it’s a lifeline. Whether you’re a student, performer, or teacher, here are practical and preventative steps to help protect your flute from loss, theft, or damage.

1. Never Leave Your Flute Unattended

Even for a moment. Flutes are often taken from rehearsal spaces, classrooms, or backstage areas in seconds. Always keep it with you or in the care of someone absolutely trustworthy.

2. Avoid Leaving Your Flute in a Vehicle

Cars are not safe storage. The extreme temperatures and risk of theft make this a major hazard—especially for wooden instruments. Always take your flute with you, even if it’s inconvenient.

3. Use a Secure, Well-Constructed Case

Choose a case that offers strong structural protection. Look for reinforced corners, durable zippers, and solid latches. Consider cases that allow for TSA-approved locks or internal straps for added security.

4. Discreetly Label Your Case

Avoid flashy logos or identifying signs that advertise you’re carrying a valuable instrument. Place a contact card or name tag inside or under the case handle, just in case it’s lost and found.

5. Use a Tracking Device

Small Bluetooth or GPS trackers like Apple AirTag or Tile can be discreetly hidden in your case. These devices provide a safety net in case your flute is misplaced or stolen.

6. Only Allow Trusted People to Handle Your Flute

Unless it’s your teacher or parent, do not let others touch your flute. When I was 11, I made the mistake of handing my instrument to a close friend before a school performance. She intentionally pulled a spring. I was unaware of it, failed my solo and learned – devastatingly – that jealousy and carelessness are real threats.

7. Keep Records and Photos

Maintain a file with your flute’s serial number, make, model, and high-quality photos. Save a copy digitally. These are essential in case of theft or an insurance claim.

8. Insure Your Flute

Protect yourself with musical instrument insurance. Companies like Clarion, Anderson, and Heritage offer affordable plans that cover theft, damage, and travel-related issues.

9. Be Cautious at Large Events

Conventions, festivals, and auditions are high-risk environments. Be mindful of your surroundings. Keep your flute case zipped, nearby, and never assume a shared space is secure.

10. Report Theft Immediately

If your flute is stolen, notify police and your insurance provider as soon as possible. Share information with flute forums, social media, and musician networks. Quick action can make a difference.

---

Closing Thoughts

Every flutist who has lost a flute – or nearly lost one – has their own story. The circumstances may differ: a forgotten case, a stolen bag, an accident backstage, a mishap in transit. But the feeling is always the same – a deep, overwhelming sense of panic, grief, and helplessness. For many, it’s not just stress. It’s devastation.

Our flutes are more than tools. They represent years of discipline, sacrifice, and dreams. They carry our music, but also our identity. They are also expensive. Sometimes very expensive and cannot be replaced.

That’s why it’s so important to be proactive. If I hadn’t acted immediately – through traffic, fear, and near physical collapse – my flute would have been gone forever. The effort felt titanic. But it was the only reason I was able to hold that instrument in my hands again.

If you’ve experienced this kind of loss, you’re not alone. And if you haven’t – let this be a reminder to protect what matters most. Be prepared. Be cautious. And never forget that a moment’s carelessness can become a lifelong regret.

Take flute safety seriously – not out of fear, but out of love for everything your instrument allows you to become.

---

Yulia Berry

www.yuliavberry.com

Yulia Berry is the founder of Flute Almanac, The Babel Flute, and the New England Flute Institute. A highly experienced flutist and mentor, she holds a Doctor of Music Arts degree from the Saint Petersburg State Conservatory (Russia).

Renowned for her virtuosity and expressive playing, she has performed as a soloist and chamber musician worldwide. An expert in flute pedagogy, she is known for her innovative teaching methods that emphasize technique, musicality, and artistry.

She has written extensively on the flute’s connection to art, culture, and history across different eras.