This year was a "jump in the water and start paddling" year. It's been an interesting one - I have more new students this year than I've ever had than the year I jumped into teaching full time (again) back in the day. In fact, more, because I have "a reputation" now (dun dun dun!) The first two weeks were heavy-duty, this week wasn't much better, and did I mention a concert fund-raiser in the middle of that, for which I was the fall guy?
Ok, I admit, the concert fund-raiser wasn't all that bad, but I really didn't have as much time as I would have liked to donate to the final details, and people weren't being all that good about getting me every little thing in a truly timely fashion (I know, I know, there were extenuating circumstances, for almost all of you) and there were a few dramatic moments that came about due to life circumstances, etc. I'm not complaining, mind you, but it wasn't the sort of polished, finished job I like to produce, and I'm not proud of that. Unfortunately, I'm even less proud of the fact that I was willing to step aside and let it be that way. I am, in fact, ashamed of my lack of worry about the lack of perfection. On the other hand, it made for a far more pleasant event, at least from my point of view.
I received a number of very positive and flattering comments, and of course, the obligatory whining and slamming, but all in all, it was a good evening.
There will be more on the performer's ego coming soon - something I both think I understand on one level, and don't on another. Additionally, I have some thoughts new philosophies I'm trying on for size. So far, they seem to be making a much more even pathway, and I'll share them soon.
In the meanwhile, I have this weekend to just kick back and sort of sigh a sigh of relief that the term is officially under way, and that I only have two new students to meet (probably this week). Whew!
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
On this day of all days
I remember September 11, 2001. It was a Tuesday, and I was at work, at my day-job as an administrator for a church. It was the second Tuesday in the month, and thus "Senior Luncheon" day, and we were beginning to be swamped by incoming senior citizens when one of them brought news of the attack. Almost simultaneously, the phone started to ring as people were calling in to report the tragedy, and to check on various members of our congregation who were supposed to be traveling. The remarkable thing is that, for a congregation that had as many people who did travel, no one was on one of the hijacked planes. There were people en route to California, and people who were supposed to have been on those planes, but who weren't for a variety of reasons. We were the unscathed.
It was a sobering day. At first glance, the news was garbled, and it seemed as if the first strike was an accident. No one was getting good info to us. People were too upset, and this from the generation that had served in the "war to end all wars." As the news became more plain, and we knew that we were the victims of a heinous attack, the world stood still, and everything changed. I ceased to feel even the little bit of safety that I'd once felt, and the next few days were so quiet. There were no contrails as air traffic ceased, and people made their way home from trips that had been halted. My husband was profiled and stopped in Brookline when we were there for my voice lesson, because we'd been on Cape Cod just prior to the attack, and he was dark, bearded, and very tanned. I was just glad he was there with me, so glad.
It seems to me as if the horror of that event started a cascade of horrific events, some caused by people, others by nature, as if nature is rebelling at the blood seeping into her soil. Yet, there has always been blood-seeped soil, and this is nothing new. There has always been war, turmoil, hatred, and fear. We have been so lucky that it hasn't, for the most part, been our own blood-soaked soil.
As a musician, albeit a rather less well-known, skilled or even artistic one, I find the world we live in demoralizing and disturbing. What do we see around us? Yes, there are good things, but for every good thing, I see greed, poverty, fear, hatred and despair. What, really, have we learned from 9/11?
I hope that we have learned that we are not impervious. I hope we've come to understand that, despite having been slapped down and beaten up, despite having been wounded and abused, we need to respond with the only thing that makes sense: senseless acts of beauty and kindness. We need to quell our righteous anger, and steady our shaking hands. With throats swollen with tears, we need to sing, first tentatively, then with more assurance. We need to sing the words that mean "forgive," and "live."
And we need to stand up against all that is wrong and evil, no matter where we see it, be it in the large sense of 9/11, or be it in our daily lives, when someone bullies us or those we love. Standing up can be as simple as just saying "no more," and walking away, or more complex, but providing aid to the victims of those who are harmed. Standing up is not retaliation.
The things that have stood in my heart since 9/11 are simple: Love those we love with a fierceness that cannot be misunderstood as complacency; Give what we can to those in need, so they never have to feel the need to rise up in frustration; Forgive; and stand up for justice, and kindness.
It was a sobering day. At first glance, the news was garbled, and it seemed as if the first strike was an accident. No one was getting good info to us. People were too upset, and this from the generation that had served in the "war to end all wars." As the news became more plain, and we knew that we were the victims of a heinous attack, the world stood still, and everything changed. I ceased to feel even the little bit of safety that I'd once felt, and the next few days were so quiet. There were no contrails as air traffic ceased, and people made their way home from trips that had been halted. My husband was profiled and stopped in Brookline when we were there for my voice lesson, because we'd been on Cape Cod just prior to the attack, and he was dark, bearded, and very tanned. I was just glad he was there with me, so glad.
It seems to me as if the horror of that event started a cascade of horrific events, some caused by people, others by nature, as if nature is rebelling at the blood seeping into her soil. Yet, there has always been blood-seeped soil, and this is nothing new. There has always been war, turmoil, hatred, and fear. We have been so lucky that it hasn't, for the most part, been our own blood-soaked soil.
As a musician, albeit a rather less well-known, skilled or even artistic one, I find the world we live in demoralizing and disturbing. What do we see around us? Yes, there are good things, but for every good thing, I see greed, poverty, fear, hatred and despair. What, really, have we learned from 9/11?
I hope that we have learned that we are not impervious. I hope we've come to understand that, despite having been slapped down and beaten up, despite having been wounded and abused, we need to respond with the only thing that makes sense: senseless acts of beauty and kindness. We need to quell our righteous anger, and steady our shaking hands. With throats swollen with tears, we need to sing, first tentatively, then with more assurance. We need to sing the words that mean "forgive," and "live."
And we need to stand up against all that is wrong and evil, no matter where we see it, be it in the large sense of 9/11, or be it in our daily lives, when someone bullies us or those we love. Standing up can be as simple as just saying "no more," and walking away, or more complex, but providing aid to the victims of those who are harmed. Standing up is not retaliation.
The things that have stood in my heart since 9/11 are simple: Love those we love with a fierceness that cannot be misunderstood as complacency; Give what we can to those in need, so they never have to feel the need to rise up in frustration; Forgive; and stand up for justice, and kindness.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The beginning, or the end?
My life is a little in flux these days. I love my work, the music that permeates it daily. I love the art, and not to be too egotistical, I am very good at what I do. It is, however, an oddly stressful job. It's not brain surgery. What I do won't change the world, or even one person's life to the extent that even someone who works at setting bones in an emergency room's work does. I am not making the world a better place, am not curing cancer, or helping the handicapped get better.
This is pointed out to me on a regular basis. Old high school classmates sarcastically comment from time to time when I bring up research on vocal issues in a public forum. Of course, these are people who have never been nice to me, so this is no surprise. Yet even the administrations in my outside-the-house jobs will make comments from time to time: again, no surprise. One is about results-oriented training (e.g., how many kids pass into the great choir in the sky), the other about money for their "more important" endeavors. (Quotes mine - they would never dare to say it outright, but fact is, if it helps to pay for their orchestra, they're all for it; if it actually benefits the voice students, but costs money, less so.)
Still, I would like to think that I matter. The fact that I don't - neither my needs, nor what I do - is a little discouraging from time to time.
Contrast that with a recent job interview I had for a university. The professors there were so pretentiously serious it was a little off-putting. Maybe I've spent too much time being reminded that what I do doesn't really matter, but the utter seriousness with which they addressed their tastes in music, and put those tastes forward as if they were the word of God made me a little happy I didn't get the job. Not to mention the lifestyle issues.
That said, I would still prefer to teach in a university/college than where I am now. Why? Well, pretentiousness aside, being valued for something seems to be an important part of the human experience. Sure, I'd rather be valued for being a good person, for making someone's day better, for being a loving, caring, world-changing being. I'll settle for being valued for being a good voice teacher.
This year will be, I hope, the transition year. I end one stage of my career, either way - either to go forward, and accept what I thought was my destiny before it got derailed - or to stop the quest. This is not because of some need to feel valued, by the way. This is about cold, hard common-sense. The arts in the US are in disarray, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to feel that I'll be ok working 4 hours in one place, and fifteen (or 10, if place one has its way) in another, and hoping to work 10 in another. I digress - this is, as I've heard someone say, "another show."
Also "another show" will be why it seems so important, for me in particular, to be needed and acknowledged. But that, I fear, might be too much for me right now.
Suffice it to say that in this year of endings, there will be a new beginning, one in which I hope to be reborn. I won't say "reinvented" because a) I hate that word, and b) I'm not inventing anything. I'm just waiting for the light to shine.
This is pointed out to me on a regular basis. Old high school classmates sarcastically comment from time to time when I bring up research on vocal issues in a public forum. Of course, these are people who have never been nice to me, so this is no surprise. Yet even the administrations in my outside-the-house jobs will make comments from time to time: again, no surprise. One is about results-oriented training (e.g., how many kids pass into the great choir in the sky), the other about money for their "more important" endeavors. (Quotes mine - they would never dare to say it outright, but fact is, if it helps to pay for their orchestra, they're all for it; if it actually benefits the voice students, but costs money, less so.)
Still, I would like to think that I matter. The fact that I don't - neither my needs, nor what I do - is a little discouraging from time to time.
Contrast that with a recent job interview I had for a university. The professors there were so pretentiously serious it was a little off-putting. Maybe I've spent too much time being reminded that what I do doesn't really matter, but the utter seriousness with which they addressed their tastes in music, and put those tastes forward as if they were the word of God made me a little happy I didn't get the job. Not to mention the lifestyle issues.
That said, I would still prefer to teach in a university/college than where I am now. Why? Well, pretentiousness aside, being valued for something seems to be an important part of the human experience. Sure, I'd rather be valued for being a good person, for making someone's day better, for being a loving, caring, world-changing being. I'll settle for being valued for being a good voice teacher.
This year will be, I hope, the transition year. I end one stage of my career, either way - either to go forward, and accept what I thought was my destiny before it got derailed - or to stop the quest. This is not because of some need to feel valued, by the way. This is about cold, hard common-sense. The arts in the US are in disarray, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to feel that I'll be ok working 4 hours in one place, and fifteen (or 10, if place one has its way) in another, and hoping to work 10 in another. I digress - this is, as I've heard someone say, "another show."
Also "another show" will be why it seems so important, for me in particular, to be needed and acknowledged. But that, I fear, might be too much for me right now.
Suffice it to say that in this year of endings, there will be a new beginning, one in which I hope to be reborn. I won't say "reinvented" because a) I hate that word, and b) I'm not inventing anything. I'm just waiting for the light to shine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)