This was supposed to be a life blog, back when I first began to write it; something that would chronicle my beliefs and my teaching. Now, it's going to be a life-change blog, as things have changed to the point that they're nearly unrecognizable from my point of view. When I first started this blog, I was married; but what I didn't know was that my marriage was a sham, a fake, something that wasn't real. The audience for whom my husband played thought it was real; but the fact is, the only thing that was real was the very finely-written script to which he acted.
I'm now divorced, he's remarried (one month and a day after our divorce was final, but you see, he had dated all the way through our marriage, until he found the "right one," though it's possible even she isn't - I don't know). I'm left with the feeling he wanted me to feel: that I'm not good enough, was never good enough, was never enough, and that he never loved me. I know the latter is true. I'm still seeking to find the truth about the former.
There are those in my life who are tired of this. No more so than I, I promise, but the fact is this: I thought it was real. Therefore, I get to mourn the past, and what I've lost. If nothing else, I get to mourn the tangible things, such as my piano, my career, my youth, and, most important, those I left behind. Those who are tired of it are the same people who encourage me to begin to date again. First of all, I'm in no shape to date, but secondly, I can't imagine it. To be able to try to trust someone again, only to find out that the man who claimed to love me, who claimed to love no one but me, had others? Sure, I know that polyamory exists, but it's not for me, and I never wanted a man who thought it was for him. More so, the little betrayals, the betrayals of lies told, half-truths told, and, worse, the truths that are about the uglier parts of me (and don't we all have them?) all spoken to his lovers, to show him in the best possible light? I can't bear it again.
Nor can I bear the thought of loving, to be told again, yet again, that I'm worthless.
No. No more of that.
I've embarked on a journey, and I can only hope that I come to its end as planned. I've no idea if this will happen, because I've come to not only distrust men, but myself, and, well, everyone. There is no one to trust, but God.
I hope that his marriage works, for the sake of the woman he married, one of the hordes with whom he cheated. She doesn't deserve to suffer, regardless of what she said and did to me, regardless of what she believes It's possible that, given how they met, and what little I was able to observe of her, she will cheat on him. I'm not sure how he'd deal with that.
If it were only the cheating, it'd just be another bad story. I've come to understand that my story isn't that unique in any event, though I never knew anyone who'd been through it until now. Still, to be told that one had only been married so that the other could survive - because it's easier to survive with a partner than without - that is heartbreaking. The even more frightening thing is that he believes that it's an acceptable enough excuse for marriage that he was willing to use it in an indictment against me. This is one of the many things that makes him frightening to me.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Friday, September 30, 2011
Rough start, this one, but it's going swimmingly
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!
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!
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.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Teaching voice
There's a "new" phenomenon sweeping the world - the "American Idol" thing. Not NEW, per se, but not time-tested, either. It's an interesting thing, and obviously very pop-culture. America's Got Talent's another one, and a little scarier, because they're not really looking for talent, they're looking for talent with a "hook," or a "back-story," or something to capture the fickle US audience attention. We cannot be content with appreciating vocal beauty in a well-trained voice, or even the natural beauty of a well-trained singer. We have to have the "wow" factor.
Unfortunately, it also shoots these folks right to the top of their 15 minutes of fame.
This means that parents are invested in having their children "study" voice earlier and earlier.
It also means that it looks "easy" to be a singer, and by extension, a voice teacher.
Voice is a tricky instrument. When I start my new students, one of the questions I inevitably ask is "what makes voice different from other instruments?" There are a number of answers, all of which are correct: "Other than my piano which doubles as a filing cabinet, voice is the only instrument that's used for other purposes than making music," is my smart-alek answer. How about: "It uses text." Or "it changes throughout its lifetime?" Or "It's flesh-and blood."
All of those are right, and it's the last two that make one think. Our voices are not the same throughout our lives. They do change. Our voices are made of organic material, and are used for much more than singing. Damage to the vocal tract, whether by bad technique, bad luck, illness, or injury can be difficult to fix, sometimes even impossible.
And yet, parents want their children, who are working with an instrument that hasn't even begun the journey to maturity (this happens around puberty, folks, though it's a very individual thing) to "study" voice. They want to make little pop-or-popera-or-opera idols of them. They can't wait.
Some will succeed. The odds are with that. Others? Disasters waiting to happen.
It's ok to sing when you're young, but true training of a voice should be taken on as a serious act. The trainer should be someone who is aware of the different types of voices, the different phases of vocal growth, and the different things that might harm a voice, both organic, and active. Said trainer should, in fact, be trained to teach voice.
I'm a singer. I don't dispute that. I'm not a "natural performer," but I am a singer. I've had good luck with my voice, regardless of physical issues that have affected it. I have good technique. Better than that, I understand my technique. I can teach my technique. I have also studied how to teach voice - and have studied about illnesses, medications, damage, and growth.
I understand that muscles are trainable. Muscle memory plays a great role in vocal technique. Firmness in the larynx matters to vocal maturity. Much older voices lose flexibility in the larynx due to increased firmness. And so on.
So, please, tell me why it is that the people who do teach children are the ones who do NOT know these things, and the ones who know these things are generally those who won't train children?
Why is it ok for a music school to hire and promote (a community music school) a teacher who has only sung for ten years, and doesn't have a music degree? Why is it ok for that person, who held a responsible job in another field, to think she can teach voice? Why is she teaching the most vulnerable of students? Money? The American Idol/America's Got Talent push? A way to fund a music school so they can focus on the things they find "more important" like piano, strings, winds?
Where do parents get the idea that their 4-year-olds need to train vocally? Why do they have to be little belters at that age, and not experience the joy of singing just to sing, in a youth chorus? Oh, that's right - because they are STARS.
When they're 30, and a number of them have vocal trouble, will they even remember that they had a teacher who really had no clue, or a community music school that really wanted their money? Probably not - they'll just wonder why they have intermittent bouts of laryngitis.
I am going to yet another interview for a position with a place that has such a teacher, and in a position of authority. As is the case with most of these types, she believes she knows "a lot."
I'm just glad that those folks don't decide to become brain surgeons mid-life, or that, if they do, they have to study, train and certify to practice the art. It would be good if voice teachers had to be certified too.
Because we only have one voice, and it's changing all the time. It's organic, it's vulnerable, and it's possible to do things to one's voice that are irreparable.
THAT's what makes voice different from other instruments.
Unfortunately, it also shoots these folks right to the top of their 15 minutes of fame.
This means that parents are invested in having their children "study" voice earlier and earlier.
It also means that it looks "easy" to be a singer, and by extension, a voice teacher.
Voice is a tricky instrument. When I start my new students, one of the questions I inevitably ask is "what makes voice different from other instruments?" There are a number of answers, all of which are correct: "Other than my piano which doubles as a filing cabinet, voice is the only instrument that's used for other purposes than making music," is my smart-alek answer. How about: "It uses text." Or "it changes throughout its lifetime?" Or "It's flesh-and blood."
All of those are right, and it's the last two that make one think. Our voices are not the same throughout our lives. They do change. Our voices are made of organic material, and are used for much more than singing. Damage to the vocal tract, whether by bad technique, bad luck, illness, or injury can be difficult to fix, sometimes even impossible.
And yet, parents want their children, who are working with an instrument that hasn't even begun the journey to maturity (this happens around puberty, folks, though it's a very individual thing) to "study" voice. They want to make little pop-or-popera-or-opera idols of them. They can't wait.
Some will succeed. The odds are with that. Others? Disasters waiting to happen.
It's ok to sing when you're young, but true training of a voice should be taken on as a serious act. The trainer should be someone who is aware of the different types of voices, the different phases of vocal growth, and the different things that might harm a voice, both organic, and active. Said trainer should, in fact, be trained to teach voice.
I'm a singer. I don't dispute that. I'm not a "natural performer," but I am a singer. I've had good luck with my voice, regardless of physical issues that have affected it. I have good technique. Better than that, I understand my technique. I can teach my technique. I have also studied how to teach voice - and have studied about illnesses, medications, damage, and growth.
I understand that muscles are trainable. Muscle memory plays a great role in vocal technique. Firmness in the larynx matters to vocal maturity. Much older voices lose flexibility in the larynx due to increased firmness. And so on.
So, please, tell me why it is that the people who do teach children are the ones who do NOT know these things, and the ones who know these things are generally those who won't train children?
Why is it ok for a music school to hire and promote (a community music school) a teacher who has only sung for ten years, and doesn't have a music degree? Why is it ok for that person, who held a responsible job in another field, to think she can teach voice? Why is she teaching the most vulnerable of students? Money? The American Idol/America's Got Talent push? A way to fund a music school so they can focus on the things they find "more important" like piano, strings, winds?
Where do parents get the idea that their 4-year-olds need to train vocally? Why do they have to be little belters at that age, and not experience the joy of singing just to sing, in a youth chorus? Oh, that's right - because they are STARS.
When they're 30, and a number of them have vocal trouble, will they even remember that they had a teacher who really had no clue, or a community music school that really wanted their money? Probably not - they'll just wonder why they have intermittent bouts of laryngitis.
I am going to yet another interview for a position with a place that has such a teacher, and in a position of authority. As is the case with most of these types, she believes she knows "a lot."
I'm just glad that those folks don't decide to become brain surgeons mid-life, or that, if they do, they have to study, train and certify to practice the art. It would be good if voice teachers had to be certified too.
Because we only have one voice, and it's changing all the time. It's organic, it's vulnerable, and it's possible to do things to one's voice that are irreparable.
THAT's what makes voice different from other instruments.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Still learning
Ancora imparo: I'm still learning.
I drove into Boston for my voice lesson today. While it's true that I teach more students than my teacher (presently), it's also true that he's a master, and is my senior and better. I don't say that lightly. There are many things that I would say I'm adequate with, things I'd say I do rather well, but the one thing I truly excel at is teaching voice. He is better. It is, dare I say, why I go to him.
He and I were a little too in-tune today. He let me rant on something that I really shouldn't have ranted about, but in so doing, he actually got my brain turned in the right direction regarding the situation. Prior to my time with D., I was sure that I was a loser, that there was no way that this could not be my fault. I was sure that I deserved the mess*.
After leaving D., it became obvious that this is not my fault. It's the fault of the situation - and the fault of the person who has chosen to make "power" a status symbol. What's happening, though, isn't true power, it's merely abuse. One might even call it bullying, something I know she's done before.
Power: "The ability to do something, or act, the ability to accomplish something." Even: "Power is a measurement of an entity's ability to control its environment, including the behavior of other entities."
Ok - so she can, to some extent, control her own environment. She CANNOT control me. She can make my life a little more difficult, and she can ensure that I don't step foot in that building again as an employee, despite the fact that she can't hire me. She can stop me from teaching in that location, and can deprive the students of that institution of my skills. She can make sure that, if I choose to stay in the institution, I don't get as many hours as I need.
She cannot, however, control who I am. She can't change my mind. She can't take away my knowledge, nor stop me from helping another organization to become competition for this organization, or from becoming competition for this organization on my own. She cannot take away my abilities, something I believe is at the crux of the issue as a whole, due to past interactions. And thus, her power, such as it is, is limited.
This is something D. helped me learn today. I am grateful. True power is the ability to actually change people, not merely to bully them into submission.
*The situation involves someone who controls my teaching schedule at one organization with which I am affiliated. We are in a battle of wills - she is upset about my qualifications, and wishes me to teach young children voice (to bring in money, and, I think, to "put me in my place,") and frequently speaks of her "power" over people.
I drove into Boston for my voice lesson today. While it's true that I teach more students than my teacher (presently), it's also true that he's a master, and is my senior and better. I don't say that lightly. There are many things that I would say I'm adequate with, things I'd say I do rather well, but the one thing I truly excel at is teaching voice. He is better. It is, dare I say, why I go to him.
He and I were a little too in-tune today. He let me rant on something that I really shouldn't have ranted about, but in so doing, he actually got my brain turned in the right direction regarding the situation. Prior to my time with D., I was sure that I was a loser, that there was no way that this could not be my fault. I was sure that I deserved the mess*.
After leaving D., it became obvious that this is not my fault. It's the fault of the situation - and the fault of the person who has chosen to make "power" a status symbol. What's happening, though, isn't true power, it's merely abuse. One might even call it bullying, something I know she's done before.
Power: "The ability to do something, or act, the ability to accomplish something." Even: "Power is a measurement of an entity's ability to control its environment, including the behavior of other entities."
Ok - so she can, to some extent, control her own environment. She CANNOT control me. She can make my life a little more difficult, and she can ensure that I don't step foot in that building again as an employee, despite the fact that she can't hire me. She can stop me from teaching in that location, and can deprive the students of that institution of my skills. She can make sure that, if I choose to stay in the institution, I don't get as many hours as I need.
She cannot, however, control who I am. She can't change my mind. She can't take away my knowledge, nor stop me from helping another organization to become competition for this organization, or from becoming competition for this organization on my own. She cannot take away my abilities, something I believe is at the crux of the issue as a whole, due to past interactions. And thus, her power, such as it is, is limited.
This is something D. helped me learn today. I am grateful. True power is the ability to actually change people, not merely to bully them into submission.
*The situation involves someone who controls my teaching schedule at one organization with which I am affiliated. We are in a battle of wills - she is upset about my qualifications, and wishes me to teach young children voice (to bring in money, and, I think, to "put me in my place,") and frequently speaks of her "power" over people.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Intro to who?
It seems odd to start a new venture at the end of summer. It's the time things are beginning to die, right? The trees and grass all have that wilted, faded look, even in this summer of adequate rain. The days are getting shorter. There's a chill in the air on some mornings.
Ever since I was a kid, I've loved autumn, and thought of it as a sort of new year. It's the beginning of a new school year, something I always loved as a child, and don't mind much now that I'm a teacher. Sure, I miss my long, lazy summer days, the much slower pace of life that summer brings. Yet I love the new school year stretching in front of me like a blank canvas, full of promise, and looking for color. As a student, I always thought each school year had so many possibilities, and I was both excited and frightened to see them. The better I knew a place, the more it was excitement. Transitions, of course, were harder.
Who am I? That is the question. I am a sort-of singer, classically-trained. I am a full-on teacher of voice.
I struggle. I struggle with who I am, though I am definitely a full adult. I struggle with weight, with my body, with my voice, with how others see me. Am I the me I think I am, or am I the me I see (and others reflect) in the mirror? I don't know. Mirror, or me? That is the question.
Look behind the mirror, and there I am, tap, tap, tapping my way out. Do I invite you in? That's a little bit of what this is, a tentative invitation into my world, the way I see things, decidedly different from others, so I've been told. Maybe not as much as others think.
Welcome.
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