find me here:
http://cultivatingtheinvisible.blogspot.com
Monday, July 22, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
change
I realize that many of you are probably wondering what this
next season in life holds for me. If you have been following my blog for
awhile, you may have guessed that I really wanted nothing more but to be back
in the Pacific Northwest. And indeed I am.
I had planned to move to Portland, move in with my dear
friend Meghan (and Kashi and Buttons, the cats). I was looking forward to
living in community with her. And, while establishing a reputation in a new
musical community always takes time, I felt ready to take the plunge in a new
city.
But sometimes life throws us a curveball.
So without boring you with all the intimate details, I’ll
just say that I have decided to take a position at Whitworth University in
Spokane for the year. Everything happened rather quickly, and I am still a bit
in shock that I am actually back here – that I actually have a job in music.
I will be teaching a couple sections of Theory I and working
as a staff accompanist in the voice department. Then I will be reestablishing
my previous connections in the Spokane musical community, hopefully working
with local voice teachers, opera companies, school choirs, etc.
I am living in a wonderful apartment – basically the exact
opposite of where I have lived for the last 2 years. I arrived a few days ago,
spent a few hours unloading and unpacking. When I finished, I poured a glass of
wine and sat on my floor and felt the tears come. I am the happiest I’ve been
in months, maybe years. I know this place will be an oasis for me, providing space
for my soul to decompress. When I stand at my kitchen sink and look out the
window, all I can see are trees. And every morning, I put on my hiking shoes
and hop on the trail that borders my backyard.
So I have gone from Baltimore sunrises…
…to Spokane sunsets…
I am viewing this as a year-long venture. I will continue to
look into other possibilities for the future, maybe Portland, maybe Seattle –
who knows? I am also open to staying in
Spokane, if the opportunity presents itself. Mostly, I am just along for the
ride, open to whatever adventures come my way. And I am excited to be hiking,
teaching, playing, making music – doing what I love, in a place that is dear to
my heart.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
west coast, best coast
People have been asking me for 2 years to pinpoint the differences between the East and West coasts. And I still can't do it. All I can say is that I've felt much like a fish-out-of-water for the entire time I've lived in Baltimore.
My first few days back last month, I felt culture shock like I never had before. This may have been due to the fact that I flew in to Portland, which is about as opposite of Baltimore as you can get. I've grown used to the absence of grass and trees in downtown Baltimore, so seeing so much green was overwhelming at first. I found a compost bucket for sale in a book store (Baltimore hasn't even completely figured out recycling yet). I saw more people with dreadlocks in 20 minutes than I had in 2 years in Baltimore. Best of all, I was able to walk 2 blocks without sweat dripping down my legs. How I have missed NW summer weather.
I still struggle, though, to make over-arching generalizations. Mostly, it just feels like a lot of little things that give each place their specific flavor. But, as I've processed and let things percolate some more, I think there are several themes that are starting to stand out.
The first came to me as I was driving home the other day after running a bunch of errands. I realized that I'd had a conversation with every single cashier and at least one person in every line I'd stood in. It wasn't much. Maybe it was a comment about the great price. Or maybe it was a comment about something in my basket - which led to a discovery of some random thing we have in common.
I think, overall, East Coasters are used to a faster-paced lifestyle. Things are more formal. Chit-chat in the grocery store line is not as common. And while I didn't have a heart-to-heart with anyone while I was running errands last week, our interactions were somehow more genuine and less-rushed. People have just a little bit more time here. They're a bit more laid-back.
The second has to do with coffee, naturally.
I have long bemoaned the lack of quality coffee in Baltimore. When my mom and I went to look for apartments a few months before my big move, we partook of a liquid that was supposedly coffee, but I'm pretty sure was actually motor oil. I knew it could be bad (I've had my fair share of church coffee during early morning rehearsals). But I didn't know it could be THAT bad.
No matter. I would make my own. It's cheaper, I can use my own mug (many of you know how extensive my mug collection is), and I would rather sit on my own couch to drink it.
However, there were still questions lurking in the back of my mind. I lived in a neighborhood full of young professionals and students. And yet, it wasn't until this spring that we finally had a coffee shop (other than Starbucks) that stayed open past 7 PM. I have spent the last 2 years asking: where do people study or go to hang out? WHAT DO PEOPLE DO????
And I've come to realize: they don't.
Sure, there are some great bars in the area. And a handful of coffee shops (although most are small and don't have great hours and NONE of them have real couches). But the social culture stands in stark contrast to the one I was raised in.
And it's only in the last few weeks that I've come to the realization: for Northwesterners, it's really not about the coffee. Sure, we love our sugar and caffeine, and some of us have become rather snobbish about it (Just for the record: Starbucks is not even CLOSE to being as good as it can get.). But really, at it's core, it's about relationship.
When we use the phrase, "going to coffee," it really doesn't mean drinking coffee at all. It means sitting, relaxing, talking, drinking tea, eating scones, getting out of the house, studying, people-watching, getting away with not having to pay for heat or AC or internet at home, settling business deals, meeting for book club, interviewing for a job, meeting an online suitor for the first time. Coffee is really more of a verb than a noun.
Even when we go alone, we go to be with people. The student that cannot study in his dorm room any longer without going crazy. The elderly man who sits at the same table every morning to read the NY Times. The work-from-home crowd who consider the shop their extended office.
And sure, it's an expensive habit. Many wonder why you would spend $4 every morning when you could just brew your own at home. But once again, it comes down to people. You don't have your favorite barista to greet you every morning if you're in your own kitchen. We need the consistency of relationship as much as we need the caffeine.
And while it seems a bit anti-intuitive to say, especially in a world of drive-through windows and disposable cups and caffeine buzzes, I think coffee slows us down. Not always. But often. It provides an opportunity to look another person in the face, to have real conversation, to stop moving and sit in the same place for 30 minutes (or longer, if you're drinking a venti).
It seems funny to write these things about the Northwest, especially because I, myself, didn't truly know what "laid back" meant until I lived in Africa. I wasn't aware that the consumption of a beverage could, in fact, shut down an entire nation (just try and get anything done at tea time). Yes, we Westerners still have MUCH to learn about prioritizing relationships and having time.
But whether it's due to the oxygen-infused mountain air, or the laid-back West Coast pace, or the smell of freshly-roasted coffee beans, I'm just thankful to be breathing a little bit slower and easier these days.
My first few days back last month, I felt culture shock like I never had before. This may have been due to the fact that I flew in to Portland, which is about as opposite of Baltimore as you can get. I've grown used to the absence of grass and trees in downtown Baltimore, so seeing so much green was overwhelming at first. I found a compost bucket for sale in a book store (Baltimore hasn't even completely figured out recycling yet). I saw more people with dreadlocks in 20 minutes than I had in 2 years in Baltimore. Best of all, I was able to walk 2 blocks without sweat dripping down my legs. How I have missed NW summer weather.
I still struggle, though, to make over-arching generalizations. Mostly, it just feels like a lot of little things that give each place their specific flavor. But, as I've processed and let things percolate some more, I think there are several themes that are starting to stand out.
The first came to me as I was driving home the other day after running a bunch of errands. I realized that I'd had a conversation with every single cashier and at least one person in every line I'd stood in. It wasn't much. Maybe it was a comment about the great price. Or maybe it was a comment about something in my basket - which led to a discovery of some random thing we have in common.
I think, overall, East Coasters are used to a faster-paced lifestyle. Things are more formal. Chit-chat in the grocery store line is not as common. And while I didn't have a heart-to-heart with anyone while I was running errands last week, our interactions were somehow more genuine and less-rushed. People have just a little bit more time here. They're a bit more laid-back.
The second has to do with coffee, naturally.
I have long bemoaned the lack of quality coffee in Baltimore. When my mom and I went to look for apartments a few months before my big move, we partook of a liquid that was supposedly coffee, but I'm pretty sure was actually motor oil. I knew it could be bad (I've had my fair share of church coffee during early morning rehearsals). But I didn't know it could be THAT bad.
No matter. I would make my own. It's cheaper, I can use my own mug (many of you know how extensive my mug collection is), and I would rather sit on my own couch to drink it.
However, there were still questions lurking in the back of my mind. I lived in a neighborhood full of young professionals and students. And yet, it wasn't until this spring that we finally had a coffee shop (other than Starbucks) that stayed open past 7 PM. I have spent the last 2 years asking: where do people study or go to hang out? WHAT DO PEOPLE DO????
And I've come to realize: they don't.
Sure, there are some great bars in the area. And a handful of coffee shops (although most are small and don't have great hours and NONE of them have real couches). But the social culture stands in stark contrast to the one I was raised in.
And it's only in the last few weeks that I've come to the realization: for Northwesterners, it's really not about the coffee. Sure, we love our sugar and caffeine, and some of us have become rather snobbish about it (Just for the record: Starbucks is not even CLOSE to being as good as it can get.). But really, at it's core, it's about relationship.
When we use the phrase, "going to coffee," it really doesn't mean drinking coffee at all. It means sitting, relaxing, talking, drinking tea, eating scones, getting out of the house, studying, people-watching, getting away with not having to pay for heat or AC or internet at home, settling business deals, meeting for book club, interviewing for a job, meeting an online suitor for the first time. Coffee is really more of a verb than a noun.
Even when we go alone, we go to be with people. The student that cannot study in his dorm room any longer without going crazy. The elderly man who sits at the same table every morning to read the NY Times. The work-from-home crowd who consider the shop their extended office.
And sure, it's an expensive habit. Many wonder why you would spend $4 every morning when you could just brew your own at home. But once again, it comes down to people. You don't have your favorite barista to greet you every morning if you're in your own kitchen. We need the consistency of relationship as much as we need the caffeine.
And while it seems a bit anti-intuitive to say, especially in a world of drive-through windows and disposable cups and caffeine buzzes, I think coffee slows us down. Not always. But often. It provides an opportunity to look another person in the face, to have real conversation, to stop moving and sit in the same place for 30 minutes (or longer, if you're drinking a venti).
It seems funny to write these things about the Northwest, especially because I, myself, didn't truly know what "laid back" meant until I lived in Africa. I wasn't aware that the consumption of a beverage could, in fact, shut down an entire nation (just try and get anything done at tea time). Yes, we Westerners still have MUCH to learn about prioritizing relationships and having time.
But whether it's due to the oxygen-infused mountain air, or the laid-back West Coast pace, or the smell of freshly-roasted coffee beans, I'm just thankful to be breathing a little bit slower and easier these days.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
one for the road
I love packing.
Maybe it's because I've done a fair amount of it in my nearly-twenty-eight years.
Maybe it's because I love puzzles - I love the challenge of finding that one unique object that fits the hole perfectly - and the feeling of immense satisfaction derived from placing it there.
Maybe it's because it usually means something exciting is ahead. An adventure. Something new. Uncharted territory.
Maybe it's because it's been pouring rain all day and I've been drinking coffee...and the combination of rain and coffee and pretty much ANYTHING else always makes me happy!
I know that packing is stressful for some. Not everyone finds joy in the puzzle. Not everyone loves adventure or change. It is, for some, an unsettling activity...to have your possessions strewn about here and there...to be surrounded by disarray.
But somehow, for me, it is a grounding activity.
I love the slow, sorting process. Reading old letters, and feeling connected to friends and family, even as I sit alone amid piles of boxes and papers. Thumbing through books - my dear old friends - that have sat, untouched, neglected, on my bookshelf for months on end. I feel grounded in my history....relationships, experiences....I feel myself settle as I remember them. These objects that lie around me on the floor - humble as they are - speak of the journey - the ups and downs of the roller coasters, and also the constants that have kept me strapped in for the ride.
I love the opportunity to purge my closets and cupboards of clutter. It is a cleansing process. There are things I wasn't emotionally ready to rid myself of the last time I did this. But time and distance have been faithful to loosen my grip...slowly, little-by-little. I feel grounded as I recognize how little is truly necessary, as I am overwhelmed with gratitude, knowing that I have everything I need. Much more than I need.
I love that moment of goodbye - the final piece of tape - the last tug of the zipper - I love knowing that the next time I will see these books, these measuring cups, these sandals...I will be in a new place, a new home. I feel grounded knowing that even though there will be waves of change, I will be anchored by these familiar objects...the tablespoon I scoop coffee beans with every morning, the Altoid box that houses my bobby pins, the Rwandan basket that serves as a coin deposit.
Somehow, in the chaos of cookie sheets in my bedroom and patio tables in my living room, I feel connected to the past and the future - and yet I am also fully present in the now. These things have helped to make this place a home for me - not necessarily because they have any inherent value in themselves - but because they remind me of the people, experiences, truth and beauty that I have known in the journey. And though they will look different in a new home - a new context - they remind me of the things that are constant. The things that are known. Certain.
And I will need those certainties in the next few weeks and months, as I am uprooted once more. As I close a chapter. As I say (and have said already) a few too many and too painful goodbyes.
I came to this place 2 years ago with a small collection of things that told my story. Things from all over the world, from different seasons of life. I look at them, and I am reminded of Maggie from Amani in Nairobi, and my dad and his love for the mountains, and my traveling buddy Kathryn and her mad photography skills. And in a few months, when I sit in my new home, I will be reminded once more of Maggie and my dad and Kathryn.
But a few more objects will have found their way to my walls and to my shelves. And they will speak not of Kenya or the Cascades or Bavaria. They will speak of Baltimore.
They will speak of Mount Vernon and Inner Harbor and Fort McHenry and Peabody. They will speak of hard work and tears and failure. They will speak of rehearsal and practice and collaboration. They will speak of grand adventures and the Bun Shop and mandatory fun. They will speak of growth and change and dear friends and shared souls - of being known and understood.
In a few weeks, I will say goodbye to Baltimore. And I am ready and thankful to do so.
But I am also ready and thankful to take it with me. And in a few months, when I unpack these boxes, Baltimore will resurface, in all its bittersweetness. It will find its new home, between Kathryn's lantern photos and Maggie's quilt....somehow woven into the fabric of my story, somehow now such an irreplaceable part of me that I cannot seem to fathom how I ever functioned without it.
In a few weeks, Baltimore will become a memory. And when the time comes, I will find the Baltimore-sized hole in the puzzle. It will find its place in the suitcase, among the lanterns and mountains. And in a few months, it will settle into its new perch on my shelf. A small, silent testament to lessons learned, battles fought, hours practiced, tears shed, puddles danced in, breakthroughs achieved, hearts known, new parts of myself uncovered...and an unspeakable multitude of gifts to be grateful for.
Maybe it's because I've done a fair amount of it in my nearly-twenty-eight years.
Maybe it's because I love puzzles - I love the challenge of finding that one unique object that fits the hole perfectly - and the feeling of immense satisfaction derived from placing it there.
Maybe it's because it usually means something exciting is ahead. An adventure. Something new. Uncharted territory.
Maybe it's because it's been pouring rain all day and I've been drinking coffee...and the combination of rain and coffee and pretty much ANYTHING else always makes me happy!
I know that packing is stressful for some. Not everyone finds joy in the puzzle. Not everyone loves adventure or change. It is, for some, an unsettling activity...to have your possessions strewn about here and there...to be surrounded by disarray.
But somehow, for me, it is a grounding activity.
I love the slow, sorting process. Reading old letters, and feeling connected to friends and family, even as I sit alone amid piles of boxes and papers. Thumbing through books - my dear old friends - that have sat, untouched, neglected, on my bookshelf for months on end. I feel grounded in my history....relationships, experiences....I feel myself settle as I remember them. These objects that lie around me on the floor - humble as they are - speak of the journey - the ups and downs of the roller coasters, and also the constants that have kept me strapped in for the ride.
I love the opportunity to purge my closets and cupboards of clutter. It is a cleansing process. There are things I wasn't emotionally ready to rid myself of the last time I did this. But time and distance have been faithful to loosen my grip...slowly, little-by-little. I feel grounded as I recognize how little is truly necessary, as I am overwhelmed with gratitude, knowing that I have everything I need. Much more than I need.
I love that moment of goodbye - the final piece of tape - the last tug of the zipper - I love knowing that the next time I will see these books, these measuring cups, these sandals...I will be in a new place, a new home. I feel grounded knowing that even though there will be waves of change, I will be anchored by these familiar objects...the tablespoon I scoop coffee beans with every morning, the Altoid box that houses my bobby pins, the Rwandan basket that serves as a coin deposit.
Somehow, in the chaos of cookie sheets in my bedroom and patio tables in my living room, I feel connected to the past and the future - and yet I am also fully present in the now. These things have helped to make this place a home for me - not necessarily because they have any inherent value in themselves - but because they remind me of the people, experiences, truth and beauty that I have known in the journey. And though they will look different in a new home - a new context - they remind me of the things that are constant. The things that are known. Certain.
And I will need those certainties in the next few weeks and months, as I am uprooted once more. As I close a chapter. As I say (and have said already) a few too many and too painful goodbyes.
I came to this place 2 years ago with a small collection of things that told my story. Things from all over the world, from different seasons of life. I look at them, and I am reminded of Maggie from Amani in Nairobi, and my dad and his love for the mountains, and my traveling buddy Kathryn and her mad photography skills. And in a few months, when I sit in my new home, I will be reminded once more of Maggie and my dad and Kathryn.
But a few more objects will have found their way to my walls and to my shelves. And they will speak not of Kenya or the Cascades or Bavaria. They will speak of Baltimore.
They will speak of Mount Vernon and Inner Harbor and Fort McHenry and Peabody. They will speak of hard work and tears and failure. They will speak of rehearsal and practice and collaboration. They will speak of grand adventures and the Bun Shop and mandatory fun. They will speak of growth and change and dear friends and shared souls - of being known and understood.
In a few weeks, I will say goodbye to Baltimore. And I am ready and thankful to do so.
But I am also ready and thankful to take it with me. And in a few months, when I unpack these boxes, Baltimore will resurface, in all its bittersweetness. It will find its new home, between Kathryn's lantern photos and Maggie's quilt....somehow woven into the fabric of my story, somehow now such an irreplaceable part of me that I cannot seem to fathom how I ever functioned without it.
In a few weeks, Baltimore will become a memory. And when the time comes, I will find the Baltimore-sized hole in the puzzle. It will find its place in the suitcase, among the lanterns and mountains. And in a few months, it will settle into its new perch on my shelf. A small, silent testament to lessons learned, battles fought, hours practiced, tears shed, puddles danced in, breakthroughs achieved, hearts known, new parts of myself uncovered...and an unspeakable multitude of gifts to be grateful for.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Graduation
So, I did just finish my masters degree, and there are pictures below of graduation to prove it. However, of more particular note is the picture below which documents the realization of a long-time dream of mine.
Many months ago, I first had the idea for a school-wide game of Capture-the-Flag. I knew the nooks and crannies and secret passageways of the conservatory buildings would be perfect for the game, and the week of graduation, it finally happened. Of all the things that have occurred in the halls of Peabody Conservatory, this may be the most uniquely un-musical. And of all the things I initiated or participated in my time at Peabody, this is the one I am most proud of!! Especially because the grad students won!!
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| My mom came to see me graduate! |
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| All of the Vocal Accompanying Program Graduates, with our teacher, Eileen |
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| The Vocal Accompanying Masters Program Graduates |
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| Two of my favorite composers (and now, doctors!!) |
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| My dear friend, Nadja |
Saturday, May 11, 2013
it takes a village
Two days ago, I finished the last final of my masters degree.
It was a bit of a surreal moment - and I don't think the knowledge that I am completely done has fully registered in my body, mind and spirit. I have found myself repeating the words aloud to myself: I am finished with my masters.
There were days, weeks, months....at least a semester (if not an entire year), when I didn't believe it was possible. I was ready to throw in the towel. It wasn't worth it. I didn't have what it took.
Earlier this year, I realized that while I have experienced some difficult things in my life, this is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever chosen for myself in my nearly-twenty-eight years of life. It has challenged me, broken me, stretched me to my limits and beyond. And while I know I am a bit biased, I also know that there are others who would affirm my belief that the Vocal Accompanying Program is one of the most difficult, if not the most demanding program at Peabody. As one of the Vocal Graduate Assistants put it last week: "You have to learn how to be a singer and a pianist."
And I know this is just the beginning. If nothing else, graduate school has opened my eyes to how much I still have to learn. I am more aware now of all that I don't know. But I've been given the tools and the resources to pursue that knowledge. I have been equipped for the next steps of the journey. And I know now, at least in part, what I am capable of.
I have felt restless in the last few months - the friction of still needing to be present here, while also feeling more and more ready to go. I still have much to learn, and my teacher will always have more to teach me. But at some point, I need to step out from under her shadow. I need to see what I can do apart from her continual guidance. I need to start applying what I've learned.
I will certainly have moments of failure in the months and years to come. I will inevitably learn many more things the hard way. But I know that I have been given all the education and preparation I need.
And I am ready to fly.
I am ready to fly, in part, because of my training. But, more so, because of the great cloud of witnesses that have supported me and cheered me on, not only in the last 2 years - but all of years before that. My heart can't contain the gratitude I feel, as I think back the gracious outpouring of support I have received from family members, friends, teachers. They have provided a communal "gust of wind" that I have ridden for quite some time. That wind of support and hope and belief and encouragement and grace has taken many forms: text messages, emails, letters, packages, cups of coffee, bottles of wine, bars of chocolate, words of affirmation, hugs, phone calls, prayers, cookies, meals in my freezer, eyes of compassion, listening ears....the list is infinite.
And this is the part where words fall short.
This is the part when all I can do is cry.
This is the part when I am completely humbled, utterly speechless, overwhelmingly grateful.
I am done with my masters degree.
But I did not do it alone.
It took a village.
It was a bit of a surreal moment - and I don't think the knowledge that I am completely done has fully registered in my body, mind and spirit. I have found myself repeating the words aloud to myself: I am finished with my masters.
There were days, weeks, months....at least a semester (if not an entire year), when I didn't believe it was possible. I was ready to throw in the towel. It wasn't worth it. I didn't have what it took.
Earlier this year, I realized that while I have experienced some difficult things in my life, this is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever chosen for myself in my nearly-twenty-eight years of life. It has challenged me, broken me, stretched me to my limits and beyond. And while I know I am a bit biased, I also know that there are others who would affirm my belief that the Vocal Accompanying Program is one of the most difficult, if not the most demanding program at Peabody. As one of the Vocal Graduate Assistants put it last week: "You have to learn how to be a singer and a pianist."
And I know this is just the beginning. If nothing else, graduate school has opened my eyes to how much I still have to learn. I am more aware now of all that I don't know. But I've been given the tools and the resources to pursue that knowledge. I have been equipped for the next steps of the journey. And I know now, at least in part, what I am capable of.
I have felt restless in the last few months - the friction of still needing to be present here, while also feeling more and more ready to go. I still have much to learn, and my teacher will always have more to teach me. But at some point, I need to step out from under her shadow. I need to see what I can do apart from her continual guidance. I need to start applying what I've learned.
I will certainly have moments of failure in the months and years to come. I will inevitably learn many more things the hard way. But I know that I have been given all the education and preparation I need.
And I am ready to fly.
I am ready to fly, in part, because of my training. But, more so, because of the great cloud of witnesses that have supported me and cheered me on, not only in the last 2 years - but all of years before that. My heart can't contain the gratitude I feel, as I think back the gracious outpouring of support I have received from family members, friends, teachers. They have provided a communal "gust of wind" that I have ridden for quite some time. That wind of support and hope and belief and encouragement and grace has taken many forms: text messages, emails, letters, packages, cups of coffee, bottles of wine, bars of chocolate, words of affirmation, hugs, phone calls, prayers, cookies, meals in my freezer, eyes of compassion, listening ears....the list is infinite.
And this is the part where words fall short.
This is the part when all I can do is cry.
This is the part when I am completely humbled, utterly speechless, overwhelmingly grateful.
I am done with my masters degree.
But I did not do it alone.
It took a village.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
collaborate
So I gave a recital on Saturday.
And to be honest, the processing has only just begun. I am still trying to remember everything that happened....because it's all just a blur.
Sometimes it feels like the pieces I play are sort of like my children. I spend all this time nurturing them and shaping them....and then the day comes when I release them. Let them go. See how they stand on their own two feet. Let them have life apart from me.
And they did. They stood. They lived. They flew.
There is beauty and grief in the release. You send a part of yourself with them. And you keep part of them in yourself. You don't get to see all they places they fly or the hearts they penetrate. You may never know.
But here's what I do know:
It wasn't perfect. There were missed notes. Added notes. Fascinating harmonies. Made-up words. Creative, and unplanned improvisations.
It was honest. It was human. It wasn't perfect, but we didn't apologize for it. It was where we were in that moment.
It was expressive. At the end, I was confident that I had communicated. I...we....had said something. And people were moved.
It was collaborative. Sometimes I forget what a gift it is to work with people who recognize the partnership. I spent many years playing for people who didn't understand that - they were just too young to grasp the bigger picture. But on Saturday, I had the honor of sharing the stage with incredible musicians, and together we had shared our hearts.
It was bigger than me. I am thankful to be a vessel. I am thankful that in the end, it's not about me, or how I feel about how I played. I am glad to have the privilege of sharing somebody else's words and melodies. I am thankful to be part of something greater - to be part of a collaboration that extends far beyond singer and pianist - far beyond poet and composer - far beyond performer and audience member. There is something of the Divine in it as well - somehow, in the marriage of text and music and human spirit, there is God.
I don't pretend to understand it. I think it's better that I don't. But somehow, I know it's what I was made for. I was created to collaborate. It's part of being human. This give and take that comes with living in community. This unification of differing talents and unique personalities. The weaving together of souls and voices and fingers and words and melodies. ensemble.
So I am thankful for the journey, and that I did not walk it alone. I am thankful that collaboration takes me somewhere that I could not possibly reach on my own. I am thankful that collaboration means teamwork - the filling up and filling in of what the other lacks. I am thankful that collaboration brings change, challenge, growth. I am thankful that collaboration is togetherness, oneness, unity.
How lucky am I that it's built-in to my job description? How lucky am I that the words "collaborative pianist" are attached to my name? How lucky am I that I get to call myself an "accompanist" - one who walks alongside another?
yep.
And to be honest, the processing has only just begun. I am still trying to remember everything that happened....because it's all just a blur.
Sometimes it feels like the pieces I play are sort of like my children. I spend all this time nurturing them and shaping them....and then the day comes when I release them. Let them go. See how they stand on their own two feet. Let them have life apart from me.
And they did. They stood. They lived. They flew.
There is beauty and grief in the release. You send a part of yourself with them. And you keep part of them in yourself. You don't get to see all they places they fly or the hearts they penetrate. You may never know.
But here's what I do know:
It wasn't perfect. There were missed notes. Added notes. Fascinating harmonies. Made-up words. Creative, and unplanned improvisations.
It was honest. It was human. It wasn't perfect, but we didn't apologize for it. It was where we were in that moment.
It was expressive. At the end, I was confident that I had communicated. I...we....had said something. And people were moved.
It was collaborative. Sometimes I forget what a gift it is to work with people who recognize the partnership. I spent many years playing for people who didn't understand that - they were just too young to grasp the bigger picture. But on Saturday, I had the honor of sharing the stage with incredible musicians, and together we had shared our hearts.
It was bigger than me. I am thankful to be a vessel. I am thankful that in the end, it's not about me, or how I feel about how I played. I am glad to have the privilege of sharing somebody else's words and melodies. I am thankful to be part of something greater - to be part of a collaboration that extends far beyond singer and pianist - far beyond poet and composer - far beyond performer and audience member. There is something of the Divine in it as well - somehow, in the marriage of text and music and human spirit, there is God.
I don't pretend to understand it. I think it's better that I don't. But somehow, I know it's what I was made for. I was created to collaborate. It's part of being human. This give and take that comes with living in community. This unification of differing talents and unique personalities. The weaving together of souls and voices and fingers and words and melodies. ensemble.
So I am thankful for the journey, and that I did not walk it alone. I am thankful that collaboration takes me somewhere that I could not possibly reach on my own. I am thankful that collaboration means teamwork - the filling up and filling in of what the other lacks. I am thankful that collaboration brings change, challenge, growth. I am thankful that collaboration is togetherness, oneness, unity.
How lucky am I that it's built-in to my job description? How lucky am I that the words "collaborative pianist" are attached to my name? How lucky am I that I get to call myself an "accompanist" - one who walks alongside another?
yep.
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