And, yes...

I threw away his toothbrush... and his loofah sponge.

I'm currently archiving pictures and videos of the past year+, so I don't accidentally run into them again and spark another backward slide.

It may not be much, but it's a start. 

My Grandmother Asked Me Today:

Why do you keep picking people that are controlling narcissists?

Why do you keep picking people that are psychologically damaged?

You're 30. It's time to be a little bit more emotionally-savvy. 

I know no one really wants to read this shit anymore...

But the thing is, I have to write to someone about it. Writing to myself doesn't cut it, and I'm pretty damn sure he doesn't care to hear my thoughts. (Don't worry; I'm pretty much positive he's not reading this -- like I said, I really don't think he's interested...)

I'm doing everything I should. I'm working and practicing and running and spending time with friends and family and even going on an occasional date.

And, I'm fine. I'm productive. As I said, I'm doing everything I should.

But then, I leave brunch and I'm walking back and I see a park that we once walked through, and waves of sadness leave me almost doubled over in the street.

I know I'm certainly not the first one to feel this, nor will I be the last.

But that knowledge doesn't change the fact that I am, actually, feeling it.

I'm trying to keep things in perspective. I don't have cancer. I'm not dying of AIDS. I have friends and family that care about me a lot.

So even with a broken heart, I should get a grip.

...

I sincerely thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I love him. There was so much potential between us, so much promise of an amazing life to come.

I gave it everything I could, and it wasn't enough.

And I think that's what is so scary -- my best didn't cut it, so how the hell am I supposed to start again?

On these dates, the guys are nice, and are attractive enough, and everything is fine. Interesting conversation, fun activities... nothing is wrong. I just can't bring myself to care; I'm not ready to be in any sort of relationship yet. I'm probably not even ready to date, but... I don't think sitting at home alone is a better alternative, because that just leads to wallowing.

[Now: case in point.]

So, I guess I'll just keep doing what I'm doing and hope that time will heal and that I'm not broken in a permanent way. I should be able to care about someone again sometime soon, right?

I am, actually, at peace.

I tried to love him for both of us. I tried to give so much that he wouldn't be able to help but give me something back...

And so, now that it's finally completely over... I feel less exhausted, less at war with myself... I feel at peace.

That doesn't mean I don't miss him. I do, so damn much.

My cousins stole my phone tonight and were looking through the pictures... and glancing through them over their shoulders, I remembered all the fun things we'd done together. I remembered when we did actually enjoy each other.

It's hard not to wish we could go back to that point. A year ago, I felt like I had won the boyfriend lottery. I thought that finally, I had found someone that was intelligent enough to carry on a heated conversation, yet kind enough to bring me flowers when he picked me up from the airport.

But... that man is no longer someone that is available to me. Whatever the sequence of events, that man (the one that I fell in love with) became increasingly difficult to find. And then, he disappeared.

Of course I wish that hadn't happened. Of course I wish he would come back.

But he won't.

And, I'm finally at the point where I'm refusing to accept the waning table-scrap relationship he was offering. And so, we're left with nothing, at least in regard to each other.

So, while I certainly continue to miss him and my heart continues to ache (and I'm ashamed and apologetic about my physical explosion yesterday), I still feel much better. Despite knowing it will take quite a while before I'm ready to have feelings for someone else [despite the numbness completely encompassing me], I still know that it's for the best. He'll never be able to give me what I want and need; I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

Regardless... I feel like I'm on my way to becoming myself again. Like I said, I feel at peace.

I slapped him across the face last night.

Hard. Twice.

I'm not proud of losing my temper like that.

I'm also not proud of persisting in a relationship that made me so miserable, so out of control.

He's a narcissist and a control freak, but I didn't care. I loved him; I even loved him partly because of those things. He had a hard childhood and I understand why he is the way he is.

But, the amount of pain he was/is inflicting on me... well, it would be insane to continue along that rocky, mountainous path.

I could explain the set of circumstances that led to the two of us standing outside what used to be our (and is now just his) apartment, with him refusing to allow me to come upstairs, with him refusing to have a conversation with me, with him telling me I was being presumptuous and me losing it, calling him a fucking asshole, and then slapping him across the face.

Hard. Twice.

And then, peeling out of the parking lot screaming that I wanted him out of my life completely.

[I think that's the one request he might actually grant me.]

But, the particulars don't really matter.

What matters is that he could never compromise, he always had to push me beyond what I was even partially comfortable with. He always had to have the upper hand. And, I'll admit -- there's a certain attractiveness to that last quality.

But in the end, I just need someone who will be there for me, who will listen to me when I'm trying to say what will make me comfortable/happy. He couldn't, for so many reasons, be someone like that.

I'm not sorry things exploded. I think they had to, or they would have just kept dragging along...

I am sorry though, that I resorted to physical violence. It makes me a little ill to think about, actually.

In any case, I just have to get my clothes and my cat from his place once I have an apartment of my own (July 3). I doubt we'll ever see each other again. That makes me really sad (sad enough to start bawling on cue), but... still, I'm looking forward to my new home.

Things Drag On

And then you realize that he doesn't love you, at least not the way you need to be loved.

And not only that, but he doesn't understand you, nor does he care to.

He's not who you thought he was, and probably the reverse is true as well.

But, that sure as hell doesn't take away the hurt. I miss him. 

"Hey! Nice to see you. Are you feeling better now?"

Am I supposed to feel better already? It has been 2.5 weeks, and no... I don't feel better.

I realize we would need to be different people in order for it to work. I'm trying to concentrate on the differences (the aspects of the relationship that will never mesh) so that I avoid thinking about everything I miss.

I'm getting a lot done. I'm perfectly functional. In a lot of ways, I'm much better now than a month ago. But, I still feel numb. And underneath the numbness? A whole lot of aching. I prefer the rainy days. I'm lonely, and a little bit scared.

I realize I'm catastrophizing when I say this, but I'll say it anyway...

Right now, it feels like no one will ever love me.

His toothbrush is still in the cup by the bathroom sink.

His loofah is still in the shower.

Today, the subletter is gone, and my apartment is once again mine.

I never should have moved in with him. All I wanted was a set of keys and a 'you're welcome anytime' invitation. I should have kept my own place, and perhaps our so-called domestic bliss might have actually become a reality.

We could have been okay. I think that, even if we had just lived in the city, where I felt like my life resided, we could have been fine... happy. But, living 22 miles from friends and music made me depend on him too much.

The worst part is, [I think] I knew all that from the beginning.

But -- the temptation was too great. I wanted the picket-fence-life with the bike path, the boy, and the deer spotted view, and I wanted it now. I dove in head first, and am currently suffering the consequential head-against-cement concussion. 

Somehow, in the midst of having to submit final grades and finish the term, I have to survive a move, and then another move. Within 6 weeks I should be finally settled in my new apartment in the art museum, Princess Jasmine in tow.  

In the meantime... I suppose I learned a bit about myself. 

I cannot handle polyamory/monogamish-ness or whatever the hell you want to call an open relationship, at least not before things in the primary relationship are stable, and really -- I think I would ultimately only want it as an exception, not a rule.

I need someone that appreciates and respects me. I need someone who lets me share the control. I need someone who is willing to give compliments, even if they seem superfluous and hyperbolic. [You don't need to tell me I'm the most gorgeous person in the world, but you do need, from time to time, to make me feel desirable.] I need someone who is open to understanding music, or least pretending to do so for my sake. I need someone who doesn't withhold... emotionally or physically. I need someone who is willing to compromise.

I certainly did my fair share of 'wrong.' I freaked out... and then: I snooped. I acted impulsively and slammed doors and ran away. I screamed. I felt ignored and betrayed and unloved and I wanted to be heard and the only way I felt I could get a reaction was with a huge crescendo. 

And you know? I was right. I reached the climax, and he no longer wanted to deal with me. I probably deserve it, but still -- it hurts that he gave up, that he just doesn't care anymore. 

The worst part? I feel like the broken girl; the 'damaged goods' that no one would set up on a date with a friend, because I'll just screw it up. I feel numb and unattractive and just... done. 

I look around my apartment and I see him; I see things we did together and I know how much I love him, even if I also know it will never work, at least not with the impasse between the conditions we each demand. It hurts to be here, but it hurts to be there too. I can't wait for June 1 -- a 2 bedroom apartment (room for practicing! for exercising!) with a deck (I can sit outside on a hammock, with a grill and maybe some friends - assuming I still have some after all this moping), hardwood floors, and high ceilings.

A new start and a new neighborhood, with a friendly coffee shop right around the corner. 

I just wish I could make the next month go a little faster. 

And, I wish I was monetarily able to have someone else pack up my stuff. I'll find people to move the boxes of course (I no longer pretend I should do that alone), but looking around this 500 square feet, the thought of packing/unpacking makes me start to hyperventilate and I just have to tell myself that I don't need to deal with it for another few weeks. Maybe by the time it's a reality, I'll be capable.

Ok. It'll be ok. Certainly, I need to keep it all in perspective; there are millions of people with worse situations, and I'm actually doing alright in so many ways. I'm starting a chamber music festival, for god's sake.*

Things are going to be okay, eventually.

*I'm very proud of the way the festival is shaping up. It's the project I most enjoy these days. It's keeping me sane. 

Potential

This may come across as conceit, but it's actually the opposite:

I'm impressed with myself. I'm impressed that without really training, I can run a half marathon in 1:54:02 (8:42min/mi pace), putting me in the top 10% (or so) of my age group, the top 11% of females, and the top 18% of all finishers.

I'm not saying I'll ever be rock-star-fast. But, it does make me realize that, with concerted effort, I could actually be a decent runner. Most of the time, I'm self-deprecating about my athletic abilities and accomplishments to the point where they might as well not exist. But, today reminded me that I'm  not simply slogging through the miles anymore; I'm really running.

As of late, I've been running hills (both on the treadmill and in-real-life). I've been doing speed work (again, both on the treadmill an in-real-life). But, my runs have been averaging 3-4 miles in length and have tended to top out around 5 or 6 miles. 

I've been building my base. I can now run those 3-6 miles at an 8:00min/mi with relative ease. I can sprint up a hill at a 6:00min/mi. I figured I'd build the distance throughout the summer with the hopes of it all coming together for the Philadelphia Marathon next November 18 (which is, not coincidentally, my birthday). I had no intention of running any real distance any time soon.

But then 2+ weeks ago, Team MARATHON Bar called and asked if I would run for them down in DC today. They offered a racing shirt, a bunch of energy bars, and an entry to the race. I had to decide right away, and after about 30 seconds of hem-hawing, I said I would do it. (They asked if I would prefer the marathon instead of the half. I politely declined.) 

So, in preparation, I ran a sluggish 10 miles the following weekend, and then did a few 5-6 mile runs at varying paces. I rode my bike this week to try to change up the muscles-usage. I ate a lot of pasta last night. And then I ran. Without having a real expectation or idea of what I was going to be able to do, I ran. I forgot sunglasses, a watch, gels, a hat, and body glide; my shoes are completely worn out. It turns out you actually can run without all the paraphernalia. Your feet may blister, but you can still run. 

I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised by the morning's result. I know it's not breaking any speed records. Hell, it's not even breaking my own speed records (half marathon PR: 1:47). But, considering all of the above, I think I did really well. I'm proud of my residual fitness, and I'm proud of my little legs for being such troopers. The course was not flat or easy, and my hill training proved beneficial. 

So, here we go. I still have the major goal of kicking my 2008 3:59:47 marathon PR substantially to the curb next November. I'm not there yet (by far), but I'm definitely on my way back. At the very least, today reminded me of my own potential. 

Use Your Words

On the heels of a multi-hour [calm/rational/thought-through] conversation, I feel so much lighter.

I admit: I've been a conflicted, insecure, hormonal lunatic over the past couple of weeks.

I know you can't undo actions with an apology and I know a conversation doesn't solidify a new way of being. But, it does do a great deal toward avoiding the knee-jerk sprint in the other direction (from either partner). And right now, with a couple of tweaks regarding learning how to live together and communicate effectively, I feel like there is possibility of a happy future together.

I've never had this ability/willingness to talk through things, and I'm realizing how much I treasure it. In the past, things have boiled over and then crashed into a dead-end wall. I'm hoping that, in this case, it's not too late to take a different path.

Normalcy, please.

When did I become one of the fringe?

I just want to sip a cup of coffee with my husband on a Saturday morning, knowing that we'll go for a bike ride together sometime during the weekend, and that we'll watch a movie Saturday night with a glass or two of wine. I don't need a picket fence, but I do need [lots of] stability and security and sexuality and dammit I need [a little bit of] fun.

I feel so damn judged... unappreciated, unwanted, discredited. Yet, I wonder how much of it is actually his fault. He's certainly never pretended to be anyone he's not, but can I say the same about myself?

He's pushing me in certain directions, and I can't know yet if I want to go. I know I'm in significant pain, but is it unhappiness, or growing pains?

I wish someone could give me answers. I wish I could talk to him right now and tell him everything I want to tell everyone else. [So many pages written. All things I want to say but shouldn't.]

I can talk to him (he'd listen - not now, but later), but then it would be one more strike of the match and pretty soon we're going to fire each other.

I'm not ready for that.

Misread

"Oh, but I thought you wanted to be a music administrator now?"

"...?"

"Your chamber music festival. I thought that you were starting it because you felt frustrated with auditions and wanted to move toward music administration."

To clear up any miscommunication: I am frustrated with auditions. Black and white proclamations are kind of useless, but for now at least, I don't feel that I want to take auditions. But, I still want to play the flute. OF COURSE I still want to play. 

It's just that, instead of waiting for the phone to ring (instead of endlessly practicing the same 30 second excerpts) I'm taking control a bit more. [I've said this before, but I'd be damned before I waited around for some guy to call. So why have I been so content to take a passive role in my career?] 

So, I'm raising some money, calling some friends, and making music in a place I love. That's what I want to be doing, so why not just do it? It might not be the romantic idea of the orchestral career I once dreamed, but hell -- it's a start, it's something I believe in, and it's something that excites me. I don't see how I could really be going wrong...

In any case, it's not the particulars that were actually all that bothersome -- it was more the idea that someone I thought knew me very well, one of the people I feel closest to, could just be so extravagantly wrong about something fundamental to who I am.

It made me think about all the misconceptions out there, because there are plenty (that should go without saying, I guess). But ultimately, what defines us? Are we who we think ourselves to be? Or are we someone else's interpretation? We're both, I suppose.

It's that same philosophy question we were all asked in high school -- art: who decides what is and isn't defined as such? 

And so, it's kind of sophomoric to think too much about it. I suppose the ultimate realization this time around simply has to do with the fact that I'd rather be understood than not-so. It's important to me that (at least the influential people in my life) have some degree of accuracy in their understanding of who I am. 

I'm not sure what that means in real-time, but I suppose I'll start with just attempting to be more clear. And just as important: I'm going to try harder to make sure that I'm accurate in my judgements (in the best sense of the word) of others.

Aren't I such a good person?

Big Things

I swallow food in great, big gulps. I drink fast and read faster.

I biked across the country, earned the terminating academic degree in my field, and completed an IronMan Triathlon -- all within 3 years.

When I decide to do something, I do it.


Sometimes that's good, and other times it produces blinders that make it hard to see everything for what it really is.

Regardless, I love my big adventures. I love setting my mind to something and then just thinking about it non-stop until I conquer it.

New project: Pikes Falls Chamber Music Festival

I haven't felt this alive in quite a while.

absence makes the heart grow

I'm not [just] talking about the romantic heart.

I get so immersed in what I'm doing, the people surrounding me -- I start to love everything for what it is, at that moment. And when traveling, that love is intensified to the point of almost-heartbreak. I don't forget about my life prior, but I do start to doubt it. Mostly, I doubt it's veritability (is that a word?).

And so, getting back to so-called-normality is hard (for me). Whether thinking in terms of career goals, relationship successes/qualms, or something as mundane as apartment location... it's simply difficult.

The insecurities tend to mount, and I use those nagging voices as evidence for all that may or may not be wrong. I can talk about it, but people tire of hearing my voice say the same damn thing over and over and over again.

Here we are: another transition time with another complaining manifesto.  Only, now I'll acknowledge it for what it is -- a temporary discomfort that will fade.

I guess the only new thought I have this time around is regarding where, exactly, the truth lies.

Is it in the present-day stripped down version that feels so wrong? Or is it in the day-to-day relative ease in which I live my life? Or ultimately, is it somewhere in-between?

Finally, assuming the latter is probably the best option (as the median almost always is), how is it possible to figure out the details that should stay and the ones that should go? 

China: The Boiling Point

China:

"TWO MINUTES!!!!!!"

And then, a frantic run around the corner to the plane. I stuff my ticket stub into the hand of a disbelieving Chinese flight attendant and sprint onto the plane. Then, the jamming of luggage into the overhead bin and seat in front of me, and I collapse into my chair. I fall fast asleep before the plane takes off; Dramamine to the rescue.

Earlier that morning...

We have a 5am bus call, for a 7:20 flight. That's pushing it, I think, but hey -- all 70 of us are quite experienced with traveling now, and even traveling mishaps -- we'll be fine. It usually takes us 20 minutes to load the luggage and get seated -- we should be on our way by 5:20.

5:30: 4 people still aren't on the buses (including the Personnel Manager). Phone calls to hotel rooms begin.
5:45: 3 people still aren't on the buses. Their rooms are empty, luggage mostly gone; their location is a mystery.
5:55: We leave for the airport. The 3 missing people are left behind.

6:30: We get to the airport, and frantically begin checking in. We use the self-checkin to get the tickets, but still need to line up to check the luggage. All 70 of us.
6:40: We're at the front of the line. We all have our tickets. With any luck, we'll still get on the plane. My heart is beating fast; this kind of anxiety makes me crazy, and I can feel my hair turning grey. It's going to be a bitch to pull out later.
6:41: A middle-aged Chinese lady comes right to the front of the line with 12 people in tow. She hands the 12 IDs to the attendant, completely cutting the line. We all shout "NO!" but she does it anyhow. The attendant takes her IDs.
6:42: I see our tour guide/translator and call to her. "Alice! This lady cut in front of us. We're going to miss our damn flight." I wouldn't care; it's not my problem per-say, except that missing the flight means we're going to be stuck in another airport for the entire day, and most likely we'd still have to play the concert that night.
6:42:30: Alice comes to the front of the line and tries to talk to the lady who cut in front of us. The lady simply doesn't respond. I tap her on the shoulder. She doesn't turn around. She's getting her way by ignoring us. WHAT THE HELL? This would never happen at home -- people line up in a line because it's a LINE, and you wait your damn turn.
6:44: It's clear we're just going to have to wait for her to process all 12 people and their luggage. Boarding for our plane ends in T-6minutes and we still have to go through security. I hate everyone.
6:45: The lady makes the mistake of dropping her water bottle and some papers. I kick the living SHIT out of her water bottle. It slams into her legs and then bounces to the counter wall. She finally looks at me. Her look is one of disbelief and hurt. I feel horrible. I lost my temper and this poor lady doesn't understand why.
6:45:30: Alice decides we should try to use the group check-in downstairs. We all troop down the stairs, tripping over luggage barriers.
6:47: We're at the wrong airline's group check-in.
6:51: Luggage lined up by the correct counter with no tags, but with the promise that they'll get on the correct flight. Hmm. Head up to security. I'm one of the first in the group.
7:02: Just about through security. I hadn't had any problems with my flute on any of the 100 billion flights we'd already been on when traveling up and down China for the past 2 weeks. This time though, the guard decides it's necessary to look through it.
7:04: He finds the little screwdriver I keep in the flute case pocket and holds it up. I scream "It's just for the flute. I'M GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT. LEAVE ME ALONE!" He looks startled, but shrugs his shoulder and looks toward his co-worker. I grab the screwdriver and shove my flute back into the over-stuffed Altieri bag. I start running down the terminal toward the gate, just hoping no one comes after me with Chinese handcuffs.

Since I was first in line (surprised?), I had already been instructed to try to hold the plane, to stand in the doorway if necessary.

7:05: I get on the people-movers and begin my full-out sprint. Of course there are people in the way, and since I don't know how to say "Excuse me" in Chinese, I just continually shout "NI-HAO! NI-HAO! SHEI-SHEI! NI-HAO!" (Which means, of course, "HELLO! HELLO! THANK YOU! HELLO!") I'm running down those corridors like a lunatic, thanking previous coaches for the track workouts.

7:14: I get to the gate and say, while gasping for air "LOTS MORE PEOPLE. COMING. SOON. PLEASE." I get the nod from the flight attendant and she holds 2 fingers up. My eyes widen and I run back to the corner of the hall, leaving my carry-ons on the floor next to the gate. I shout toward everyone else tumbling toward me...

"TWO MINUTES!!!!!"

So, we made the flight. And somehow, so did our luggage. It was a Chinese Christmas miracle, I think. But, I felt horrible for the rest of the day. Stress and sedatives combined with lack of sleep and having to perform will do that to you, I suppose. But even more than that, I was ashamed at my lack of control. From kicking a stranger's water bottle, to screaming at a security guard, to the maniacal run through the airport, I simply boiled over.

We all have our buttons, and lack of organization is definitely one of mine. Two weeks of dealing with misinformed schedules had taken its toll. I couldn't handle it anymore. The nightcap or five of baijiu no longer helped calm my nerves and I just lost it. I had been operating very close to my breaking point, and when that lady cut in front of us, all the pushing and shoving of the past two weeks came to a head -- I was PISSED, and I was no longer going to accept it.

As one of my best friends from the tour said, I was "having a moment."

But, there are better ways to handle things. I have to be better at handling things. No one else kicked water bottles, so why did I?

The China tour was great -- I met some absolutely amazing people and musicians that I hope stay in my life for a long time to come, and I experienced a part of the world about which I previously knew almost nothing. I don't regret going.

I hope though, that I learn from some of the harder parts of the tour.

Lessons learned:

If something seems sketchy and/or disorganized, it probably is; trust your gut. I'm inspired to take dance classes. I won't take nearly as much bullshit; I won't be walked on anymore. Keep your cool; nothing is worth that level of stress. Enjoy the music, no matter what the circumstance. Environmental laws are good. Trying new food is always a nice thing to do, but once in a while you (I) need some simple yogurt and fresh brewed coffee.

After that fateful day at the airport, I became known as "The One Who Kicks Babies." Gotta love rumors within small groups of people... (I admit: I kind of cultivated that one. I thought it was hilarious.)

Oh, and those 3 missing people? They met us the next day in the next city. They had changed hotel rooms because theirs smelled like ass, and of course there was no paper trail. Every hotel room door had to be pounded to find them.

The best part? There are several more just-as-insane stories. It was quite a trip.

What We Have

I spent today rehearsing for a tour to China with the Camerata Philadelphia. We leave Tuesday and we're gone for 2 and a half weeks.

The rehearsals were in a school outside of the city -- a middle school that had facilities many times better than my college. Basses and cellos lined on side of the hall leading to the multiple rehearsal rooms. Sound-proofed practiced rooms were on the opposite side, along with more string instruments. I heard they have 2 alto flutes and a bass flute, just in case they ever need them.

The actual rehearsal room had admirable acoustics, with signs lining the wall about rehearsals for hand bell choir, regular choir, jazz ensemble, marching mand, wind ensemble, and orchestra. (It's entirely possible I'm forgetting a few.) Where I'm used to seeing old, ratty cardboard cut-outs about what a quarter note means, this school instead had glossy posters of musicians from the Philadelphia Orchestra, and pictorial progressions of instruments.

The music department at this school leaves little to be desired. I'm willing to bet the science lab is thoroughly stocked, that the drama department is thriving, and that there is a yearly art show in their very own gallery. The bathrooms have automatic flushers and faucets.

It's a dream school -- a dream middle school, if such a thing can exist.

Seeing a dream made into reality should be something that feels good -- these kids get amazing opportunities, and that should make me grin.

But instead, I looked around the school and then looked out the window to the town -- at the yarn store right next to the paint-your-own-pottery store, which was right next to the custom tailor... and I just felt a little sick.

I go to Camden every week to teach for the orchestra and those kids have nothing. They don't even realize they're less than 3 miles from Philadelphia; their school is directly underneath the Ben Franklin Bridge and most of them have never crossed the river.

I don't need to go into the way-too-offhand comments I hear each week about family life and jobs and living situations. I don't need to mention the lack of facilities or SOAP or learning materials. Because you know what? The kids in Camden are doing alright, at least right now they are -- they're young and eager and they don't yet know that they drew the short stick. They're learning and they're happy and I love getting to influence their journey, even if it's only a tiny little bit.

I guess it was just a smack in a the face -- a realization that I'm a spoiled white kid about to go to China to play the flute, and while I certainly didn't grow up in the affluence of the dream middle school, I'm also a lot closer to that than I am to the New Jersey counterpart. So, I can't look down my nose at suburban paradise; I can just hope that the kids there realize how lucky they are, and that they won't assume it's just a birthright.

Also, I hope their orchestra sounds good.