curly su

absence makes the heart grow

2012-01-13T11:31:00.002-05:00

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

2012-01-11T10:31:00.009-05:00

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

2011-12-19T00:01:00.001-05:00

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.

The Dinner Party

2011-12-16T15:17:00.003-05:00

I 100% stole this Dinner Party idea from The Bloggess, but after reading her post, I couldn't help but think about who I would invite to a party at my home.

You're having a dinner party, anyone can and will come. I made mine a dinner for 10 (8 people, plus me and a date). I tried to think about not only who I wanted to meet, but also who would spark interesting and productive (but not dinner-ruining) conversation. Some of the people would clash, but I'd just make sure they were sitting at opposite ends of the table. I'm that good of a host.

First, DEAD:
John Steinbeck
Leonard Bernstein
James Dean
Bobby Fischer
Christopher Hitchins (yes, I know it's only because I was reminded of him today)
Steven Prefontaine
Christopher McCandless
Igor Stravinsky
(Why are they all male? Completely unintentional...)

FICTION:
Quenten Cassidy
Howard Roark
Cassie Maddox
Mrs. Dalloway
Cathy/Kate Ames
Lisbeth Salander
Rhett Butler
Pippi Longstocking (with Humbert Humbert as chaperone)

ALIVE (can we make this happen, please?):
Susan Sarandon

Jon Stewart

Tonya Harding
Condalisa Rice
Dan Savage
Diane Rehm
Elliott Carter
Donald Trump

Thoughts? Your list(s)?

I have this grandmother

2011-12-07T11:28:00.003-05:00

Well, we all do[did], right?

This grandmother of mine, she lives about 10 miles from me, or a 30-40 minute drive in Philadelphia traffic.

She's one of the most intelligent people I know. She's a champion rower, a violin maker and repair-person, an Ivy League graduate... Most of all, she has always been fiercely independent. She has a wonderful sense of humor and (aside from one childhood incident when she told me to stop fighting with my sister on a car-ride and my feelings got hurt), she has been nothing but kind.

She has had a hard life. She grew up in Nazi Germany; she had little-to-no communication with her father during war time. Her mother sent her away to a boarding school and made it clear she wasn't wanted at home, excepting school vacations. She's prone to depression. She has an addictive and obsessive personality. She went through the traumatic death of her [now beloved] mathematician father, suffered a tumultuous divorce, dealt with debilitating migraines through the middle age, and amongst other tragedies, eventually succumbed to the temptations of prescription drugs.

She's recovered from the latter now, and amazingly, she seems to have figured out a new start to her life at age 80+. But still -- (and this is entirely my judgement) I feel like she could have done so much more and it's hard for me to watch someone extraordinary live this ordinary end to her existence.

For the past few years that I've lived in Philadelphia, I've had a resistance about going to visit her... it's not because I don't love her, because I do. I want to get to know her better; I want to spend time with her before she dies.

And so, I wasn't really quite sure why I was having such a hard time fitting in the visits. It's not pure selfishness, because I certainly do many other giving and unselfish things for my family and friends.

Then today, on my drive to work, I realized something that kind of made my head explode.

I'm just like this grandmother.

I've always associated myself with my mother, and my mother's tendencies. After-all, I look a hell of a lot like my mother, and I certainly seem to have followed in her footsteps. As a psychiatrist aunt once asked me, "How does it feel to be repeating your mother's life?"

And so yes, I get a lot from my mother, and that's not a bad thing. But then today, I realized how similar I am to my dad's side of my family too, especially his mother.

I'm prone to depression and, to some extent, migraines. I'm smart, even if I'm not as smart as her. I'm obsessive, sometimes to a fault and sometimes to my benefit. I certainly have an addictive personality. And of course, I'm independent until I trust someone else enough to let them in.

But, mostly... I'm so scared of not doing what I want to do with my life. I'm scared of the years passing by and looking back from the confines of a retirement home and just not being sure what I did, if I loved or was loved, and if I gave enough of myself to the world. I want to make a difference, not because I want to pretend immortality, but because I know I have something to give.

These paternal grandmother characteristics are not all bad -- they're just... volatile. Combined, they have the ability to create something wonderful or dissolve into tragedy. They are who I am, and I have to figure out how to use them to my benefit, so they don't end up consuming me.

I'm not saying my grandmother has been unsuccessful... she has experienced a full life, I'm sure in many ways that I can't even begin to conceive. I'm also not saying these are new or original thoughts; Of course there are many people just like me and just like my grandmother.

It's just that I [now] see so much of myself in her -- if nothing else, I know why it's hard for me to get in my car and visit.

This Is Why I Should Starting Using The Daily Mile Website Again

2011-12-06T21:15:00.007-05:00

So many lost workouts... but, as great a UI as the Daily Mile has, I still just feel like it's one website too many to keep updated. I need an automatic updater from my head to my digital life. Can someone install an internal chip, please?

I meant to write the workouts down directly afterward, but then the events of the days got in the way and now I'm having trouble remembering what I did, exactly. Here they are, sans per-mile details:

Saturday ended up being a 2.6mi recovery run in Valley Forge with The Man and some arm weights at the gym.

Sunday was The Man's birthday, so we went on a 12mi (relatively hilly) bike ride and then a quick 1.2mi on the treadmill and leg/ab weights. It was cold out, but not too cold and it (as always) felt wonderful to be on a bike. As we finished, I just felt like shouting "AGAIN!," because biking feels so chest-clearingly liberating... especially when you're doing it with someone you enjoy.

Monday we again ran Saturday's 2.6mi loop, but added a bit, so it was closer to 3mi. This time, no recovery allowed -- we ran it at about a 7:30-7:45 pace. (Well, he ran it faster than that, but seeing him get farther and father away from me made me continue to push the pace.)

Today (Tuesday), I led the Tuesday morning run with my students. We did about 2.5mi, complete with 2 1:00 sprints and 3 hills. It was the last Tuesday morning run of the semester, and I'm really proud of how much stronger everyone is now. As I mentioned (bragged) on Facebook, they gave me a stopwatch for my Fifth Day of Early Hanukkah present, so even though they get grumpy faces and complain about the runs, I know they actually like (or at least appreciate) my drill sergeant routine. We'll keep up the weekly runs next semester.

My runs lately have been shorter, obviously -- but I still feel like I'm pushing myself almost every time, either with weights or running or on the bike, so I believe I'm getting stronger and faster, even if the distance doesn't prove it. I'm heading to NYC for a couple days this weekend, so I'm definitely hoping to get a longer (hilly) run in around Central Park.

You know... sometimes I feel so lost and weird and alone -- as though I just can't possibly function within the framework of society because for whatever reason I've managed to place myself so far outside the 'normal' checkbox. But then, I go for a run and I practice and I write it all down in this little space that I've cultivated since 2005, and... I feel like myself, and I feel like I can get to the next day with a smile on my face. And hell -- sometimes, that little grin is even telling the truth.

I ran a 6:-- minute mile...

2011-12-03T10:16:00.002-05:00

Well, not yet.

But, I did do 5 intervals of 9.1mph (1:30) with rest intervals at 7.1mph (1:00).

That, in combination with 5 hills at increasing grades (3-6%) means a few things...

1) I am falling in love with the treadmill; for some reason, I am able to push myself much harder on the damn machine. It's a semi-abusive relationship, but I've never been one capable of avoiding those.

2) I hate the crappy TV the gym forces me to watch. Every time I leave, I feel a little bit less intelligent. Good Morning America is apparently aimed toward tone-deaf nitwits. And yes, I'm a judgmental asshole.

3) I ran 5 'hilly' miles in 41:42. Even with the warm-up and cool-down, that's averaging less than an 8:00 mile. I'm definitely getting stronger and faster, even if I haven't been able to lose weight this week.

4) I am SO sore. Everywhere. Between the weights on Wednesday and the treadmill workout on Friday, I feel a little beaten up. Today is going to have to be in indoor trainer day (I'm too much of a wuss to attempt 40 degree outdoor riding), or maybe an easy run.

I leave for China in 2.5 weeks. I'll be there for 18 days, touring with the Philadelphia Camerata. I'm worried about how I'm going to maintain any sort of eating/exercise routine. I'm excited for the trip and of course it'll be a blast musically/personally, but I still don't want take a bunch of steps backward training-wise. We'll be in different cities almost every day -- it's a working tour with lots of rehearsing, performing, and traveling. I suppose I'll just have to fit in what I can, and accept that you lose some things as you gain others.

The Man and I are also planning a trip together in January before school starts up again after I get back from China. We're thinking of going back to the Caribbean; our trip last time got semi-interrupted by Hurricane Irene and Cancun in January sounds pretty awesome to me. It may sound silly, but we're only 7 or so months into this relationship -- despite that we live together, the prospect of not seeing him much for almost a month makes me cranky and (admittedly) somewhat insecure.

So, transitions generally aren't my forte, and there will be a bunch of them coming up... but, all in all, it's nothing to complain about. It should be a nice Winter Break.

And you know what? I'm actually getting better at handling change -- I'm currently patting myself on the back for the lack of freak-outs regarding the move, et al.

Pumping Iron

2011-11-30T13:02:00.000-05:00

I've been told that when you lift weights, you should lift to the point of failure, and I have to say... it works.

Both my arms and legs are getting noticeably more muscular, but not in any sort of masculine way.

This morning, I ran 1.2mi in 10 minutes, then did both arm and leg weights.

I'm up to 9x11 reps at 60-100lbs on leg extensions, 4x11 reps at 80-100lbs on leg presses, 4x11 reps at 20-40lbs on a half bench press/half arm extension, and 3x16 reps at 20-40lbs for biceps and triceps. I also did some ab work on the dip machine (10x8 reps).

With each exercise, I couldn't possibly move the machine one more inch; I was grunting like the testosterone-laden jocks just to complete the last set.

Finished it up with another 1.2mi/10min run.

I have a sneaking suspicion my arms are going to be incredibly sore tomorrow, but as long as there is no injury involved*, I'm kind of pumped about it (excuse the pun) -- who doesn't like a little bit of pain?

*Over the weekend, I pulled my shoulder muscle while playing a work-out 'game' on The Man's new XBox. I don't know that it's possible to do anything more dorky.

Glares from Flutists

2011-11-29T18:45:00.001-05:00

On Tuesday mornings at 6:45 sharp, I lead my oh-so-enthusiastic group of young flutists on a run around Kutztown. We usually go for about 3 miles, with a steady pace on the way out and intervals on the way back.

Today, I changed it up and made them do hill repeats on the way back to campus.

It was a short hill, only taking about 45 seconds to reach the top.

Still, I got some mean looks, complete with the rebellious stop-in-the-tracks.

It made me giggle, not because I'm sadistic, but because it reminded me of myself when someone else is trying to tell me what to do. It's much easier to be bossy than it is to be bossed, even if you're doing the same damn workout.

Trying Something New

2011-11-27T15:08:00.002-05:00

It wasn't anything all that exciting, I guess.

Wait for it...

...

...
...

...

This morning, I did hills on a treadmill.

I warmed up for a mile (9:00), and then did 4x1:00 on an increasing incline with 1:30 flat in-between (2%, 2.5%, 3.5%, 4% incline) at 8:27, and then 4x1:00 (2.5, 3, 3.5, 4-5) at 8:06.

I cooled down for a mile at 8:30-9, and then did one last hill at 5% at the very end.

I expect to be sore tomorrow, but for now, I'm loving the way it made me feel afterward (complete with the nap an hour later).

I realize it's only day 2 and I might eat my words very soon, but right now I'm just wondering: why did I wait so long to really try to get in powerful shape?

It has nothing to do with being stubborn, I swear.

Dammit E-Speed, You're Too Inspiring

2011-11-26T11:59:00.001-05:00

I want to try to run a marathon. Yeah, I've 'ran' a handful of them already. I can plod my way through the 26.2 miles in 4 hours or less (3:59:47, to be exact).

But, this time around I want to do more. I want to take the next year to really train as hard as I can. I'm currently able to run 10-ish miles at the 9:09 (sub-4 hour) marathon pace. A couple of months ago, I stumbled through a half marathon with little-to-no training in 2:03. I can run 5 miles at a sub-8 pace. I'm in relatively good shape weight-wise, but I could still stand to lose 10-15 pounds if I want to be faster.

So, by next year's Philadelphia Marathon on November 18, 2012, I want to see where I can be and what I can do. Coincidentally (or not), I'll also turn 31 on that day.

I'm hoping for 3:30-3:40. Of course, we'll see what happens, but I think I can do it. I'm certainly living in a great area for it; Valley Forge, with its access to the bike path and state park, is wonderful for everything running related: hill repeats, speed work (1/2 mile increments marked along the path), trail running, and of course long runs.

Today: 5.31mi, increasing speed each mile from 9:09 the first mile down to 7:07 in the last mile. Leg/ass weights: 3x8 reps (80lbs, 90lbs, 90lbs). Abs on the dip machine.

Tomorrow: Planning on biking into Philly, if its warm enough. If not, a 'long' run of 8-10 miles.

Any suggestions as to training plans, routines, etc would be appreciated. I know how to train for a marathon, but since I have a year, I want to first get a really strong, fast base before I start officially building toward the race.

Chick Flicks Be Damned

2011-11-25T09:54:00.001-05:00

We're constantly fed these narratives about how we're supposed to feel.

We should want to find the man that thinks you're absolutely perfect. We should want to marry that man and down the road, we should want to have kids with that man.

We should want to live happily ever after.

I just finished unpacking after moving in with The Man. I don't know what I feel. We're having a good time; I love getting to know the intricacies that are him. But, I'm also scared. Anticipatory.

Maybe it's better to keep a bit more rationality in the midst. I know it's not perfect, but I don't expect to find perfection anymore. Mr. Right is not a reality, but the Right Relationship is certainly plausible, given you're willing to accept the framework.

I admit: sometimes I'm willing, and sometimes I'm not.

But right now, it's Thanksgiving break and I'm so happy to have a few days to adapt and enjoy. It might be a bumpy next couple of months, but regardless, I'm thrilled to forge into this new chapter.

From 0 to 60 in 10 seconds or less.

2011-11-14T21:41:00.002-05:00

My flute students were so great in their chamber concert tonight. They made music, and it brought (more) tears to my eyes.

I'm the first to admit that sometimes teaching feels futile, but tonight made me realize how much my students are improving; this is not due to me, but because of their hard work despite the many 'artistic moments' throughout the year.

So while I think that it's nothing to take personally, I still felt an inkling of pride. They are becoming artists, and at the very least, I'm here to see it.

Living the Dream

2011-11-07T13:52:00.003-05:00

Nothing is as dramatic as my head can make it.

I'm strong, happy, healthy, and in love. I'm making a living as a flutist. I live in a National Historic Park and get to stay in the city whenever I want or need. I have good friends and bad friends, each important in their own way. I have two beautiful cats that cuddle and scratch who are also each important in their own way.

I'm giving a recital tonight with a wonderful pianist that I respect and admire.

I like the way my life is coming together, but the best part is that there is still so much more to come.

Pros and Cons

2011-11-05T11:59:00.001-05:00

What you give up:
The normalcy. Normality. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

Not just the status quo, but more-so the hope of ever fitting in, of ever being able to relate to people in a way that doesn't ostracize yourself, that doesn't make you an outsider perpetually standing just beyond the girls' circle at lunchtime recess.

Security, or at least a certain amount of it.

What you gain:
The relationships, or at least that's the hope. The ability to have and hold the people you love, without guilt, shame, or self-loathing. Knowing that you can be inspired by so many more people in your short little life.

Honesty and something that can last.

What I miss, regardless:
Being cherished. Feeling loved, completely. Compliments. Feeling good enough.

What I appreciate, regardless:
Patience. Willingness to change and try. Honesty. A lack of fear. Self-confidence. Persistence. The arms at night, a smile when I walk in the door.

Dammit, I don't know how to parse my way through this alone.

Two beers and fish tacos means I'll tell you anything.

2011-10-30T20:58:00.013-05:00

Wow, I've turned into a cheap date. Really, 2 beers and I'm ready to take Advil and head to bed? Either I need to eat more or I'm really getting old.

Okay, so the part that petrifies me:

I'm scared he'll get tired of me. I'm scared I'll get tired of him.

I want the closeness, I want the ease of companionship and compatibility, but I absolutely do not want a relationship that is a sexless friendship. I want a boyfriend, not a roommate.

[Right now] I don't need the marriage certificate or the forever-promise, because I don't particularly believe in either one, especially after a mere 6-ish months of dating. What I do need is something that feels as though it progresses and moves toward a life with someone that I love. And, here's a definite step in that direction.

So, I'm happy. We spend the weekend together [nothing special, just practicing and home improvement] and I have to stop myself from feeling starry-eyed, because that would be simply silly -- no one needs such insistent blinders. But still, I enjoy the time we spend together and I'm excited about living with him.

We don't have a hetero-normative relationship. We have something that would threaten a lot of people. Hell, sometimes it threatens me. But still, it's all within the confines of what I value and who I want to be; I look forward to watching the relationship grow and meanwhile, I look forward to growing a bit myself.

I definitely don't completely know myself yet (and have never claimed as such), but I think I'm getting to the point where I begin to understand what I want, what I can have, and how the two meld into something that can resemble reality.

To begin: a move.

So, here's what's up.

2011-10-30T18:53:00.009-05:00

I'm moving in with my boyfriend.

He has a beautiful apartment on the river and bike path, and he has 2 extra bedrooms... so, I'll have a practice room and a place to put my clothes, not to mention a second cat. Her name is Lyra.

Jazz, meet Lyra. Lyra, meet... Princess Jasmine. (We'll see how that goes.)

I'm excited. I'm nervous. I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart pounding and I feel like my subconscious is all-too-eagerly quoting Sex in the City.

Friends tell me I shouldn't worry -- that if I'm happy spending time with this man (I am!), and it makes sense to move in (it does -- the apartment locale cuts my commute substantially), then I should just give it a try. What's the worst that happens, anyway?

Here it is: it doesn't work, we break up, I move out.

So what? Certainly that's nothing new in the revolving doors of relationships.

When I last lived with a guy, I was 22 (too young to know my head from my that of my standard poodle), and the relationship was already falling apart. This is different. I'm 30 in T-2.5 weeks and this guy is good for me, for the most part.

There are the normal fears: aesthetics, communication, a general understanding of each other's time...

I think a lot of that will be alleviated simply because the place is huge and we'll have enough space to disappear if need be. Oh, and did I mention it's in the middle of a National Park? The biking, running, and hiking possibilities are thrilling, at the very least.

And so yes, I won't be in the Philly anymore. That's a little bit of a bummer, I admit. But, I'm hoping to find a room in town where I can stay when I have work in the city. Or, if I just want to meet some friends for a drink and not worry about getting back out to Valley Forge. Or, if we both want to spend a weekend in the city. I've been searching and searching for a place that fits my budget, is in a good location, and doesn't inspire bile in the mouth.

There is more to this, but I'm heading out to meet some friends for dinner. To be continued...

Augmenting

2011-10-09T15:22:00.001-05:00

[As I was writing, I realized I wrote a very similar post a couple of weeks ago. But, that's okay. It takes time to figure this stuff out; nothing will be solved overnight, even for lil' Miss Type A.]

So let's just take a wild swing and say that maybe life isn't perfect. Maybe the specifics aren't exactly what you had originally assumed.

Do you say 'Fuck it, this isn't from a fairytale and goddamn-it, I deserve that fairytale, picket fence and all.' Or, do you look at what you have, take a deep breath, and appreciate things for what they are?

Assuming the good outweighs the bad (and yes, that's a big assumption, one that has to be decided over and over), I vote for Door Number 2.

But then, you're still not satisfied, right? There's not much you don't enjoy, per-say, but there's still stuff missing... and so rather than live a life that feels slightly less than right, why don't you look to add to what you already have?

It's not conventional; it's definitely not the original Cinderella-story. But maybe, just maybe, it leaves room to have everything you want without forcing any one person into an unyielding box. And maybe, it alleviates the tendency toward codependency.

Granted, details are difficult; I don't know exactly how tough I am, but I think I'm ready to find out.

Opportunity Cost Versus Cost Sunk

2011-10-03T17:15:00.004-05:00

Last week's Freakonomics podcast entitled "The Upside of Quitting" made me hang my head a bit. It's all about being able to 'give up,' and how in a lot of cases, moving on might be the best thing to do.

So what if I've spent 19+ years working toward an orchestral job? That doesn't mean it's right for me. It just means I've spent a lot of time doing it. Maybe it's time to quit, and maybe that's not such a bad thing. If I do indeed 'quit,' I'm still a flute professor, I'm still a performer -- I'm still a flutist and musician. What exactly, am I quitting? The possibility of having a full-time orchestral job? Is that even what I want anymore, should I finally win the big audition? I really have no idea. I like the versatile jobs I have right now, so what's the problem, really? Is it really so horrible to decide never to have to go through another audition, to never again have to solely practice orchestral excerpts for months at a time?

That actually sounds pretty great. And the best part is: all the time I've been spending worrying about orchestral jobs could be spent getting better at what I'm doing now. I could be spending time working on recitals, finding alternate playing opportunities, working on performance skills, becoming a better teacher, and so much more. Isn't all that a better use of my time than simply playing Mendelssohn's Scherzo for the 90 billionth time?

Six months ago, when creating an OKCupid profile, I labeled myself "persistent, sometimes to a fault." And yet, this self-awareness still didn't result in any sort of quantifiable change. I go right on banging my head against the wall (proverbial or otherwise), and I still can't let go of what might be.

Am I talking about a relationship? Am I talking about a career choice? What about hobbies?

Yes.

In all of the above, I tend to hold on for dear life, even when I know things aren't quite right... even when I have evidence that I'm not happy, or that I'm doing my absolute best (at this point in time) but am still just not succeeding.

It comes to this: I'm petrified of the unknown, so I don't want to give up the known.

This isn't to say I feel like everything is bad, and that I'm in a bad relationship with a bad career and I don't enjoy my hobbies.

Not at all -- it's more just that I think I need to focus more on what is working; I need to work on developing strengths rather than feeling inadequate about whatever weaknesses I perceive.

What does that mean in practical terms? Well, just that I need to be more able to move on if that's what would ultimately make me happy. I need to allow myself to accept and appreciate myself for who I am.

Law of Inverse Grading Enjoyment

2011-09-30T11:47:00.006-05:00

When I was a kid, I used to beg my mom to allow me to do her Theory 101 grading. She absolutely hated the grading process, so it didn't take much coaxing to get her to hand over the red pen.*

I'd scan back and forth between answer key and test and put huge red X's over every wrong interval and chord progression.

It was awesome.

Maybe it was awesome because I was an old lady in a 9 year old's body. Or maybe I just wanted the authority of that red pen (once I used a red crayon, but that didn't go over so well with her students). Or, perhaps it was just the fact that I didn't actually have to be grading. I was 'Playing Teacher' with some real-life props, and I was good at it. Fast, efficient, and accurate -- you couldn't really ask for anything more (except, of course, handwriting that was a little more professor-appropriate**).

In any case, now that I actually need to grade papers on a weekly basis, now that I'm the one with students asking about their grade on the essay handed in on Monday...

("Why does it show up as a zero? I can bring proof that I submitted it!" "Relax. I just haven't graded it yet. Grades will be up by the weekend, I promise.")

...now that I'm the one with the responsibility, I procrastinate with the best of them.

And, even though I sure as hell wouldn't have wanted a newborn at age 20, I can't help but wish I had a precocious (and slightly obnoxious) 9 year old.

*In defense of my mom, she only let me have my way with papers that had clear right/wrong answers, and she always double checked my work.

**In defense of my elementary school handwriting, it's still just as bad, and students still can't read it. What can I say? I could blame it on being left-handed, but I just think it's that I'm too impatient to write slowly enough for complete legibility. I peaked early.

Raindrops are falling on my head...

2011-09-29T11:18:00.001-05:00

I used to joke with a friend about how to know when you've really 'made it.'

Pull yourself up on your bootstraps, make lemonade from lemons, and the cup is finally half-full when you...

When you get married?
Sure, there is a certain amount of relationship commitment/solidity that I crave.

When you have kids?
Nah, that's not it for me. At least, not right now it isn't.

When you buy a house?
Maybe that has a little to do with it.

But what would really make me feel like I've finally made it? What would make me grin with the satisfaction of life achievement every single day?
A rainfall shower-head.

Maiden's Wish

2011-09-27T11:44:00.002-05:00

If I could rise into the sky like the sun,

I would eternally hover near your head only --

Not around the forests, not around the fields,

Only by your window would I hover eternally.

S. Witwicki

I don't know if the maiden is wishing to be the one hovering eternally, or hoping to be the receptor of such passion. Either way, the message (and Chopin's interpretation) is both beautiful and disturbing. It's like a fairy tale, told and retold until it no longer carries the same message. Or, maybe it's that the message is no longer relevant. All I know is that when I listen to the piece and read the poem, I want to weep. It's not out of any intense identification with the writing, but because of everything we're taught and everything we simply can't have. It makes me want to say "I'm sorry." I really have no idea what I'm apologizing for, and maybe that makes it worse.

Rewriting the Script

2011-09-25T20:01:00.001-05:00

There's a certain way we've been taught life should go. We go to school, we get a job, we get married, we have kids, we live happily ever after with a mortgage, a dog, and social security. Picket fence or not, that's what we've been taught we should want.

And so when my life doesn't quite go according to that plan, when I find myself so far outside of the norm, I never really understand why.

I do things differently than a lot of other people; whether regarding career, triathlon, or relationships, my life just tends to be outside of the box.

But then, I don't truly think I'm different than any one else. It would be conceited to think that when comparing myself to the average girl walking down the street, I'm any better. It would be silly to think I'm more special, deserve more, think in a unique way...

I'm not any of those things.

The only reason it's different for me is because it is, actually, me. I'm the one feeling, understanding, pushing...

So recently, I've been pushed to redefine how I think about relationships. Of course, this is code for 'I've had to rethink my relationship in particular.' I've been resisting. There is comfort in the old script and a huge part of me likes that comfort.

But then, I did the requisite reading and I thought a whole hell of a lot, and... I believe I'm ready to try something new.

This isn't about what he wants, because that line of thinking is dangerous. I still need to have room for myself within any given relationship -- boyfriend, friend, or otherwise.

No, it's because I'm acknowledging I find myself in certain repetitive patterns. Corrected: I find myself in certain dysfunctional repetitive patterns. And so, perhaps right now I have the opportunity to break out of that. It's possible that if I allow myself to grow (and there will definitely be growing pains), I'll ultimately find myself in a place that actually works for me.

I'm scared of the pain. I get scared that I'll lose myself in the pain again. But, I suppose I simply have to trust -- trust myself to know what is right, and trust him to be the person I'll need him to be along the way.

But you know, if he isn't, that's okay too.

I may not have nine lives, but I still generally manage to land on my feet.

Party of One; You Don't Want to Be Invited

2011-09-06T20:38:00.001-05:00

Right now, I am throwing myself a pity party. No costume needed; it's just me, in bed, with my head in a pillow.

It's not because things aren't going well. In a lot of ways, they actually are.

It's just that I feel perpetually unlucky. So many opportunities that could have gone my way, but through no fault of my own, they just... didn't.

Some people, they just get breaks. And although I recognize there are many things that I've been lucky about too, I still feel... appropriately miserable right now.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe once in a while, we're allowed to be unhappy. Once in a while, we can revel in the fact that we spent the afternoon facedown, refusing to eat despite growling stomach protests. [Thanks, Nate.]

So, here could come the 'It's not fair' crying of an almost-30-year-old who lives alone with a cat and has a semi-precarious job situation...

But, I won't. I won't complain about what brought tears today, because it's... boring.

I'll just say that today there was a flood watch, so damn, [wait for it] the sun better come out tomorrow.

I'd like to believe it's more than just timing.

2011-09-05T09:40:00.000-05:00

Once in a while, I hear a performance that knocks the wind out of me. Physically, I might sitting in the Kimmel Center, or tuned in to 90.1 while commuting. But mentally? Mentally, I'm at the bottom of an ocean, gasping for air but awed by the strikingly beautiful underworld.

The feeling is one of complete intensity -- one that combines dispair with pleasure with worship. At that moment, nothing else matters.

And so, what is it that creates that (for lack of a better word) magic? Can it be recreated by an exact performance repeated by someone else? If the timing, dynamics, notes, emphasis are all rendered exactly the same, will the performance always be a carbon copy?

For that matter, can a computer create music the same way a human can?

These are not new questions, but a new(ish) relationship has unearthed viewpoints and discussions previously put to rest.

To me, it's a matter of sincerity. It can be related back to any language -- English, music, or otherwise.

When someone says "I love you," you either believe them or you don't. Sure, you take into account inflection and context, but more than that, you just know whether or not there is truth to their words. When the person means what they say, the words send a shiver down your spine, and your mouth turns upward. On the other hand, words (no matter how nice) that aren't backed with true feeling tend to fall flat, leaving the receiver empty and bored.

So, just as we learn signs of sincerity within our English language, musicians and music-lovers learn to understand what makes music ring true. Even if you can't quite put a label to it, you can still recognize when a performer is speaking honestly through their instrument.

I think most musicians (professional or amateur) can recall the first time they truly felt 'it' -- the time when the music was so overwhelmingly perfect that a true understanding was met. I can remember the exact instant -- where I was, what I was wearing, and of course what was playing on my discman. At that moment, I knew music would always be a fundamental part of my life.

The musical instrument is a technical device -- it's a tool used to create the music inside of us. Mastery of the instrument is of course necessary in order to allow for complete communication, but there is so much more to a performance than simple technical proficiency.

And as cheesy as it sounds, that's why I'm a musician.

I wrote a book.

2011-08-20T20:47:00.011-05:00

**I redid everything and I'm finally happy with the formatting. Just a note to the wise: never, EVER write anything in landscape format if you want to eventually get it published. Sheesh.**

Okay, so it's just a book of flute exercises.

And, they're stolen exercises at that.

But, they're a collection of the exercises that I've been taught over the years -- the ones that I find most valuable, and the ones that I teach all of my students. I really believe in these exercises; I have a very good technique, and it's because I diligently practiced these exercises until I could play them (literally) backwards and forwards.

[I don't often compliment myself, but when I do, it's because I'm confident with what I'm saying.]

Anyway, instead of continuing to explain how to tweak things that are already published endlessly printing out public-domain music, I decided to make a summer project of putting it all together. There are sections about creating a working exercise routine and practice schedule. I included explanations about how to get the most from each exercise, along with general practice suggestions, ideas about how to focus through a practice session, and tips for successful memorization. Then, I added a few indexes of flute etudes, repertoire, and useful online resources. I also included a list of books (musical and non-musical) I especially value.

It's nothing groundbreaking; it's stuff written and rewritten a million other places. I gave credit to all the original teachers and composers. However, I think my version does a good job of consolidating everything as conveniently and completely as possible.

There are probably typos. I went over it and over it and then over it again and I had a few people edit it for me, but still... there are probably typos.

So, if you're interested, or if you think anyone else might be interested, here it is again. Or, just click the link to the right.

Despite all the above disclaimers, I'm actually pretty darn proud of it. I really think it'll help my students.

We'll see if anyone shows up...

2011-08-17T12:14:00.004-05:00

Dear Music Majors and Faculty:

I was walking back from working at a coffee shop yesterday, enjoying the slightly cooler weather and knowing that my leisurely walking pace was one of luxury that would be hard to remember after next week.

As I was walking, I remembered something from my year at North Carolina School of the Arts. By the time he was teaching me, my flute teacher there was in his mid-sixties and was ready to retire. But, he told me that back in his prime, he used to run a lot. He would run from dorm to dorm, picking his students up and heading out for a few miles; those early morning runs were mandatory for his flute students. When he told me that, I remember feeling slightly envious of his past students that had gotten a more diligent, harder version of the teacher I had.

So, on my walk home, I smiled at the memory I hadn't recalled in a decade or so, and once again felt those unwelcome twangs of jealousy. And then, I had an idea.

This semester, I'll be staying over in Kutztown on Monday nights. This will enable me to attend more Monday night concerts, and it'll cut down on my commute time a bit. So, since I'll be around early on Tuesday mornings, I thought it would be a good idea to try leading a running group on Tuesday mornings.

I'm not going to obligate anyone to join me (I doubt I'd even be allowed to try), and I'm certainly not going to run from dorm to dorm (house to house) forcing people out of bed. If no one wants to come, the worst that happens is that I go out for a run by myself.

But, if you're interested, starting September 13, I'll be outside of OM31 on Tuesday mornings; we'll leave at 6:45AM sharp and run for 30-45 minutes. Come for as little or as much as you want, and run as quickly or slowly as you want. I'm not that fast myself. We'll be finished by 7:30, which should be plenty of time to shower and eat before your day starts.

I just thought it would be a good way to establish a bit of camaraderie, and of course, a little exercise is always a good idea.

Regardless of whether you're interested in joining me or you think I'm totally crazy, I hope you had a great summer and I'm looking to seeing you all soon.

Best,
Susanna/Dr. Loewy

Settling

2011-07-31T17:30:00.000-05:00

I don't mean that the desire to improve will stop. I don't even mean that I'm going to stop taking auditions.

I'm just beginning to see that all this angst (and all the need to have something that I might not ever get) is futile... not to mention entirely unnecessary.

So, what if I just say... I'm doing well.

It's not a fairytale ending just yet, but I think I need to learn to be happy without that happily-ever-after promise.

So yes, maybe some could say I'm settling for something other than my so-called dream.

But, I'm choosing to look at it through a slightly different angled lens. Can't it simply be more of a feeling of peace with myself? There's a lot of value in understanding that allowing myself to feel okay with where I am does not mean I'll be here forever.

And then I proceeded to puke all over the side of the bike path

2011-07-26T10:26:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I biked 24-ish miles. It was an easy, almost completely flat, ride. I was biking back home to Center City Philadelphia from Valley Forge -- it's a ride I've done 15-20 times and it's an easy, pleasant, 1.5 hour (stop lights and hill or two slow the progress on the middle section) ride.

I've been biking a lot more lately, and a 20-odd mile ride is no big deal, or at least it shouldn't be. I can actually bike 40-50 miles comfortably, and I can (almost) ride as fast as my mountain-bike toting boyfriend. (Nope, it doesn't bother me [much] that he can kick my butt on that hulk of a bike. He's a strong guy, and I like that, so I can't really complain [much], right?)

Okay, so that 24 mile flat ride? It shouldn't be a problem. As long as I don't get a flat tire, it should be an easy, non-eventful trip home. I thought maybe I'd go running later in the day too...

Problem #1: I'm female.
Problem #2: I thought I had another day or so til I had to really worry about such things.
Problem #3: My body hates me.

I haven't had such bad cramping in years. Usually, I think exercise helps, if I can get my bloated, miserable self out the door. But this time, with no available pain killers and fairly excessive heat/humidity, good GOD... I really considered calling friends to come pick me up.

For most of the ride, I stayed with the philosophy that if I just kept spinning my legs, I would eventually get home. I didn't want to stop because stopping meant that I had the possibility of never, ever arriving home to see Princess Jasmine. If I stopped, I might die a slow, cramp-ridden, bloody mess on the bike path in Conshohocken.

But then, as I was nearing the end of the bike path in Manayunk, I couldn't ignore the nausea. I leaned over a bench, aimed toward a trashcan, and hurled up the coffee and Muscle Milk Lite breakfast I had consumed an hour+ earlier. Then, I sat on the bench with my head in my knees and tried not to cry.

I guess it goes without saying, but I eventually made it home. I got back on the damn bike and pedaled the last 11 miles. It took 2.5 hours to complete 24 miles, and when I got home I downed a horse-pill sized pain killer, took a cold shower, and fell asleep in my robe.

The Manayunk hills were the only part that actually felt okay -- probably because I had to concentrate on something other than my uterus.

So yes, I perhaps gave into the pain. Maybe I could have toughened the hell up and not been so miserable. But you know? It hurt a whole effing lot. Muscle pain, I can take. "I can't breathe because I'm anaerobic" pain I can basically take too. But cramping, bloating, pain? It makes me want a sex-change operation.

Here's the good news: the new doctor-prescribed pain killers work. And more good news: according to the calendar, this shouldn't be a problem at Rev3 Cedar Point.

I'm the boss.

2011-07-25T23:54:00.006-05:00

I'm used to being the boss. I'm used to being the one in control, the one adored.

I'm a teacher; I'm a performer; debatably, I'm even a coach and an athlete. All-inclusive or otherwise, these are positions of authority and decisiveness.

But then, I write about falling for my teachers and I (at least try to) rethink: perhaps, in the long run, it's better to be less in control. Ultimately, maybe it's better to be the one who is learning and loving; the learned/loved past-tense versions can certainly be cooly desirable, but I'm not sure they can actually be a destination.

Because you know, as out-of-control as it may sometimes feel, it's pretty great to know that a relationship is pushing you in a direction that makes sense. Whether I'm spending time with a family member, a friend, or my boyfriend, I appreciate gaining something from the daily interactions.

So, here's my conclusion: any questions I might have (and yes, I do have them) are irrelevant. They're unimportant not only because I'm currently happy and healthy and all that other crap, but mainly because (in addition to the happy/healthy/crap prerequisite) I'm truly becoming a better version of myself.

And really, no matter who's the boss, we can't ask for much more than that.

Typos courtesy of my rushed responses...

2011-07-11T15:50:00.006-05:00

Despite typos, I thought it was worth reposting this FB conversation regarding the post below. I have more to say on the subject, but I'll leave it alone for now; it's time to do my long run of the week.

Friend: Any potential solutions for changing the situation?

Curly Su: Yes! I guess I touched on this in the post, but just barely... The more the conservatories can start looking to teach in a way that will prepare students, the more the newly-informed students will filter into the orchestral world. Curriculum-required courses on music business (finding grants and writing grants, for one), public speaking, music technology (from recording techniques to building your own website to incorporating technology/music), how to put together a children's/educational program, how to put together a successful concert in terms of programming -- and of course, those are just the basics. It may sound rudimentary, but even just exposing kids to that sort of education will start the wheels turning in new directions. If it's just ignored, it's as though any of that is 'bad.' Of course, that's what will help long-term (could make a lasting difference in 10 years), and it's necessary. As far as what to do for your organization, now... I don't know the particulars of what goes on the in structure of the NYC Opera, so it's hard to say. But, instead of losing the Lincoln Center, is there any way to look for different types of programming (and therefore different types of audiences/support)? That sounds really basic, and I'm sure it's a subject that has been broached. But I guess my point is that the organization most likely has to find its own niche. It has to establish itself as something different from the Met (and as something important in its own right). To be honest, I think it HAS, to a large extent -- it just has to do it more. How can it do that? I'm sure there are many different ways... the problem comes with figuring out how to actually implement change in a swift (but not detrimental) way.

Curly Su: And so, I certainly didn't mean to come across as someone who critiques from the sidelines. However, I certainly have no power when it comes to any of this, so aside from continuing to do what I'm doing, it seems relatively futile to put myself on an extended soapbox. I practice what I preach as much as I can by being a Teaching Artist for the Philly Orchestra, giving my students as much knowledge as I have, and partaking in every type of performance that comes my way. But ultimately, the change will occur when the critical mass is thinking along the same lines.

Friend: Those are all very interesting and interconnected issues. I don't think you're critiquing from the sidelines at all; in fact, a huge majority of musicians will have to confront these issues at one time or another in their careers, many on a continuing basis. I think conservatories have taken some important steps in preparing students for the classical music world, and most of the classes you suggest are indeed current offerings, and have been for a decade or so. There are also organizations which are doing the important work of educating our children in the face of arts funding cuts (The Academy/Carnegie being one of the more prominent examples). Young musicians are flocking to those programs, finding new ways to sell the classics as well as promoting the new and interesting in music. All this is to say that I don't think these problems you mention are all necessarily the fault of musicians. There are problems finding qualified administrators and management teams to run some of the larger companies (City Opera is certainly one example, and probably Philly). The other, more urgent problem is a larger societal shift in values: all educational and arts institutions are increasingly viewed as "elitist" and therefore not worth funding. The teaching professions are given lip service but no one wants to pay the taxes necessary to retain teachers at a living wage. And the mood of the country has decidedly shifted toward union-busting, with all the blame placed on the "ridiculous demands" of working folks and unions while letting management off the hook for poor performance. These issues affect the arts in a big way, especially when many folks are out of work and/or kicked out of their homes. And, honestly, it is difficult to justify why the arts should be immune to all that. Why should be be getting public funding when the states are bankrupt, corporations have outsourced all the jobs, and there are 43 million people on food stamps? And how, as artists, can we engage a starving, uneducated public? These are all complex questions, with answers that go way beyond the scope of what conservatories can offer.

Curly Su: Of course! Definitely not all the fault lies with musicians, but I suppose I was just saying that musicians are the ones who are going to have to advocate for themselves -- as you say, others aren't necessarily going to speak on our behalf, and nor should they, really. It seems to me that we, as a whole, don't even know HOW to go about speaking in a language that speaks to a broader audience. I agree that we have a tendency to come across as elitist snobs and therefore as irrelevant. It's interesting that you say these course offerings have been going on for a decade, because I've been in school within that time, and while teachers were generally willing to help along those lines, there wasn't any formal training that I remember. Perhaps it's the fault of my schooling, but it seems like the trend in other schools has been pretty similar, at least from what I know from my peers. It is also possible that I had my head fully up my ass and just ignored the offerings. Regardless, I'm glad to know that's all changing. I agree that it's management that primarily influences these organizations, but I also think that much of management teams start as musicians, or at least music-lovers. So, I was just getting at the fact that we have to change the ideal from the bottom-up -- whether that be in conservatory training or in the education in music management degrees (something of which I know almost nothing about). Programs like The Academy and other organizations that employ Teaching Artists are HUGELY important, as are grass-routes efforts from musicians. Like I said before, I think a great example is the TCO's efforts to have players in more accessible venues. We can look at the problem as a global trend of impossibility (unions/uneducated public/etc), or we can do what little we can, as musicians, to influence as much as possible.

Friend: Those are all great points, especially your larger point (which your blog post hints at, and which I missed on the first read) about how it is becoming more and more necessary for musicians to learn the language and business skills of the corporate world. I don't mean to be unnecessarily negative, just realistic about the kinds of challenges we face. As public funding dries up and arts institutions become fully privatized, we will be competing for the same market as Justin Bieber, P-Diddy, and the rest. The current business model of most symphony orchestras could use some revamping, it's true. My point about administrators is something you alluded to: The musicians and music-lovers running these institutions, largely because their lack of business background, have not often done a good enough job in making their case for viability, while the non-musician, "corporate CEO" type of manager has been too ruthless in "cutting costs" in an effort to balance budgets. They forget that the players are not just the organization's workers, but also its product. Cut funding, and the product suffers. Wall Street companies justify their outrageous bonuses by saying they need that amount of money to attract and retain talent. It works the same in any organization, including schools and orchestras (which is why this pseudo-argument about "overpaid teachers" is so ridiculous). Look at Detroit -- many of its top players have moved on to other jobs because of the drastic cuts the orchestra had to take. And it will certainly happen at City Opera and other places as well. I love the idea of modifying the concert experience to reflect the 21st century -- why do we have to play in tuxes/tails, for example? And I like the idea of more accessible venues (although, that can be taken too far -- look what happened to Josh Bell when he played solo Bach on the D.C. Metro platform). Creativity will be required of all of us as we face the next decades. I just hope we don't have to "dumb ourselves down", and that we can find the right balance between preserving the old and ushering in the new.

Curly Su: Perfectly said, and exactly what I meant. Thank you. You should write my blog. One alternative is to follow the model of what the Louisiana Philharmonic is attempting -- this is, to create their board and administration by combining both musicians and classic administrators. It takes all kinds, but more importantly (as you say), it takes a balance of the 'kinds.' There are problems within the LPO's joint administration model too -- there probably isn't any perfect solution -- but it's perhaps an avenue worth exploring, especially in the cases of some current management teams that seem to be functioning at a subpar level. Meanwhile, if I can stop looking for that perfect pair of concert-black pants, I'll be completely ecstatic.

/FB

One more thing: This last idea that the LPO has instigated with some degree of success is something that I think could be really valuable. But, instead of implementing a board with 2 types of specialties (musicians who don't know how to administrate and administrators who perhaps don't know enough about music), I think a viable solution would be to have each individual be educated enough to fit either role. Otherwise, you have a classic two-party system that simply butts heads and votes on their side of the aisle without real regard to or understanding of the issues.

Okay, I said I wasn't going to keep blabbing, and I won't... time to get my vacation-lazy butt out the door.

Inspired by a recent debate

2011-07-11T11:35:00.001-05:00

The Cleveland Orchestra (arguably the best orchestra in the world) is heading to NYC to play a set of concerts pairing Bruckner and Adams. Are we really going to say it's not a good idea?

I think it's too bad that the field of classical music (and especially classical music criticism) seems to attract a pedantic, stick-in-the-mud type of person.

Not that this is by any means always the case, but it does seem that the discipline needed to be a successful musician is too often paired with an unwillingness to change or accept anything other than the status quo.

Yes, there is a time and a place for understanding the canon of [Western] music history, and such things are certainly worth studying in depth (you can't attempt algebra or calculus until you thoroughly know basic arithmetic). But, in order to survive, to keep interesting audience's new and evolving ears, hell, in order to grow in its own right, classical music BETTER allow itself to change.

And now, I'm not just talking about editions or concert programming or even teaching methodology. I'm talking about conservatory training and classical music as a whole, and how musicians and musician-lovers can't seem to break out of the mold of something that started in the US more than 100 years ago (Juilliard first opened its doors in 1905). Everything else around us has changed in that time period; are we seriously saying there aren't new models of learning and performing that might be worth incorporating?

I'm not discounting my education. I had absolutely amazing teachers, and my scholastic education trained me to do just what I need to do, musically speaking. But, as we're all having to adapt to new types of performances (with speaking roles and technology and who the hell knows what), shouldn't there at least be a some sort of instruction about that, at the very least?

Sorry y'all, but simply being able to play your instrument well is just not enough anymore, and you know? I actually think that's a good thing. As it becomes less feasible to be a lone specialist, musicians have the capability -- no, the necessity -- of being more well-rounded people.

Yet, music schools continue to produce an old style of musician into a world of classical music where even some of the Top 5 orchestras are struggling. These orchestras are learning how to create a product that remains viable (TCO's series at the Happy Dog Bar, The Philadelphia Orchestra's recent reorganization); shouldn't the modifications start at the beginning, with the students?

Of course musicians and concert-goers are reluctant to change. Who can blame them? They're only reflecting what they've been taught their whole life. Throughout history, music tends to reflect back on society's change. Where the other arts mirror current events, music drags behind, sometimes by as much as 50 years. But now, as our world is changing at a faster-than-ever-before pace, we need to HURRY UP. We need to ingrain ourselves into the cultural fabric now before it's too damn late, and before the world forgets about us entirely.

So, as The Cleveland Orchestra gets ready to play concerts combining pieces of German Romanticism with those of Post-Minimalism, I guess I just wonder... what's the problem here?

And, I don't even really like Bruckner all that much, but that's a story for another post.

Sitting Sweaty

2011-07-10T19:28:00.013-05:00

That's not meant to be a direct opposite of 'sitting pretty,' but still some sort of comparison.

I just got back from a bike ride. I rode 20 flat miles that felt more like a Sunday stroll than a form of exercise, but I still managed to get myself outside and (more importantly) out of a funk, so I'll consider it a success. I'm thinking about a real bike trip down to the beach sometime later this week.

Regarding the issue of the previous post, I think I was just letting my drama-queen-demon get too near the surface. I'd delete the post if I weren't wholeheartedly opposed to that (unless completely necessary; there are always exceptions*).

Yes, there are insecurities that I feel, and yes, they are indicative of some form of reality. But, is it as extreme as I was letting myself believe? Of course not. Things are going well, and I don't have any true complaints.

So now, I think it's time for me to STFU and get on with my day. I need a shower.

*Always exceptions: the phrase doesn't make sense.

Starting over, again.

2011-07-10T13:54:00.002-05:00

So, I've had 2, maybe 3, long-term relationships.

But in the midst of that, there have been quite a few others -- those are the seemingly countless 2 month relationships that barely get off the ground before they come crashing down. Sometimes those are harder to get over than the longer ones -- probably because the intensity never left. They didn't die naturally; they had a premature (perhaps never should have been born in the first place) rapid-fire death.

Each time, it gets harder to start over. There are more limitations, more deal-breakers, there is more proverbial baggage to wheel. Each time, I'm more hesitant to allow myself to be truly seen. Thus, each time I'm a little bit more of a shell. I wonder why he likes me, because I feel like I'm just a facade of myself.

Yet each time, I'm increasingly impatient to get to the point where I last left-off, even if I acknowledge that's an unfair expectation.

It takes time to get to know someone, it takes time to trust them and to let them trust you. It even takes time to know whether or not they're worth your time.

Of course, you have your initial checkboxes, impressions, attractions. But then the list gets longer and more complicated and you/I start to wonder how it all fits together. I also wonder how I'm fitting into his own set of lists, and I worry the equilibrium is off.

[He knows this. We talked.]

Music has lasted throughout it all. Music is a huge part of who I am. I don't want to be the sort of selfish musician who always puts music and career first; at this point, I know perfectly well that happiness lies in living a complete life. The career and the relationship are certainly aspects of what I think will create a calm satisfaction, but either one by itself is not enough.

So, I just keep doing what I'm doing. I'm trying not to be too intense too soon, because that tends to scare people away. And as always, I'm doing what I can to make career aspirations a reality. In both cases (career/boyfriend), I'm enjoying what I have because both are on the verge of being legitimately awesome.

No one can tell the future, but I can certainly help to shape mine. I suppose it shouldn't matter how many more times I have to start over.

This is what it is...

2011-07-08T11:07:00.004-05:00

As I recently wrote to my audition psychologist...

I know it shouldn't be about the auditions. But, they're part of the process, like it or not. So, I somehow have to be able to approach them without feeling like I'm going to throw up, which is how I feel now even simply thinking about them. Even more than being detrimental to the bank account, auditions are dangerous for me because I can fall into depression pretty easily, both before and after judgement day. I have to figure out some way to avoid the millions of questions running through my head every time I think about any sort of competitive event.

[Regarding the work you've given me,] I'm making an effort, but I'm not putting my whole self into it. I guess there is still some sort of internal resistance that I'm fighting. I was looking at the bios of some flutists in major orchestras lately (spurred by openings in the orchestras; I wanted to see who else was in the sections), and I realized these people (with orchestral jobs!) don't necessarily have starting-resumes/credentials that are any better than mine. I think I've always had this sort of self-degradation about the fact that I didn't get into Juilliard or Curtis, and somewhere, I've felt like it's all been futile. Never mind that some of the best flutists in the world believe in me -- I don't 100% believe in myself, and that's pretty hard to conquer.

In general, on a daily basis, I'm fine with my playing. I'm a very good flute player. Sure, I want to continue improving, but overall, I like the way I sound and what I can do musically. But, auditions turn me into a basket-case. The thought of being stuck in another green room with all the flutists I know and don't know... ugh. It makes me want to hide in bed with my cat and a bottle of wine.

It's a combination of believing and not-believing. It's faith versus reality. I believe in myself and what I can do -- I believe in my potential and what I've already accomplished. But, in a competitive setting, I lose all of that. All I can think about is that I've never won before; I'm not (and never was) a hotshot kid. Most of all, I lose sense of myself as a musician. I forget that I believe in myself until I'm driving home in a daze, not knowing whether to laugh, scream, or cry.

Then, and only then, do I want another chance.

How are you supposed to blog when you're content?

2011-07-08T09:39:00.002-05:00

Perhaps angst does inspire creativity. I'm a blob. A happy blob, but a blob nonetheless.

Look what I found today.*

2011-06-17T11:14:00.002-05:00

I haven't had a landline since oh... 3 apartments ago. That means I've moved this guy several times; he** was only to be found when I was searching for my harddrive and computer speakers. (I found both of those things too, by the way. My basement is a wonderful place, complete with 650c bike tubes left over from my first tri-bike, and many a biting spider. I'm not sure which is more disconcerting -- the bites or my extreme disorganization/packratty-ness.***)

*What do you think the age cutoff is where people actually know what this thing is? 15 or so?

**Of course it's a 'he.' Only a male would stick himself into something else only to result in the creation of more of himself, complete with the occasional circuit blow-out and fire-squad necessity.

***In my defense, all the electronic stuff was in the same box.**** It's just that my 500 square foot apartment doesn't yield much room for boxes of adapters. I trip over myself enough as it is. I have bruises to prove it.

****This is mainly due to my Aunt Jennifer's amazing packing job when I left NJ. She even twist-tied all the cords so they wouldn't get tangled.*****

*****So, I guess there isn't much legitimacy to my defense.

Riding 3,600 miles across the country will do that, I guess...

2011-06-03T16:53:00.003-05:00

I just went for a bike ride -- not a long one, just a quick hour to remind my legs how to spin. My good bike is in the shop, so I rode my comparatively crappy, entry-level Specialized Dolce instead.

Of course my Diva is a much smoother ride, and of course its beauty rates on a different scale -- it's that of a super model, at least in my eyes.

But, I gotta say -- my little Dolce (even with its girl-next-door aluminum frame and Sora components) still feels more comfortable than anything else I've ever ridden.

Three years post-Bike and Build, and the bike still feels like home.

QOTD

2011-06-03T12:59:00.002-05:00

I felt ridiculous being asked what I thought about my writing, because it's not something I ever think about, because I've never thought it was anything I ought to be thinking about. Because, really, there is no time to think about it and, if there were time to think about it, I would resist the temptation, because, in my judging mind, thinking about one's own writing is like masturbating on yourself while you're masturbating to a video of yourself masturbating.

From today's post by one of my favorite bloggers, Mr. Apron

"Okay kids, write your Haikus down on these index cards and hold 'em up when you're done..."

2011-06-03T12:28:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, when teaching my 4th graders in Camden, I had them turn in the 'composer Haikus' they had been working on over the past couple of weeks. They had written a Haiku about their class composer and then put a rhythm to it; the rhythm also had to fit the 5/7/5 syllabic format of a Haiku. So, the first line of the rhythm had 5 beats, the second 7, and so on. We're working on their end of the year presentations and these Haikus (both written word and rhythmic) will be incorporated.

Anyway, I'm walking around and picking up the finished Haikus, when I feel a little tap on my arm. I turn around and see one of the most reserved kids in the class staring up at me through little round Harry Potter glasses. His body shape matches his glasses, and his nickname amongst the teachers is 'Professor.'

"Yes, Dante?"

"Miss Susanna." He starts quietly, but also firmly.

"Hmm?" I'm distracted, pacing around and waiting for everyone to be done so I can move on to the main part of the lesson plan.

"I'm going need another index card."

"Why? You already turned yours in. Did you write another Haiku?" I'm used to kids 'messing up' and insisting they need another clean sheet of paper so they can start over, but it's something I try not to indulge. There's no need for perfection on these assignments.

"No. I didn't write another. I'm just going to need another card. In fact, I'll need quite a few more. A couple dozen should do it."

At this point I can't help but grin. This kid is beyond the pale, too cute for me to even think about denying.

"Okay, Dante. That's fine. Here you go." I hand him a huge stack of cards, because really, why the hell not? It's the last class of the day, the school year is winding up, and having to buy a new pack of index cards next fall isn't a big deal.

"Thank you, Miss Susanna. This'll do." He walked away without breaking stride or expression, but he held those cards firmly in his hands for the rest of class; his face definitely beamed a little bit brighter.

Remember when school supplies were that exciting? It makes me giggle to think about how serious he was (and is) about those cards. I hope he puts them to good use, musical or otherwise.

TIL: Hot tea fixes everything.

2011-06-01T16:15:00.001-05:00

I'm going to need some structure this summer. This is a hell of a lot of free time with no real goals in sight... perhaps I used to be the type of person who thrived in that environment, but these days I need a finish line.

The tangible finish line of a race? Those are set. I'll be at Rev3 Quassy this weekend to volunteer. My bike is currently in the shop (there was a Friday a few weeks ago when I really shouldn't have gotten out of bed; everything went wrong, all day...), I've only recently been back the pool after a 2+ week ban because of an eye explosion (don't feel sorry for me; it was my fault). So... I'm not going to race. But, I'll be there, meeting teammates Saturday at dinner and promoting Tri-Swim and course-marshaling on Sunday; I'm hoping that the excitement of the race pumps me up for the rest of the tri-season.

I've been training. Sort of. I mean... I just ran 8 miles. That counts, right? I can swim 2000m easily, I can bike 40+ miles in an afternoon, and I can certainly run. But, having to put it all together? I'm not there yet. Plus... I'm so damn slow, especially on the bike. I know I shouldn't care, but my ego is having a hard time with it.

My A race of the season will be the half IM at Cedar Point in September. Then, I'll also be in South Carolina for another half in October. In November I'll run the Philly Half Marathon. Meanwhile, I'll train.

And with the flute? Well... that's a little bit more opaque for now. I might have some auditions in the fall, depending on the success of pre-screening tapes. But for now, I'm just staying in shape and working to fix what goes on in my head.

Someone recently told me that he had "never seen someone play so many games with themself." True or not, I'm not really very proud to even be in the running. So, I'm trying (after 10+ years of auditions) to be proactive about it. Seems to be helping a bit, but I have to say -- it's hard work. Everything from my daily scale routine to the way I brush my teeth takes more mental stamina. It can be sort of overwhelming, but hell... if it improves my audition-taking ability by even 10%, I'm all for it.

So, I suppose right now I'm going to drink my tea and work on my lesson plans for the rest of the year. My college job has been over for a month, but these elementary school kids go til the end of June -- with no air conditioners. The second floor classrooms feel like hell's sauna (heat rises, I've been told), but since I only have to be there once a week, I'm going to refrain from complaining. Much.

Then... I have all sorts of summer projects to conquer, once I'm truly free. I've assigned one to each week of July and August; maybe that'll help me actually get them done, instead of merely staring a long list of seemingly impossible tasks.

I feel kind of down and out, but for no real reason. Nothing is wrong, or if something is wrong, I can't give it a name. And no, I don't have my period. I'm thinking it's just coming down from the busy season, so I'm going to try scheduling my days and giving myself daily/weekly/monthly goals.

Also, I'm going to allow myself to drink a glass or two of wine in the evenings without guilt, even if I'm alone.

Note to self: Time off is nice, but it can certainly also give me a bit too much time to dwell, to create problems where there are none.

Note to you: I realize this post is boring. Don't read it if you're not interested. #irony

New Orleans, one last time

2011-05-24T14:07:00.002-05:00

The water is only about 3 feet from the edge of the levee.

Dad, insisting he'd be able to sleep on the benches that are curved in order to deter vagrants.

Every year growing up, my sister used to sit between these two and we'd snap a picture. My sister wasn't there this time, so we all had to fill in for her... Our butts were too big to fit in-between, so we improvised.

No comment.

Jackson Square. Again.

Used book store on Chartres Street

Cutest little house...

Walking up Esplanade

Spanish moss in Audubon Park

King Fishers in Audobon Park...

King Fisher guarding the nest. There were 2 babies that were about a day from flying.

I loved running through Audubon Park. The French Quarter is fun, but I was glad to be staying in the Garden District this time -- gave me a chance to see some different areas of the city.

Produce THIS

2011-05-19T19:30:00.002-05:00

I've turned into one of those people who can't relax.

I feel guilty when I waste even a minute.

[I might be watching Dexter, but I'm doing situps and pushups at the same time.]

Idleness makes me depressed, so I tend to busy myself with tasks and oh-so-important work.

I really feel that if I'm not being productive, I'll spontaneously combust. Or more accurately, I'll wake up tomorrow at age 50, running in place.

So I keep moving, I keep doing things. [run, log the run, practice, log the practice, respond to emails, blog, rehearse, teach, practice, repeat ad nauseum]

And that's just it: I'm nauseous. I need to stop, I need to breathe.

Friends help. Dating an awesome guy helps.

But ultimately, I shouldn't be relying on other people to make me comfortable with a break of routine. I should want to explore on my own. Because really, why would doing the same thing over and fucking over make me progress?

As a musician, athlete, or simply as a person, you have to vary the routine, or you'll get stuck, you'll sink in quicksand, you won't expand your skill-set, you'll get bored, and dammit you WILL wake up at age 50 running in place.

So, I'm going to learn. I'm going to learn to be comfortable with taking a few minutes to do nothing. It's not even a 'reflection time.' I'm not going to think about what I can do differently or better or anything else.

I'm just going to allow myself to have some fun. I'm going to enjoy being unproductive.

The Day After

2011-05-18T13:29:00.005-05:00

It's actually 2 days after...

But, yesterday was spent moping around my parents' house in Lafayette and feeling sorry for myself.

Today, I'm ready to move on.

I wasn't upset right after the audition. [For a variety of reasons, I'm not sure I really wanted the job.] After I played (and verified I didn't advance), I left New Orleans, drove home, and actually had a really nice remainder of the day.

Then, yesterday I woke up pissed.

I'm still not actually worried about screwing up this particular audition and not winning the job.

But, I am sick and fucking tired of not playing well at auditions.

When I perform, I rise to the damn occasion. Whether in an orchestra, chamber group, solo recital, I enjoy performing, and I do it well. (I don't often engage in self-congratulation, so bear with me for a minute.)

I'm glad I enjoy performing, because if I didn't, there wouldn't be much point in pursuing a performing career.

Vain as I might be, I don't play the flute so that I can admire myself in the mirror while standing in the practice corner of my 500-square-foot apartment. I play the flute because I love being able to give something of myself, and music is what I best understand...

So, great for me: I'm a good performer.

But, auditions? Damn, that's something else entirely. I've only played well at maybe 3-4 auditions in my life, and I've taken too many to comfortably count. I don't want to think about all the money spent (enough for a down payment on a house) or the auditions booklets made (currently stacked in my music shelves).

I'd chalk it all up to experience, but the thing is... I don't think I'm actually learning from them anymore. I'm repeating myself. I'm repeating this process of going to an audition, playing mediocrely-at-best, and then leaving with a shrug, thinking... "Well, if I'd played better, maybe I'd have advanced."

When I do play my best, the committee notices me. My best playing is good enough to win a job. [I'm not silly enough to think that I could win ANY job. I'm not going to win Principal Flute in the Los Angeles Philharmonic, for example, but... there are certainly jobs out there that I am qualified to win.]

Sure, there are still no guarantees, but at least when I play my best, I'm in the freaking running. When I sound like a 5th-grader who can't control her vibrato or breath control? Well, then I certainly can't fault the panel for giving me the dismissive "Thank you."

Sure, it hurts to play your best and not advance, but at least then you know that you did what you could do.

So, I'm done with this crap. I'm done with the second guessing and wondering and I really never again want to think the words "If only... ."

No, I'm not giving up. I'm just done with the mental disability I seem to have placed on myself. It's no longer about lack of ability. I'm not the best flute player in the world, but at this point... I've put in the hours of practicing to learn how to master the flute; it's time to figure out how to conquer the self-doubt.

So, I'm going to try Don Greene's philosophy. I'll do everything he says through his books and audio lessons and I'll even schedule a private session or however many sessions it takes. I'll abandon all skepticism, and I'll just do my absolute best to fix my head. I obviously haven't been able to control the voices on my own, so it's time to ask for some help.

It'll be a worthy summer project.

It's easier when it doesn't mean so damn much.

2011-05-15T20:24:00.004-05:00

Auditions used to feel like life or death. I used to go into them thinking "If only I get this job, then my life will be great; then, my life can start."

But now?

I have a good job, one that makes me content. Even more than that, I have a life in Philadelphia. Things there are going well.

Sure, I still have aspirations, but... I hope that never ends -- it's what makes me continue to improve, it's what makes me work hard on a daily basis.

So, somehow this audition doesn't feel as horrible. I hung out in New Orleans today, warmed up, played through the audition list, and just generally feel... fine.

I'll play tomorrow; I'll do my best tomorrow, and if I advance, then that's great. Hell, if I win the job (it would start a whole new, kind of unexpected, chapter) that would probably be pretty great as well.

But, if I don't advance -- if what I have to offer isn't what they want -- that doesn't mean I'm any less of a flute player or musician. It just means there is another situation out there that will work better. After all, if they don't want me playing in their orchestra, then I certainly don't want to be playing in their orchestra. It would be a bad fit.

In other words: I wouldn't chase after a guy that didn't obviously didn't like me, so why should I act any differently for a job?

And, if I don't advance, that just means I can drive to Lafayette a few hours earlier and enjoy being home.

Either way, I get to play Rite of Spring later this week, and that's pretty cool.

Romeo Catchers

2011-05-15T18:11:00.002-05:00

The spikes on the column are called 'Romeo Catchers.' They're meant to stop anyone (romantic intent or otherwise) from climbing up to the balcony from street level.

New Orleans, you're awesome.

This Always Happens

2011-05-10T10:47:00.004-05:00

A week or so before an audition, it never fails... I forget how to play the flute.

My embouchure feels foreign, the flute is unresponsive, and I just generally... hate it.

When I practice, I can't concentrate on a damn thing. [Upside: My apartment is effing spotless.]

Sometimes it's because I've over-practiced in the weeks prior. Sometimes it's because I haven't practiced enough...

And then other times, this time...

It's my head.

70 flute players expected, a split committee for the preliminary round... for a job that would barely put one above the poverty level.

Sigh. I just really, truly, don't want to take the audition. I don't want this mental angst beforehand, I don't want the inevitable depression afterward.

I'm feeling fine, even... happy. So, why am I going to do this to myself?

Well, I guess it's because I would like the job, and there is no other means to the end.

But then again? What I'm doing right now is great. I love the teaching, I love the freelancing. Sure, I'd prefer to be playing in a stable group; more than anything else, I'd love to feel part of a team of performing musicians.

But, I have a career in music, I'm doing well monetarily, and I've fallen head over heels with the city of Philadelphia.

So, one of these days, I'm going to have to learn to be content with what I'm doing.

What is it about the elusive orchestral career that makes musicians feel legitimate? I'm a musician, but somehow I always feel like I'm apologizing for labeling myself as such, simply because I don't have a full-time position in an orchestra.

And look: I'll go down to the audition, I'll play my best, and who knows? Maybe I'll win the damn thing. I'm not knocking myself out of the running before I even start.

I'm just beginning to acknowledge that there are, in fact, different paths that can lead to musical satisfaction. And someday, that needs to feel like something to celebrate instead of some sort of concession.

I'll know I'm there when I can go to an orchestra concert without feeling like my guts are being pulled out of my face with a wire hanger.

Airport Flowers

2011-05-09T09:35:00.003-05:00

The Usual Warning Signs

2011-05-08T22:32:00.006-05:00

A couple of weeks in, there are usually warning signs -- little behavioral quirks that spark the voices in my head... the voices that say 'Hey... watch it, back away now. This won't work out.'

Sometimes I listen to the voices, and other times I don't. Inevitably though, they're maddeningly, frustratingly, right.

This time though? I can't stop smiling. I look like a goddamn schoolgirl; I can't wipe the idiotic grin off my face.

Glancing through the archives of my blog earlier today, I saw the posts I wrote about the last guy I dated, the last guy I allowed myself to fall for. But with that guy? I heard the voices all along. And the whole time we were dating? I was a nervous wreck; I've since pulled gray hairs that were the exact length of the relationship. I was petrified from the start, because I knew it would be a mess.

But this guy? I like him. Hmm... it's fair to say I like him a lot. And... amazingly, I'm not scared.

It feels right, and somehow the ease of it has... well... put me at ease. Usually, I have to fight to make things work; I usually have to ignore huge chunks of a person in order to enjoy their company.

Here/Now: The only thing that scares me is that he is legitimately smarter than me. I'm not used to feeling so challenged. Don't get me wrong: I like it. It just makes me a bit more insecure than normal. And well, I'll admit it makes me wonder if he'll get bored. I mean -- I know I come off as supercool at the onset, musician/triathlete/professor and all... but what happens when that wears off? Will he still like me once I admit I can't name all 50 states?

But... I'm not going to worry about it. I like admiring the person I'm dating, and with any luck, it'll continue to be reciprocated.

So, we're still just beginning to get to know each other, and certainly no one can tell the future. But, this feeling of hopeful happiness? It's awesome, and it's regardless of anything else, it's making me believe that I'm capable of falling for the right type of person again.

View of Philly at the end of our walk/museum trip on Saturday afternoon; could the day have been any more perfect?

Not my usual level of crazy

2011-04-29T20:23:00.008-05:00

In general, when I'm happy, I have this underlying sense of dread. It doesn't matter if the source of the so-called-contentment is music or men or friends or sport. When will it end? How much will it hurt? Sometimes the fear of future pain is enough to make me back away. I don't care if you call me chicken-shit or tell me it's lame to hide in my bedroom; if the low is going to make me curl up into a ball of fetal-positioned-mess, I'd really rather not have the high.

But this time, for whatever reason, I'm fine. Better than fine. I feel cloud-floating happy, but without the foreboding Autumn inevitability of an impending Winter of our Discontent. [damn that was cheesy] My students even noticed my improved mood; perhaps I've been less cranky lately...

Maybe it's because I learned a thing or two from my past relationships.
Maybe it's because I now know exactly what I want and (more importantly) what I need, in order to be content and comfortable.
Maybe it's because I feel secure professionally.
Maybe it's because I know in my gut that I can trust him... and I've learned to trust my gut.

But you know -- I don't have to over-analyze this.

[What? ME, not think through something until it's buried 6-feet-under?!? Hell must have just frozen over; the Saints must have won the Superbowl.)

I met someone, and we can leave it at that.

It only takes a couple of weeks.

2011-04-25T07:44:00.002-05:00

Week 2 of eating better and running regularly (New Orleans' southern food and lack of exercise made me feel like a lethargic cow) and already, I feel like a different person.

I look more like myself too (my legs have their muscle again, for starters), but all in all... it's just a matter of feeling like I can once again conquer the world.

It's something to remember, you know? That even when you're out of shape (flute-wise, athletically, or even emotionally...), the recovery time really isn't that long. Spend a little bit of time working on yourself, and you'll see results.

I like it.

It's not OK, Cupid.

2011-04-25T07:36:00.005-05:00

Alright, so I've met 5 different people via internet dating over the past few weeks.

3 of them were complete disasters (for 3 entirely different reasons), 1 was okay but not good enough to warrant seeing him again, and 1 was... really great.

But this is not meant to be a critique of online dating or anything else as prematurely judgmental.

Just something I've noticed -- 3 of the 5 gave me a hug when we first met. Not only 'gave' me a hug, but actually really forced me to hug them.

I understand the attitude. It's as though they feel if they just get over the weirdness and establish a bit of familiarity, then all awkwardness will immediately be gone. And, maybe that works with some people.

But, with me? I need to warm up to the person. Hugging strangers on the street is not normal for me. And yes, we've exchanged a few cute, hopefully witty emails, but it's certainly nothing that warrants a hug. For me, a hug is pretty damn personal, and to hug someone that you've never even seen before?

Ugh. It really puts me on edge. It sends me back into my little tortoise-shell of isolation, which isn't exactly the best way to start getting to know someone.

So, I don't know if there is ultimately any sort of correlation between disaster-dates and forced-huggers, but they've definitely been one and the same thus far. For me.

It's not like I'm some kind of prudish cow, you know. Spend the evening getting to know me (and I you) in-real-life, and if we have a good time, of course I'll give you a hug. Or a kiss. Or maybe more. But, the point is (okay, perhaps there are a couple of points) that whatever contact we have or don't have, 1) it has to be mutual and 2) it has to be genuine.

Look, I'm the first to admit: it's hard out there. Dating, in general, really stinks. Sure, it can be exciting and fun, but damn -- it can also be grey-hair inducing or even boring. I think it's equally stressful for guys and girls alike. I guess I've just been surprised with the lack of ability to read body language. Or maybe, it's just further proof that we don't all speak the same mental language; the meaning can be different, even if the words are the same.

On that note... maybe I'm making too much of a hug.

I think I finally figured out how to play the flute.

2011-04-24T21:31:00.005-05:00

Tonight, while I was practicing, it suddenly dawned on me...

I've been playing the flute like it's a piano.

I mean, I played the piano first, so it kind of makes sense.

For the past bagillion years (or, 5th grade til now), I've been moving my fingers over the flute keys as though they were piano keys. I was actively pressing each key down.

But the flute is not a piano. The flute keys are not pushing hammers into strings; they're instead simply closing a tone-hole. You shouldn't have to have such an active technique on the flute. It should be easy. Or, way easier than I was making it.

I have decent technical facility anyhow, so maybe that's why no one ever noticed. Or maybe people noticed and just didn't say anything. Or, maybe they said something and I was just too stubborn to hear.

Recently, for the first time in my life, I've been having some pain in my hands. I haven't said anything to anyone because I really didn't want it to be true. I didn't even want to admit it to myself. But... there was definitely a soreness after practicing. It's been more irritating than anything else, but also more than I could legitimately ignore. A bit of wrist cracking, and overall, just enough discomfort to make me want to shake my hands out.

I don't ever get that from typing, so that made me evaluate what exact motion I was using to play the flute. I type quickly and accurately, barely brushing my hands over the keys; I'm an efficient typer.

And so, tonight I played the flute as though it was a computer keyboard instead of that of a piano. And, I'll be damned, but all the tension in my playing, along with that in my hands? Freaking disappeared.

My trills were more smooth, my breathing less labored, my neck wasn't sore, and even my tone opened up a whole hell of a lot. It's bizarre.

I'm the first to admit that breakthroughs like this don't always last. Who knows how it'll feel tomorrow? And, even if it is a true fix-it, it's not like I'm going to be able to change my flute MO overnight. I really had to concentrate to keep my hands light, and the second I had to think about something else in the music, I reverted to my old method of playing. That goes without saying though, I suppose.

But, hey -- no need to be Little Miss Debbie-Downer about it. I figured something out tonight, and that feels pretty awesome.

I thought it was a clever game.

2011-04-24T17:22:00.002-05:00

He knew exactly how to push my buttons. I swear, few people have the ability to piss me off in 4 seconds or less, but he was one of them.

I thought it was because he understood me, somehow. I thought he was just kidding around, trying to buy a reaction.

I realized recently that it's something completely different.

He's not a nice guy playing a game; he's just a jerk. It's not that he's merely capable of pissing me off, but that he, as a person, makes me irrationally angry.

But then, if it's not a game, and he's not trying to make me mad, then why do I feel so damn pissed?

When someone with millions of dollars says they'd rather spend a gorgeous day in the office making money instead of sitting outside in the park (and words it exactly like that), why does that make me feel like exploding?

It obviously has more to do with me than with him. Why the hell should I care about his priorities? Somehow though, I felt judged, as though he was inferring that the path I've chosen is incorrect.

I don't think that's actually the case. I don't think he really cares at all what I do... so it's my problem, not his.

I'm over him. Going to the gym is still a pain in the ass, because I don't particularly want to run into him (and God knows as soon as I let my guard down and stop looking over my shoulder, he'll appear out of thin air), but otherwise, I'm over him.

But what I'm not over? The intensity. I don't think I ever particularly liked him very much personality-wise, but there was still such a strong chemistry between us... I think that's actually what made me so intrigued. I hadn't felt that sort of intensity toward someone in years. I'll admit -- I crave the power of passion [artist temperament and all]; it was hard to give it up.

It wasn't safe, and it ended up hurting way more than I wanted or expected, but ultimately, I'm glad I still have it in me to allow myself to fall for someone, justified or not. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure...

Just, next time, I'll choose more wisely.

Happy Easter to Me!

2011-04-24T08:25:00.002-05:00

I could get used to this.

2011-04-07T16:46:00.001-05:00

Well, I'm going to start by saying that I 100% enjoy and appreciate my current job. I'm not simply saying that to satisfy any students or colleagues who happen to read this. I'm saying it with complete honesty and transparency. I enjoy teaching, and I like the variety of ways that I'm able to 'be a musician' within my current employment.

But, you know -- I'm so damn busy. On a good day, I can manage to eek out 3-4 hours of practicing. When I blew out the candles on my birthday cake this year, I wished for more time to practice. With that 3-4 hours I'm currently averaging, I stay in really good shape, and I sound just fine -- but I'm not going to get better very fast. And, I want to keep getting better. Fast.

Being down here in New Orleans this week has made me remember how much I really like playing in an orchestra. I start the day by warming up for an hour or so, go to rehearsal for a few hours, and then I'm home by 1. I have the rest of the day to... practice.

I mean, I suppose I have the rest of the day to do whatever the hell I want to do...

But, the almost surprising thing is that practicing is what I legitimately want to do. It's SO nice to have the whole afternoon to really work on things, to have the time to make things better, instead of just running through whatever I need for the next week, touching on a few spots, and then moving on with a sigh, thinking "Well, that'll just have to be good enough." And generally, it is 'good enough.' It's just not indicative of what I want to do, or even what I can do, given enough time.

This lifestyle of the orchestral musician? It's what I want. I love it. It's not that they have it easy. Their life is hard; the pay scale is embarrassingly low [across the country, this is true], they're held to ridiculously high standards, and there is certainly a huge amount of pressure all the time. But, still -- being a musician, practicing and getting better -- that's part of their job. Their job description allows for the time to practice -- it's scheduled into their day instead of them having to fit it in between everything else and the kitchen sink.

It's nothing all that novel, I suppose. I'm enjoying this week down here, but when I go home next week, I'll also continue to enjoy everything I'm doing in Philadelphia and the surrounding areas. Playing in an orchestra has always been so appealing to me because I adore being part of something -- part of the music, sitting in the middle of the most amazing sound... but also part of a team of people that create something together.

But you know, I can achieve the latter in any number of ways. Being part of the team of faculty that work incredibly hard for their students is certainly pretty darn awesome too. If nothing else, this week has reminded me of that.

And of course, Mahler 7 kicks some serious butt.

Mardi Gras remnants. (I hope.)

2011-04-07T09:30:00.002-05:00

New Orleans, Day 1

2011-04-06T20:20:00.001-05:00

Sorry about the iPhone pictures. I tried to doctor them up a bit, but I definitely should have brought my real camera. Next month when I'm here again, you'll get the full monty.

Every time I'm in New Orleans, I end up taking pictures of Jackson Square. But, with the Abita truck parked right in front, I just couldn't help repeating myself yet again.

I hadn't seen this guy before; he's a nice addition.

I should have taken a video of this so you could hear the sound. Everyone in the circle was singing Amazing Grace -- bums, Quakers (?), tourists...

Crappy picture, but a picturesque balcony nonetheless.

The side of Jackson Square, standing in front of Cafe du Monde.

I love this view, regardless of annoying performance artists down below.

The best coffee shop in the world, hands down. I refrained from beneigts today, but I don't know how long my will-power is going to last.

I love the expression on the chess-master's face.

Just a cute side-street...

One of the main streets by the river

And, one more of Jackson Square.

I'm playing Mahler 7 in the Louisiana Philharmonic this week, so that's the reason for my trip down south; I'm having a great time -- more soon!

New Orleans feels like home.

2011-04-06T09:11:00.002-05:00

New Shoes Usually Hurt, But These Are Amazing

2011-04-03T08:46:00.004-05:00

I generally have mixed feelings about switching to new running shoes. Yes, your old ones are 500+ miles deaddeaddead, and yes, the new ones are oh-so-pretty. But, the old ones? They've been your buddies... for the better part of a year. Lacing them up and heading out the door feels natural, like you're going home even when home doesn't even really exist anymore. The new ones look fast, and of course new stuff is always nice, but... who knows how they'll really fit, ya know?

So, when I got these new Avia shoes in the mail yesterday, I eagerly tore open the box and admired the pretty footwear... and then gingerly placed them by the door in anticipation of this morning's run.

I have to say: it wasn't the best run ever, but that had nothing to do with the shoes. My stomach hurt from an late-dinner overdose of soy-meatballs and animal crackers, and I just couldn't seem to concentrate on the run. My head was elsewhere.

But, the shoes? First time out, and and complete comfort. Not even a hint of a blister, tons of support without being heavy, and most importantly? The damn laces stayed tied the whole time -- I HATE having to stop to retie my shoes.

So, despite the fact that it was only 5 miles, and despite that I'm still worlds away from triathlete-season shape, I love these shoes. Hell, the Avia's, in combination with my new TYR clothes (more on those later) make me feel like an athlete again. My body is sure to follow suit soon, right?

And, we have lift-off...

2011-03-29T15:30:00.001-05:00

Moment to Moment

2011-03-28T07:00:00.001-05:00

I hate unfinished projects, I despise liminality -- purgatorial excess makes me legitimately crazy.

I think that's why races, with their tangible finish-line, are so satisfying. Music, not so much, but still - a concert/recital/audition ends, and you feel (for a moment, at least) complete.

But of course, life is not about what is finished, but is more about the [oh god, this is trite] process. If it were all about the ending, then well... I suppose everyone should just hurry up and die, right? And damn, that doesn't exactly sound all that appealing.

I'll try harder. I'll try harder to accept where I am physically, musically, emotionally... and I'll try harder to enjoy myself along the way. Cause you know?

Things aren't actually all that bad.

Overheard at the Kimmel Center

2011-03-25T07:37:00.000-05:00

A couple walks through the lobby of the Kimmel Center, on their way to the evening of French music as provided by the Philadelphia Orchestra. They're about 60 years old, both of them.

The woman sniffs, and I catch the end of the dialogue "...and she was wearing a camel-hair coat with matching shoes and pearl earrings."

There is no pause; the man turns to the woman while continuing to walk alongside her, and says "For you only, eyes have I."

I hope they both enjoyed the concert.

The way my brain works, Part 8422

2011-03-25T07:28:00.000-05:00

I tend to use the middle bathroom stall because that's the one I want to use least. I figure that if I want to use it least, then everyone else must also want avoid it. And of course, less butts on a toilet is better than more butts... I know you can't get diseases from a public bathroom, but at the same time, I still think less butts trumps more butts.

Then again, why should I be the one to use the middle bathroom stall? Can't other people take some responsibility for the even dispersal of butts? DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE?

I would like to see the stats on the actual butts used per toilet. Maybe I should start to use one all the way at the end... who actually walks to the third stall?!? Not me, ever. So maybe THAT'S the ticket. But then, think of all the wasted time over the year by walking the extra couple of seconds to the next door. Is it worth the excess-butt avoidance? It's hard to weigh such things, especially when I don't have any legitimate data.

I need a butt counter.

The problem is...

2011-03-12T16:28:00.005-05:00

I actually like him.

And it's scary.

Little Parrots

2011-03-12T14:55:00.005-05:00

2:10 PM: It was the sixth 45-minute class of the day; I'd been teaching 3rd and 4th graders since 8:53 in the morning. We were creating super-hero instruments, and I was tired of trying to help draw violins and trumpets.

"Alright, everyone... start drawing your favorite instrument, and then add to the instrument to make it a super-hero instrument. If you need help with drawing, don't ask me. I'm a crappy draw-er. Instead, why don't you check out the front of your music journal? It has a bunch of instruments on it, and you can probably use it as a guide. If it doesn't have your instrument, well... then, you're SOL."

"Miss Susanna, what's that? What's SOL?"

There is a second of anticipatory silence while I quickly rack my brain to figure out how to fix this little miss-speak.

"Umm... So out-a luck. SOL."

The classroom teacher is sitting in the back, his jaw dropped open, laughing and fanning his face in relief.

"Miss Susanna?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I want to draw a gong. I'm SOL."
"Me too! I want to draw a piano. I'm SOL too."
"Yeah! I want a tuba. I'm SOL."

Oh. God.

"Um, guys?"

"Yes, Miss Susanna?"

"Don't go repeating SOL after you leave school today, okay?"

There is gluten in here.

2011-03-11T21:26:00.002-05:00

I'd rather be alone.

2011-03-11T19:03:00.003-05:00

I'd rather be alone than deal with this insecurity.

It's not his fault; it's mine.

I'm attracted to the impossible -- the inaccessible guys, the unachievable career.

And then, I'm repeatedly crushed when I wind up banging my head against the wall like a petulant child.

I just want some peace, peace from myself more than anything else.

I get lost in books, music, other people -- so lost that I have trouble emerging from the depths of another world. I like the other worlds better than my own. The transition process between constellations is the hardest; I fall apart before I have to travel. I'd rather not jump.

I'd rather be alone.

Great House

2011-03-11T11:26:00.004-05:00

Yesterday and today (airports and Spring Break), I read Great House by Nicole Krauss. It's the kind of book that swirls unknowingly through your head. You dog-ear pages with quotes of impossible perfection. And then you find out the author is a young woman and you grin with the once-again acknowledgement that the world does not revolve around you.

But ask a Jew what happens when he dies and you'll see the miserable condition of a man left alone to grapple. A man lost and confused. Wandering blindly. Because the the Jew may have talked about everything, investigated, held forth, aired his opinion, argued, gone on and on to numbing lengths, sucked every last scrap of meat off the bone of every question, he has remained largely silent about what happens when he dies. He has agreed, simply, not to discuss it. He who otherwise tolerates no vagueness has agreed to leave the most important question mired in a nebulous, fuzzy grayness. Do you see the irony of it? The absurdity?

The fire had began to cool in me, but I didn't notice. I carried on living as if it was life that needed me and not vice versa.

Terrible things befall people, but not all are destroyed. Why is it that the same thing that destroys one does not destroy another? There is the question of will -- some inalienable right, the right of interpretation, remains.

We learned to trust each other.

I taught them that no matter the view from the window, the style of the architecture, the color of the evening sky, the distance between oneself and oneself remains immutable. I always put them to sleep together in the same room, I taught them not to be afraid when they woke in the middle of the night not knowing where they were. So long as Yoav called out and Leah answered, or Leah called out and Yoav answered, they could put themselves back to sleep without needing to know. A special bond developed between them, my only daughter and my only son. While they slept I rearranged the furniture. I taught them to trust no one but themselves. I taught them not to be afraid when they went to sleep with the chair in one place, and woke up with it in another. I taught them that it doesn't matter where you put the table, against which wall you push the bed, so long as you always store the suitcases on top of the closet. I taught them to say, We're leaving tomorrow, just as my father, a scholar of history, taught me that the absence of things is more useful than their presence.

The summer of 2007 feels like it was a different lifetime.

2011-03-01T08:01:00.001-05:00

He grabbed my wrist as I passed. It startled me; I was focused on clearing the corner table, on refilling the sodas for the ladies sitting by the window.

"You have a weapon," he said.

I gave a half-grin and then giggled nervously. I was still coming out of my to-do fog; I had no idea what he meant. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Your smile, girl. It's a weapon. Use it to your advantage."

I should have been used to this, the slight sexual connotations resting just beneath the surface of the well-meaning Cajun businessman on his lunch break.

"Thank you, sir. That's nice of you to say."

"No, it's not nice. It's true. Your face lights up when you smile, more than anyone I've seen. I just thought you should know."

I don't remember my response; I must have walked away and continued working. I had to finish the lunch shift. I still think it was nice of him to say.

The windows are open and it almost feels like Triathlon Season.

2011-02-26T16:27:00.000-05:00

I finally got my act together and registered for a bunch of races. I'm really excited to have a full racing season again; I even allowed Active.com to send me emails about local races -- big commitment, ya know?

Anyway, triathlons/events are as follows:

Rev3Tri Quassy (Olympic Distance): June 4
Wisconsin PacTour: June 18-26
Rev3Tri Portland (Volunteer): July 10
Rev3Tri Cedar Point (Half Iron Distance): September 11
Rev3Tri South Carolina Revolution Challenge (Olympic and Half Iron Distance): October 8 and 9
Philadelphia Half Marathon and 8K: November 18-20

Oh! I also ordered Optygen capsules and EFS liquid shots from First Endurance... cause you know, I'm going to have to start training with a vengeance again if I'm going to be able to enjoy myself at all these races.

I opted not to do the early-season triathlons, simply because I'm not in the right shape right now and realistically, I won't be able to get there while I'm having to commute 3+ hours a day. But, I'll do my best for the next 2 months, and then the second May 1 hits, I'll have time to work toward being the triathlete I was a few years ago.

That might sound like a depressing statement, but it's really not. I've done other stuff over the past couple of years -- other stuff that makes me very happy and content. I'm proud of where I am right now, even if not all aspects of my life are 100% up to snuff. As an old friend once told me, 'I think you can have it all. You just can't have it all at once.' I'm okay with that, you know?

That's it for now, but I'm sure more will come up sooner rather than later. I know I also need something for July/August other than simply volunteering. I'm open to suggestions...

Benjamin is the dog. Natasha is my sister.

2011-02-14T07:57:00.000-05:00

From my parents:

Our three live oaks have been registered by the Live Oak Society of Acadiana and their names have been declared Lady Susanna, Lady Natasha, and Lord Benjamin. Today, the Society came to our house and decided that they were large enough to be named and registered. Lord Benjamin has the tree in back and it has been declared a Centennial Tree. Lady Susanna has the tree on the left (if you are looking at the house) and Lady Natasha has the tree on the right (if you are looking at the house). Congratulations to all three of you!

Love, Mom and Dad

Relationship Catch 22

2011-02-10T20:55:00.001-05:00

I always feel like I'm fooling people...

I'm tricking people into thinking I'm awesome. And then once I manage to do it, immediately the person isn't very smart at all... because after-all, I managed to fool them.

And the people I can't convince? Those are the ones that would obviously be worth my time; the people who ignore me are the people that I absolutely need to get to know.

...

Sometimes I'm so dense.

2011-02-06T10:40:00.003-05:00

Day 1: I can't play thirds or sixths in one breath. What the hell? Well, that happens once every few weeks or so; it'll be fine tomorrow...

Day 2: I can't play Mendelssohn Scherzo or Afternoon of a Faun without gasping for air. What the HELL? I hate EVERYONE. [kicks wall and screams expletives]

Day 3: Go out for quick 3 mile run to help recover from the half marathon. Half a block in, am keeled over, hacking up a lung. Keep running/walking block by block. Make it the three miles, somehow.

Day 4: In New York for an audition; coughing everywhere. The committee looks at me like I'm crazy.

Day 5: Back in Philadelphia, another audition. Repeat of Day 4.

Later, Day 5: On couch, drenched in sweat. Cannot move. Despite mean and vicious protests on my part, Grandmother completes a rescue mission by picking me up and bringing me back to her house. I proceed to sleep for about 36 hours, interrupted only by fever and coughing and occasional screen-staring. Miss two auditions because there is no way I can get back to New York. So much for going to a music festival this summer...

Now, Day 7: I feel much better, but I'm still sick. I'm kind of "up", but I'm certainly not "at 'em." I think I'm going to have to take tomorrow off of work to go to the freaking doctor. I hate going to the doctor. HATE.

Plus, I'm mad. I'm mad at myself for getting this sick, for being a stubborn cow and not listening to my body. I'm mad that I can't do the things I need to do. I'm mad at my body for being such a jerk-weed and letting me down.

Lessons Learned: I need to figure out where my line is. I extended myself so far beyond my physical capabilities that I didn't even know I was sinking.

Also, I need to learn how to say no. I am not Super Woman. The problem is, I'm used to being a struggling musician; I'm used to immediately taking every opportunity that comes my way without even thinking twice. But now? I need to value my time a little more and say no to the things that I simply cannot do well.

Because otherwise, I try to do everything and I wind up doing nothing well; I feel like a sleep-deprived, half-crazed, failure.

I need to listen more to my body. I find it hilarious that when I was getting sick, my flute playing was the perfect indicator, but I didn't put two and two together at all. I seriously thought my lack of breath control was just a cruel trick, played once again by the God of the Stupid Stick of Metal to whom I seem to have devoted my life. It never even occurred to me that I ought to evaluate my playing from the perspective of how I was feeling as a human being.

And that's an interesting concept, I think. I tend to isolate the different parts of my life so much that I forget that it's all ME. Maybe things will start to come together a little more if I think of myself as a whole instead of just a flute player, or just a teacher, or just a triathlete, or just a... whatever else I do with my time.

It's been a long time since I've been this sick. I actually don't remember ever feeling this bad for a prolonged period of time. I guess that's a good thing -- in general, I'm a healthy, young woman. I shouldn't take that for granted; I need to watch it, or I'm going to become a middle-aged basket-case without even realizing what's happening.

She's so talented.

2011-02-01T17:13:00.004-05:00

I can’t stand being called talented. To me, the word implies a lack of follow-through; yes, the word encompasses potential, but also a lack of realization. It means you’re still not quite good enough.

Okay, so maybe I am talented. My family has generations of musicians - closeted, world-famous and everywhere in-between. Music is in my genes, my blood.

But, as far as being one of those people for which everything simply comes immediately, easily, perfectly... that’s not me. I’ve had to work hard. There will always be people that can get to where I am with half as many hours, with less gray hairs and more ease.

I’ve always been a good flute player; I’m a natural musician. But, my true talent? It lies in a different part of my brain.

My true talent is that I am insanely, stubbornly, sometimes-to-a-fault, persistent. Once I put my mind to something, I will not give up.

This bookworm-turned-IronMan triathlete went from practice-room-junkie to cross-country biker and podium-finisher in 5 years or less. Trust me when I say that it wasn’t by being a natural athlete. I simply put in the work. I created the schedules and followed-through.

So perhaps that’s why the word talent irks me so much. It’s as though someone is saying I haven’t done exactly what I feel I’m so predisposed to do.

My talent has nothing to do with fast fingers or perfect pitch. Instead, it’s simply knowing that no matter how many times I end up falling down, I’ll always get back on that damn proverbial horse.

I’ll continue play my long tones and scales every day no matter what (and enjoy it), because hey... I’ve been told I’m talented.

Middle of the Night Sneak Attack

2011-01-22T10:15:00.001-05:00

Maybe it doesn't look that bad now, but I swear there was blood dripping down my face at 4am. Apparently she 1) wanted food and 2) hates me.

I Feel

2011-01-20T08:22:00.002-05:00

"I feel like I'm getting in the way of your practicing, but I'm enjoying the conversation too much to end it."

Yes, well... I'm good at this, the banter.

Quick retorts and sly grins - those are my forte.

Oh! and lucky us, I might even follow through.

But, ask me to really feel something, and I'll run away.

Jazz scratches the rug and then lies contentedly on her scratch pad.

2011-01-18T11:16:00.003-05:00

I'm convinced it's because she doesn't want to ruin her possessions by scratching them.

I'm a Fag-Hag.

2011-01-18T10:24:00.008-05:00

After 4-days-running of spending time with different groups of gay-guy friends, it's time to admit it:

I'm a fag-hag.

I hate that term even more than I hate being called a JAP. At least JAP is an acronym that stands for words that are passable. Jewish? Yes. American? Yeah. Princess? Well, not really... but I did dress up as one for Halloween once or twice.

But, fag-hag? Ugh. It makes me shudder; it's offensive on both sides of the coin, but what are you gonna do? When the term fits...

These days, I do have some friends who are girls. And I hang out with them fairly regularly.

But, girls of my age... they have significant others, they get married, they (gulp) have kids... Couples want to hang out with other couples. And I'm not saying these girls are exclusionary, because they're not... I'm just saying that I don't always have all that much in common with them. Eventually, I probably will. Maybe. We'll see.

Anyway, it definitely gets harder to have close girl friends. It's kind of sad, but I feel like the concept of the 'best friend' - the girl you tell anything and everything, and the girl that is always there to hang out - I feel like that kind of gets lost as you get older. It has for me, anyhow. We're just not at the stage of life where it's as easily possible. Sex and the City foursomes are intriguing and sometimes gut-wrenchingly enviable, but all in all? Not all that plausible, at least from my little 500 square foot corner of Philadelphia.

And straight guys? Well... they want to sleep with you. Or, you want to sleep with them. Or, their girlfriends think they want to sleep with you or you-them. Or, none of the above, but you're hanging out one night and you're both kinda bored and you end up fooling around for no good reason and then the friendship is (literally) screwed, despite all before/after protests otherwise.

And so... gay guys it is. They tend to be fun. They're definitely not trying to sleep with me. They hang out in groups. You get to have male companionship without the commitment, without all the crap that goes along with a sexual relationship.

But most importantly? There is limited possibility of rejection. Rejection from a straight guy? Yeah, I've definitely experienced that. From a girl? That sucks too... it's horrible to feel like your girlfriends are mad at you or just plain don't like you. It brings back the 7th-grade ostracized misery, and that's something I try to avoid at all cost.

So, sure - maybe the gay guys won't ask you to join them every time. And yes, of course they get married too. But, there is always the excused rationale of the fact that, by definition and through no fault of your own, you'll never truly be one of them. So, you can sit safely just beyond the perimeter, not caring that you don't perfectly fit in.

And that? Is freaking awesome, and totally worth the obnoxious title.

*I was just notified that 'fruit-fly' is an acceptable alternative. I hate fruit flies, but I think I'm a fan of the term.

Teach Me Something

2011-01-17T15:08:00.007-05:00

I fall hopelessly, tragically, head-over-heels in love with my teachers.

Considering the sexual preference of um... all of them... it's not a sexual attraction. It's a completely platonic, I want to be around you, I just like hanging out with you, kind of love.

[Perhaps this is one reason I get so freaking unnerved when I encounter homophobia. No one likes to have the people you care about insulted...]

So, the other day, in my umpteenth yoga class in the last couple of weeks, when I found myself gazing starry-eyed at the yoga instructor, I had to laugh at myself.

What was it that made me like him so much? It wasn't that I knew a damn thing about him. He just instructs us (with a great accent) through the poses. That's all I knew, and yet somehow, I was falling into idol-worship mode.

And so then I realized what should have been obvious for quite a while: it's not so much about the other person, as it is about someone showing me something new.

Some of these teacher/student relationships might have morphed into something more unique, but for the most part, it's really about how much I enjoy learning and figuring out new things. It's fun to get better. Loving the act of discovering new parts of myself is perhaps self-indulgent, but... when I'm actively improving is when I'm most content.

And shit - teach me something about which I truly care? [music. triathlon. writing. living] I'm yours forever. I'll do almost anything for you.

But, maybe that's not such a wacko concept. Maybe I don't have to self-diagnose myself with psychiatric infliction #47. Because, it makes sense, you know?

It's perfectly logical that I want to be around the people that help improve my self-worth, that make me feel happy. And, why wouldn't I want to help the people who have done a lot for me?

I mean, it could be argued that I should be finding that sort of satisfaction internally. But really - after spending too much time alone... god, I bore myself. It's the same old crap going through my head, day in and day out. I'm a fan of solitude, but there are so many interesting people out there in world; I'd like to get to know at least a few of them.

Show me something new. Teach me something, and I might just fall for you.

Well, you've got plenty of time.

2011-01-15T21:26:00.004-05:00

Swimming yesterday, the guy in the lane next to me asked about my Team Trakkers swimsuit. He wasn't being sleazy - I can't really blame him for asking about it; it's a freaking awesomely designed suit.

And so I'm describing the Team to him, and of course he questions me about what races I'm going to do this year and I tell him about the Rev3Tri series and that I'll probably do Portland, Knoxville, and South Carolina...

And then he's talking about Kona and how he's qualified 6 times and he wants to qualify again and I'm duly, appropriately impressed.

And then he wants to know how fast I am... and what can I say?

I'm a solid middle of the packer. Sometimes the top of the middle/top third, sometimes bottom of the middle and thus bottom third. I tell him as such.

I'm not ashamed of my speed, or lack thereof. I'm proud of the fact that I do this stuff at all -- bookworm, nerdy musician turns IronMan. I'm okay with that.

Look - even if I was coming in last (which I'm not), that's still finishing way ahead of all those people who never started. I'm out there, finishing the races. I think that accomplishment is overlooked way too often.

But you know - his face dropped. And then he shrugged and said, "Well, you've got plenty of time."

And he's right: I do have plenty of time. But the thing is, I have plenty of time to do whatever the hell I want to do. And right now, and for the foreseeable future, that time is not particularly going to be spent getting a whole hell of a lot faster.

I love the sport of triathlon, and I respect that it is, actually, a sport -- with races; you're supposed to want to be faster, better; you're supposed to want to win.

And, I do.

But, my definition of winning is just kind of different -- I want to do this stuff because I want to stay healthy; I want to stay strong. I want to be involved with people and events other than musicians and concerts. I want to feel the excitement of the race morning. I want to continue being a triathlete, because being a triathlete is now part of who I am.

I have so much competition in my every day life. There is so much pressure involved in my career path (self-inflicted or otherwise). I simply don't need another outlet that turns into a chart-ridden, coached, quest to be something that I'll never quite be.

What I need is just a plain old... outlet. I need triathlon as it exists in my life right now -- an endurance sport that gives me reason to wake up early and get in a long run, a positive and tangible part of my life that brings me happiness.

The people behind Team Trakkers are awesome because they believe in sponsoring people other than simply the fastest athletes. Don't get me wrong: we have some kick-ass, faster-than-a-speeding-bullet athletes on our team, pro and age-group. But, there are also some people like me -- the so-called ordinary athletes that do it simply to do it.

Why are we sponsored? Sometimes I'm not sure. Sometimes I feel I don't deserve it. But all in all, us middle of the packers are part of what creates that spirit of triathlon. We're part of the race, and to put it bluntly, we're part of what advertisers need to cater toward. I think it's great that Trakkers is so willing to acknowledge that an athlete's character is also a significant part of what is important.

So, Mr. Swimmer -- I think you're amazing. You're kicked my arse up and down the pool and you're a stellar athlete. But, me? I'm going to just keep doing what I'm doing, at least for now.

It makes me happy. I'm a triathlete, and I've got plenty of time.

I am not Spartacus.

2011-01-13T17:59:00.004-05:00

Last night I did the Spartacus workout at my new gym.

I figured it would be more fun than lifting weights. And yes, it was.

And okay -- I may not be in 2006 IronMan-era racing shape, but I am relatively fit right now. I feel strong and healthy and I could easily run a half marathon and then go for a bike ride...

So you know -- I've been a Spinning Instructor. I'm trained to teach Flip Fitness. I did several triathlons this past season. I train regularly and intensely. I do my requisite yoga.

I'M FIT. (Not skinny - fit.)

I thought the workout would perhaps make me tired, that maybe I'd be kinda sore today.

I'm not going to describe the workout, partially because I don't really remember much of it, other than that there was an inordinate amount of squats and lunges. And pushups. And sit-ups. With weights.

I was sorta tired. Not too tired though -- I ran 3-ish miles afterward, so I guess I was okay.

But um... today?

Holy mother of effing god.

My butt. Is On Fire. As are my stomach muscles. And going down stairs? My quads scream in post-marathon agony. And geez - my shoulders? It hurts to hold up the silly little flute.

All after a freaking 10-minute workout.

Yeah - 10 minutes. (Okay, so there was a 5 minute warm up and then some stretching to cool down, but really... it was only 10 minutes that were actually difficult.)

Who would have thought it would be possible?

I guess I'm going to try to go back tomorrow night, if I can move by then.

A Letter [I hope?] I Will Never Send

2011-01-12T22:09:00.001-05:00

Dear _________ ,

I think you are really interesting and I would like to be friends with you. Want to hang out sometime?

Curly Su

PS - You have nice eyes.

One Shot

2011-01-11T21:03:00.002-05:00

So I watched the movie 'Hitch' last night.

[Disclaimer/Precursor: I swore to myself I wouldn't wallow this time around. I'm feeling pretty damn sorry for myself (and I think that's allowed), but I'm brushing it off. I'm writing about it, figuring out how to fix it, and moving on.]

It's a stupid, kinda funny movie. Sort of worth watching, but only on an airplane or in a hotel room in a cold-as-a-witch's-tit city when you're kinda grumpy.

I fell into the latter category.

Hitch makes one good point in the movie... he says something to the effect of "You have one shot. One date, one dance. One joke. One kiss. One chance to get the woman of your dreams."

So too it is with auditions.

I can play everything on the list. I can play it backward and forward at any time of day and night. I was not insecure about a damn thing. I was ready.

But. I cannot play everything perfectly on the first shot. Second, maybe. Third, definitely. There are certain pieces that I can play perfectly on the first try, but the problem is that those pieces seem to alternate from day to day. There isn't enough consistency.

They say you can ask to play something again. Maybe that's true, but I've never really felt that's a real possibility when you're on the stage. They say 'Thank you' before you even have a chance to blink and before you know it, you're escorted off the stage and then out of the hall and you're back on the airplane on the way home and you still don't have an orchestral job and shit someone else does and even more shit that job won't open up again for god knows how long and you really effing wanted it.

So, I know how to practice, I know how to play the damn flute. It's a piece of metal. It will not control me.

Next up - learning how to play perfectly, the first time. Everything. Every time.

Cause you know - we only have one shot.

I'll play however you want me to play.

2011-01-11T20:54:00.001-05:00

Everyone keeps saying, "Well, at least you played well."

But NO - I don't care if I sound like a freaking 5th grader.

I just want the job.

I really, 100% don't care AT ALL what I sound like, as long as I get the job.

I just want to play in an orchestra. Once I get there, then I'll worry about sounding the way I want to sound.

But until then?

I just want the job.

So true.

2011-01-09T10:53:00.002-05:00

9:33am

I find it hard to balance working out and practicing.

I find it hard to balance working and practicing...

I find it hard to balance practicing and practicing.

Exactly.

(There was probably a reason we dated for so many years.)

It's hard to be a student.

2011-01-07T19:19:00.000-05:00

I'm always the teacher.

From flute lessons to spinning classes to editing papers to being a Teaching Artist to professing Intro to Music, I'm always the one in charge. I'm always the one with the expertise, telling other people how things should be done.

It's fun; I'm perfectly capable of admitting I like control.

I'm a good teacher; it's easy for me to tell people what to do. I think I'm good at explaining things, and I am good at (at the very least) pretending I know I'm doing.

And so, when I went to a yoga a class earlier this week, and for the first time in a REALLY LONG TIME, I was participating in an activity that I knew absolutely nothing about, it was a new feeling.

It's hard to trust your teacher. It's hard to listen to your teacher. It's hard to do what your teacher says. It's hard to give in to being a student.

It was so hard, that I went to another yoga class. And then, just to test myself, I went to a spinning class.

I used to be the one up there in front of the class. I haven't been to someone else's spinning class in longer than I can remember.

But you know? When you give into the idea of being a student, it's really great. You give up the control. You let the time tick by however the teacher thinks is best. You adjust your position however they say because 'Hey - they're in charge; they know best.'

I learned something. I learned a lot - not just about yoga and spinning, but about listening to someone else, and about being where you are, when you're there.

I have trouble with those things; that's not so easy to admit, because I don't like to admit I have those troubles.

I always knew that teaching helped my playing. I learn a lot from my students.

I guess I had just managed to forget that I can learn a lot by being a student too... a student of flute and of music, of course, but more than that, I can learn a lot about myself by just being a student in general. I can learn a lot by just allowing myself to listen to what someone else has to say. Even if I don't ultimately agree, the ability to take on a different role (for an hour, a day, or however long), is such a valuable skill.

So, yoga teachers, spinning teacher... thank you for helping me remember to be the student as well as the teacher. Not only did you help me, but you helped my students - I understand them a lot better now too.

Is 29 too old for leg warmers?

2011-01-05T13:38:00.000-05:00

I'm out of breath.

2011-01-05T11:48:00.001-05:00

In preparation for an upcoming audition, I played for a fellow flutist yesterday. At the end of our time together, he very nicely said "Well, you've done the work. You're in the running."

And of course, with my tendency toward smart-assed self-deprecation, I said "Yeah. But, I'm out of breath."

And we both had a little chuckle, and off I went in my car, heading home to practice more.

But then, I started thinking (once again) how similar athletics and music really are.

When you're training, you have days when running feels natural and the pool feels like a second home. You have days when the bike is simply an extension of your body, and nothing could be more perfect. You can push yourself for hours and you just want to shout to the world "LOOK AT ME! I'M AN ATHLETE!"

Then, you have the days that everything is simply, a-ok. You're not a superstar, but yeah, you've done the work and you're strong and you're trained and you know how to do this, so... ho-hum... you just do it. Over and over again, you just do it. The morning runs are part of who you are, so you had better get out of bed and hit the road.

And of course, you have the "shit-filled, I wanna go home, I hate everyone, I may as well sit on the couch and eat potato chips because that's how disgusting I feel right now" days. Days when your legs won't move and you stop to walk. Days when you have to switch into the granny gear and days when no amount of swimming drills will make you able to feel the water properly.

Ultimately, we all want that first version - the HEY THERE, I COULD WIN A MEDAL days - to be the days when we race. And occasionally, they are. Those are the races that bring grins to our faces, the races that make us feel worthy as athletes.

But, we can't always race as superstars. So then, there are two options.

One - accept that we're human. Accept that there will be good races and bad races and in-between races, and that's part of the human condition. The inconsistency may drive us crazy, but shit if I know how to make it disappear. Male or female, we all operate on cycles. No two days will ever feel exactly the same, and perhaps it's time to rejoice in that instead of fighting it all the damn time.

Or, door number two - somehow ensure that your not-as-good days will still be good enough. Maybe not perfect, but make sure that, even on a day when everything goes wrong (and then a bee stings you through your helmet), you'll still complete the race in a manner that makes you feel happy.

And so, with music... I don't need to describe how it's all exactly the same. The parallels are obvious. We practice, day in and day out, aiming for the recital or the competition or the audition, and then the big day comes and maybe we're lucky and we sound like a million bucks that day and we win the damn thing. We play our asses off and the right people are listening and your life is changed.

Or else, that doesn't happen and day-after-pill or not, everything is exactly the same. You wake up the next morning and play your long tones, because the day doesn't feel like it can start until they're done.

Well, then. I have the same two options. I can accept that I may just have a lucky day sometime soon, or I may always find the coin tails-up... Or, I try to eliminate the variables. I can try to make myself so freaking good that no 'bad day' can mess with it.

Of course, with racing and with music, the solution is a combination of the two. Yes, we have to accept that we'll never be perfect, that there are things we cannot control. But, ultimately, we also have to have a big enough tool kit in our belt that we can easily fix almost anything, immediately. That type of problem solving and self-awareness is what will feel like a win - in a race, an audition, and just in life.

So, it's almost noon and I slept too late. 1.5 cups of coffee and I'm ready to go. Later I'm going to go for a run and maybe a yoga class; it's beautiful outside and some slow stretching will be perfect.

But now? I'm going to start my long tones. I think I'll sound good today.

Practice 6 hours a day or quit.

2011-01-02T01:03:00.000-05:00

It's like I'm 16 again.
Same house, even.

Practicing non-stop, because even when my body stops, my brain refuses.
Up too late because I'm afraid to go to sleep.

"When you sleep, other people are practicing."
Thanks, Mr. President, I needed that.

Maybe crazy isn't bad, but shit, I need to go for a run or I'm going to lose my mind.

I'm so petrified of never being enough, of not being lucky, of not ever knowing what it's like to be on the inside.

So I keep practicing, long after my callous is shiny red and my fingers are imprinted with cheerios -- long after the my lip is sensitive and uncooperative.

But, actually -- I sound really good. If he could win the job, then so could I. I shouldn't compare; it's not about comparisons, but... sometimes it's important to remember the work you've done, sometimes it's important to build your confidence through a time-log and a holier-than-thou chart. Not every time, but sometimes.

Auditions make me feel like a nut-job, but that's because I do, in fact, 'play with love' and I just want to share. Playing for your mirrored reflection is not the point.

"I think you self-medicate." I thought you were funny at first. Now, I just think it's abusive and vaguely cruel.

Straight and narrow, that's what this next year will be. Working as hard as I can to be what I want to be. Things will work out, because there is no other choice.

At LFT

2010-12-29T17:24:00.002-05:00

Daddy Dearest

2010-12-22T13:54:00.001-05:00

[standing in the living room, by the front door in my Lafayette house, on my way out to meet my high school friends for coffee]

Me: I don't know, Dad... so many of my friends from here are married with kids...

Dad: So?

Me: I'm excited to meet the new babies, but... I guess it's just making me feel kinda middle aged.

Dad: Well, what do you think you are?

Me: I hate you.

Dad: [as the door slams] Take pictures of the babies.

What I do when I'm not playing the flute.

2010-12-18T19:48:00.000-05:00

Just... wow.

2010-12-13T22:25:00.004-05:00

Hey Prof. Loewy,

I just added up all of my grades including the final and the test that you have to take and regardless of your grade you get full credit, and they all added up to an 89 in your class. I was really hoping for an A and since the grade is so close, I was wondering if you round up if two grades are separated by 1 point. This would really help me exponentially, and I would be so grateful. and I don't know if you're religious or not, but if you are "What would Jesus Do?" :)

Thank you again,

[student]

-----

I will give you an A if you write a page on your favorite composer, explaining why he/she is your favorite. Do not copy from Wikipedia. I will check.

I am Jewish; Jesus has no bearing.

-----

Thank you so much for everything. I really do appreciate this. It was a fun semester and I enjoyed having you as my Professor. and I hope you have a great winter break and a Happy Hanukah :)

Perhaps I'd get used to it.

2010-12-08T22:19:00.003-05:00

I didn't know people could be that rich.

I even asked him what the hell he was doing with me. I mean... jeez. HIS STAIRS LIT UP AS YOU WALKED UP THEM. He made coffee from his iPhone.

He should have a tall blond, or least a girl without a wrinkled skirt.

But the best part?

He totally called me out on being nuts.

He said:

"I think you self-medicate."

Me: "Huh?"

Him: "I think you have chronic low-grade depression and you self-medicate with alcohol and sex."

I was kind of impressed. Although, I guess I'm probably not that hard to see through. But from a guy that I barely know? Not bad.

The house was too nuts though. I can't imagine living like that and actually feeling at home.

Perhaps I'd get used to it.

Happy Hanukkah! Love, Dad

2010-12-08T20:34:00.005-05:00

I can't say this has been the best Hanukkah in the books (and I kind of think Hanukkah is a ridiculous holiday anyhow), but the fully lit menorah is always a nice sight.

Close Enough For Jazz*

2010-12-08T20:33:00.004-05:00

New Instant Memorization Techniques, brought to you by Princess Jasmine (aka: Jazz)

* Title stolen from one who is wittier than I.

If you're going to ask 'why,' you might as well ask 'why not.'

2010-11-19T08:04:00.002-05:00

[When I blew out the proverbial candles this year, I semi-jokingly asked for self-esteem; I'm think my wish might actually be coming true.]

Someone once told me that when he goes into an audition, he looks around, and simply feels sorry for all the other people who aren't going to get the job.

Me?

I go into an audition, hear that everyone can play reasonably well, and proceed to freak the fuck out.

Because you know, it's one thing to just say 'I'm the best,' but it's an entirely different thing to truly believe it. And how can you make yourself believe something that you know to be untrue?

You have to be capable of lying to yourself.

What's interesting is that I AM, 100%, capable of deceiving myself... in every arena save music.

But last night, when talking to an old friend, who entirely has his head on straight (and has the budding career to prove it), I realized there is another way to think about all of it.

First, I need to actually want to fix my head. There is definitely a large part of me that revels in all the neurosis, that enjoys being slightly nuts and eccentric and miserable. So, I have to really, truly, WANT to be otherwise.

I suffer from the knowledge that I'm nothing all that special, that if I can do something, then surely many other people can do it too. And sometimes, that line of thinking makes me feel like there isn't much of a point to anything.

But here's what I realized last night: I've worked hard. I will continue to work hard, because I don't know how to do otherwise. I'm a good, sometimes even great, flute player. Yes, there are many other great players out there; I still believe the preceding paragraph. But... the whole thing can be flipped on its head.

See - if other people can do what I do, then I can do what other people do. There might not be a reason in hell why I'll be picked over the next person, but there's also no real reason why that other person should be picked over me.

Shit, someone's gotta get chosen, and it may as well be me.

I know, I know...

2010-11-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

I haven't written anything here in way too long.

For some reason, I just haven't had much to say.

Maybe that's good?

I've been running a lot.

For future posterity... today, I turn 29.

I'm happy.

It's nice.

More soon.

The difference 2 weeks will make.

2010-10-30T23:44:00.004-05:00

Tonight, there was no feeling of angst, no inner turmoil.

I listened; I listened without anger, dismay, or disappointment.

I enjoyed being there with my grandmother. I enjoyed listening, as I did when I was in high school, a freshman or sophomore in college -- when I was hearing great orchestras for the first time in my life.

Now, I oftentimes feel like listening to an orchestra concert is like staring at something you can't have, and that's a freaking miserable activity.

But then, tonight -- it was great. It made me want to go home and practice. I didn't -- partially because I had a date, but mostly because my neighbors would absolutely kill me for practicing at 10:30 on a Saturday night.

[The date was really good, by the way, so I'm glad I didn't stand him up.]

But that ecstasy, that overwhelming joy of having listened to something wonderful; something you understand way deep down in the inner core of your soul? That is freaking life-changing, and I'm so glad I can feel it again -- and not only can I feel it-acknowledge it-understand it, but I can do so in a positive way -- in a way that isn't self-torture.

The job (if and when I get one) will not make me miraculously happy. Yes, I want to be playing. Yes, I love music soso much. But ultimately, I make myself happy. No one else; nothing else.

I think I didn't realize how miserable I was before. I think I blamed myself instead of the relationship, and maybe that's okay -- it certainly wasn't his fault.

But, I have to say -- I feel more like myself now. I feel... light. and happy. And... I wonder why I didn't even know I was missing. Did anyone else miss me? Or did they too not even know I had gone?