Place to Place

White Christmas to a cold subway of people on iPhones.  One woman started to sing along, but no one cared and everyone got on the train.

Once on the train, I noticed a man stapling head shots to his resume, organizing his papers and talking to himself.  Once the stapling was done and packed in his bag, he began to speak more emphatically, gesturing angrily and furiously.  At 72nd street he snapped out of it for a second to check the stop, and offered his seat to several people, none of whom knew the contents of his bag, and just stared at him for the remainder of the ride as he continued to quietly yell at people who weren't there.  I hope he did well.

Always on my walk along 9th Avenue, near 58th Street, there is a huddled pile of clothing in which lies a man.  It's hard to spot that he exists in it, he is such a master at folding himself under coats and sweaters and blankets.  Each time I see him, he's found a new solution to contorting himself within the bustle of his surrounding space, sitting on a box, propped agains a post, leaning against a doorway, but always hidden.

Headed towards the subway, a man was screaming into his phone, "It's not our f---ing problem!  They can hold their own d--n doors!......."  And I wondered what the voice on the other end sounded like.

In yet another subway station, Time Square, a man sang Stevie Wonder covers slightly off-key and flute music wafted from a far away platform.

It would seem there is no time to take in any of it, except that so often these things happen during times of waiting, during transitions where nothing else is directly needing attention.  People are being people all the time....

Japanese Time

I wanted to share with one of my students the experience of waiting for an unnecessary walk sign in Japan, the feeling of obeying the sign, even in the middle of the night, on an empty street.  But since he was still learning to wait for the metronome and to embrace that feeling, I didn't think that the feeling would be transmitted to him.  It can be so hard to wait, so hard to fill out the time, so hard to obey an arbitrary rule of order.  Thank you, Japan.

There are more stars to see on winter nights...

When I'm away from my home in Cincinnati, I'm still aware of the time passing.  But my punctuated visits accentuate life's absurd ability to travel through time.   I see myself and my family, older than I remembered.  I see my grandfather, his skin somehow smoother than it was, my young nephew, learning to turn pages of books and ask questions without words.  Each of them is the other.  My grandfather once had to be carried, was once comforted by his mother who is no longer with him to comfort anymore.  My nephew will one day walk on his own.

How lucky am I to have a mother who can listen to such things, and share in them; who admits the sorrow of living while still being so joyful for it?  This life is so precious and yet seldom do we see it. Returning to family, returning to hallways from years ago, walking in places and reawakening feelings that despite the false security of time, have not really left, are not so far behind--reminds me of how small we are in time.   The span of life seems vast only because we fill it.  But it will go by so quickly.  And I love even the sorrow that it causes.

Thanksmas

The Christmas trees are already up on the sidewalks.  And I agree, it feels like Christmas.  So excited to be going home for Thanksgiving!

Justin at Ivy League Stationers

The guy at the copy shop was in a jovial mood with everyone that came in, something he didn't spare me.  But when he rang up the copied recital programs he had handed me, and after he had embarked on small talk confirming that I played the cello, he threw a graceful curve ball.  "What is one thing that no teacher taught you, that you had to learn only from yourself?"

Irony of ironies that I was headed to my students' recital and that this is the very reason that I have recitals:  because in the end, we are our only teachers.  An external teacher can only be a guide.

It was good to be able to chat with my 80-year-old student that had played his first recital on Saturday, and to hear him confirm this.  There is no replacement but to live through the experience.  It's not something anyone can give another, but something that each person has to do on their own.  In the same way, as a teacher, I have to learn to be as involved as possible up to a certain point, and then most importantly, to sit back and allow my students to find their way.  There are many things one can learn in a performance, but one of the most important I think, is trust.  And although there is a word for it, there is no way to teach it from the outside.  I can only give an opportunity for it to grow.

I wish I had been quick enough to learn more about this man that broke the New York inertia and asked me such a direct and beautiful question.

Post-recital

My students played really well in our recital this afternoon.  I was humbled to follow them on the program.  I imagine it must be deeply rewarding to work with a person for several years, to help them find their own voice, and to get to listen to them play in a concert.  Feeling very grateful to be growing this community here.

Nurse

My doctor requested a simple blood test so I went to the lab within their office suite.  No one was there.  Another doctor emerged from her office to see me waiting, and since she was ushering another patient to the line, went hurriedly to fetch someone.  The woman came scurrying, with a small plate of food, perhaps being shaken from her break.

"Name, date of birth?"  she said, with some sort of accent (Russian?).  I told her, and she asked me which arm and I pondered which one seemed more veiny today.  "It doesn't matter for me,"  she said curtly.  I also confided that I sometimes faint when I have blood drawn, something I always feel I should let nurses know before they have to shake me awake.  "Should be fine,"  she once again answered tersely, "It's hardly any blood."  I agreed with her, but all the same, dutifully wanted to let her know, lest something happen.

All the same, she asked if I had eaten.  And as the blood started to flow into the vile, she uncomfortably and awkwardly broke her brusque nature to get me to talk.  "So tell me something about yourself."  There was no hiding her motive.  Nothing about her had indicated to me that she was the small-talk sort.  And nothing about her had indicated that she would take my concerns seriously or that she though herself unable to control my body's propensity to faint by her expert blood-drawing skills.  And yet, she had listened to me and was willing to do something outside our established interaction to help me and take care of me.  Even after she had finished, she kindly wished me well in my music making.

How many people might open their hard exterior when someone if put under their care?  Perhaps all of New York is soft inside, waiting to be given the chance to serve another.

F.N.

Some people have a way of looking that suggests we knew one another in another lifetime. Something in the eyes is looking deeper, searching for some verification.  And maybe it isn't familiarity in any personal sense, but in a general sense, searching for what we share in common.  It's as though they are looking for another person that has that common ocean within, has it rising to the surface.  Perhaps they are beseeching others to find it in themselves and share it.  We are continents floating on the same surface.  

"Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth 'You owe me.'  Look what happens with a love like that.  It lights up the whole sky."  -Hafiz

Late night

Classical music is such a particular tradition.  Juilliard orchestra performance.  Working with an 80-year-old student that has never prepared for a recital.  Learning to love oneself through being a performer and experiencing what it takes to perform.  Keeping a fire warm and growing through generations of people, passing on the flame in any form possible.

BodhiSundays

Sundays are very long teaching days.  Today I taught 13 students beginning at 9am and finishing at 8pm.  There isn't really time to eat a proper meal.

And yet I'm finding them to be very liberating, possibly for the very reason that they are so challenging.  At a certain point, there's no use in holding on to an entitlement.  Today is not my day, it belongs to others.  I've been reading a book on the way of the bodhisattva.  It seems that it should be possible to live this way everyday.  And yet I find myself constantly clinging selfishly to my wants and needs.  I find myself stuck in my fears of what should be, or could be.  What gift my students are offering, liberation from myself.

Silent Days

I remember some days in Japan I wouldn't talk to a single person.  Not being able to interact with a clerk or a fellow rider on the train makes that very easy.  There was nothing quite like that silence, echoing inside my own head.

And yet somehow today, regardless of having taught three lessons and traveling to Connecticut for a student recital, in a country whose language I speak, I feel that same sense of silence.  I didn't have a question for the steam pouring out a window spout of the apartment across the way, billowing white in the bright sun between the long shadows, but it engaged me in the feeling of the air around it, an exotic cold.  How would I help a student discover that feeling of wonder?  It is a question with no question word, one that seeks no answer but seeking itself.  And as a teacher, how would I know I had succeeded;  and could I stand the silence of affirmation before crushing it?

Some days are beautiful and crisp in their texture and experience, and I think they are often the days of winter, when the light falls in a soft, yet stark manner.   Every breath is felt against the nose, mouth and lungs, reminding us that we are alive.  The eyes and ears are awake more fully to compensate, and the wind prunes the trees, ready or not.

Measurements (of any given period):

Subway card swipes
Trains ridden
Cellos played
Elevation Gain (based on subway steps taken)
Elevator Gain (based on flights ridden)
Money requests denied (subway or sidewalk)
Toilets used
People offended
Kindness offered
Requests turned away
Requests taken
Emails sent
Scheduled hours changed
Breaths noticed
Languages heard
........

Breaking

I wonder what the current score is.  How many interactions have I won?  How many have I lost?  Who has a strategic edge in any given circumstance?  It shouldn't be like this, but with so many moving particles, just hardly bumping one another, a deeper relationship is hard to foster.  We fall into hierarchies.  Is this a threat, can I allow myself to put down my defenses?  On or off, with shades of curiosity and introspection on long commutes, but rarely significant interaction.  Why should I take offense, why should another be offended?  We rarely have a chance to ask this of ourselves or others, being so caught up in the act of it.  The inertia of a city is hard to to lean into, but at the same time, why not?  We are all quite anonymous here.

Dark Cold Rainy New York City Day

The world is a sacred place on dark rainy winter days.  There is nothing better to help remind how lucky we are to have warm homes and warm arms.

There are so many different people in New York, trying to deal with complicated situations, and it can lead to misunderstandings and defensiveness, something I didn't have to deal with terribly much growing up.  It can be hard to take it, like walking in cold rain, but at the end of the day I have such a warm place to which to return, both around me and within me.  Perhaps I lean on it too much.  Perhaps I should put up fists equally.  But I think it remains true in my life that any suffering I have ever endured has been nothing compared to those that have caused it.  Why should I deflect that pain back?  Storms may continue past their departure, but in the end, the sky is clear behind the clouds.

Uprooted Love

My family has lived in the Ohio River Valley region for generations.  We arrive early for appointments (even if they are at 7am), answer emails and phone calls, listen carefully when others are speaking, and despite our assured demeanor, are afraid to offend others.

It's a novelty to live in New York, where the people are born from uprooted parents, or are themselves that way, transplanted and mobile, fighting and defending in a relatively vulnerable state.  No matter that they arrive late to a meeting, we are lucky to have them there at all.  They may not be able to hear all my words when I say them, but perhaps something sticks for them to replay in the future, and they will acknowledge it.  Survival depends on giving a forthright reading of one's state, even if it means infringing upon another's comfort.

Love can look and feel in many different ways.  The staid midwestern constancy that was ingrained in me for years is only one way.  Parents can love as deeply in a roiled sea of chaos, forcing through practice sessions and commitments, pushing and twisting a character into being as they cling to the water that brought them where they are.  Their child will learn something of that anxiety, most likely.  But they will not be immune from the love that caused their parent to work so hard and stubbornly, despite the loose soil under their feet.

It's a gift to come closer to so many families.  I see their faces change in my eyes and my mind over time, realizing more about their children, about them, and in the process, realizing more about the assumptions I grew up with.

If I could have a super power, it would be to walk in the skin of another person.  I'm sure there are more satisfying ways to live, but I'm happy to have one in which I can see a good number of them.

The Beauty of Boring

This was a very blissfully boring day.  Practice, and organizing, and a walk down Broadway in the fall.  The glow of the yellow ginko on Riverside Dr in the evening street lamps is one of my favorite things to see this time of year.  I remember the ginko trees in Japan along the street I use to bike to work.  I could stand on the pedals to make myself taller as I glided under them, and pretend I was soaring through golden clouds in blue skies.

Strength in the Fall

I remember a reflection from years ago, what makes you strong?  This time of year the sun starts to leave us more and more everyday.  And despite the excitement of glowing leaves in the dark and crisp air and blue skies, the shortened days can have a weakening effect.  Are we strongest during invincible summer, or in the winter when we carry on with doubt and heaviness?  Sometimes we are blinded by the weakness we think we carry.  And also the strength.  And sometimes lifting a little more seems to lighten the load.

Beautiful Evenings

The weather is an easy casual conversation to have.  It's the perfect sort of thing for stepping in from the day and checking in with our doorman to say hello.  However, one of them has also told me that he is having trouble with his eyes, that cataracts surgery did not correct it, and tonight I found him huddled over lots of paper, looking through various doctors' recommendations.  Walking home on nights when I know Phil is working, I see the street a little differently.  The day and evening may be beautiful, but I reach for something that touches another sense, the feeling of the air, the temperature, the sound of the wind, some other way to connect and share with him in the passing moment that we have.

Post-Halloween

Some days are great teaching days and some days are today.  It's the day after Halloween and almost all of my students seemed angry, or frustrated, or grumpy, or non-responsive.  My energy, non-sugar-dependent, wasn't much help.  I couldn't seem to see the cloud to clear it.  It's days like today that stress to me the importance of knowing oneself as a teacher.  Over and over I failed to say the right thing, to find the right words, to open that creative door that would change the perspective to something new and productive.

And it's those words that point to the source of frustration:  "...the right words...," "....productive."  I am beholden to wishing to be a good teacher and it is terribly hard to drop that in the service of doing so.  It's a catch I've yet to grasp.  Perhaps I should try releasing.  Sugar and its aftermath may just have to be stronger than me, and that's ok.  We [children, myself, our interactions] are ever changing should we give ourselves the freedom to be.