After one morning, there is snow all over Manhattan, and even the warming air and gentle rain has yet to dissolve it. There is something very magical this time of year; perhaps it is the abundance of holiday parties that every workplace seems obligated to host, the twinkling lights, the unavoidable Christmas tree tunnels that line the sidewalks up and down Broadway.  Everyone seems to be blissfully unravelling.  Something seems very protected here, a safety in this cocoon, on this little island of millions of people.

Between the Baroque Christmas Tree at the Metropolitan Museum and a holiday party at a Columbia co-worker's apartment on 70th and Broadway, we walked through a snowy and lonely Central Park.  There were a few bike delivery workers, raccoons, a horse-drawn lit carriage, rats scurrying around the thick puddles of wet snow, a gathering of men on park benches laughing and warming with a few bottles.  From where does this invincible power of snow come?  It illuminates our steps and muffles the rest of the world.

Giving and Receiving in New York

I don't ever expect to sit down, even with my cello, but when I got on the bus today, a man in one of the prime seats offered it to me and was already up on his feet, ushering me in.  He was a small man, perhaps Hispanic, with a dumdum lollipop in his mouth and the remembrance of dark green tattoos, on his hands which gently, nervously twitched.  He carried a large piece of card board, the back of which had some sparse notes, including a phone number in red pencil.  I later saw the other side to discover that it was a backgammon and checker board.

Shortly after he gave me his seat, he dropped his rider card, which slipped to my feet.  I tried to grab it again and again, and finally pealed it off the bus floor and handed it back to him, uninspected.  It wasn't until I saw his hand on the pole in front of me, with the card held there firmly that I saw, "-isabled" peaking above the index finger.  I expected him to get off at the next stop, but he didn't.  His continued presence spoke to the giving he had in him.  A seat offered, a card returned.  In Japan there is such apology for the giving one receives.  It is a different lesson to assume it from and for others.

This is the kindness of New York.  It bears a very different face than that of the midwest.  It is assumed but not expected, something which flows outwardly, never to be received again from the person to whom it is given.  There must be an explanation for this, a small amount of altruism that seems to defy genetic barriers.  Maybe this is part of what makes this city so wonderful.  It is a family of people through actions and not through blood.  Sometimes they don't show their best face, and yet more often than not, I feel very fortunate to be in their presence, learning from their exchanges.

New Home

I find that I don't write so often and I think it is for a few reasons.  One is that I live with my partner and life is now filled with another person.  But another reason is that much of what I experience and think about is related to the students with whom I work and as such, I don't wish to share to much of them without their permission.  There is a lot of cuteness, a lot of courage and I respect them and don't want to ossify them in words.

But this morning I received an email that is part of the essence of what I enjoy about teaching.  I encourage parents to send me videos and pictures of their children practicing, or to verify things they don't understand.  And this morning I watched one that was prepared for me by one of my families, that I just began teaching last week.  They moved to New York about 2 years ago from the Ukraine.  This was a video of her entire practice session, her sisters sitting behind her, holding her book of the exercises I had assigned her, sometimes distracting her, sometimes helping.  If one of them said something in Russian, the father would say, "in English" and I knew this was for me.  This was a practice performance made for me.

I got to see their family, their space, their interactions, posed but honest.  For ten minutes I was almost uncomfortably close.  How rare that we are invited into another space in such a way.  And yet this is what happens every time that I teach, or what I feel is the goal of every time that I teach.

It occurred to me in a lesson yesterday that I can calm my body when I am with a student to a place of trust where I have no fear or discomfort of their mistakes.  The goal is to be with them, completely, to give to them what we all wish we could give to ourselves or another, that sense of safety and trust.  I sometimes like to just think about them before I start a day of teaching.  Each individual person, apart from our work.

Every since I was little I fantasized about being another person.  What would it be like to leave my body and experience the world as another?  It is something that none of us can do, a super power I wish I could have if I could have one.  How strange that we cannot understand one another, despite living together, despite living for a lifetime.  But it seems that in teaching, perhaps there is a beginning to this possibility.  How deeply can one listen?

Mondays

I'm getting more used to the rhythm of my various teaching days.  Mondays are the days when I have 4 beginners back to back, and sometimes I can remember who's learned Ants and who's done Ski Jumps.  I get to replay brilliant or terrible teaching ideas over and over, and revise several times.  And then an awesome group class.  And then some older students after a 15 minute break.  I think I'll get my stride.

Tomorrow is my last free Tuesday, slowly the year is beginning and I will have to find my full stride, one day to the next, teaching and then teaching again.....

But this morning I started a practice that I had years ago when I had to balance administrative work with my performance needs as a doctoral student.  Practice first.  It's amazing what calm and organization this can bring to my mind.  Everything else just flows.  There is time for everything.

Including all the little things that I want to do with my pre-Twinklers.  There is so much to learn!  I feel like I have to pack it all in, and yet as I'm doing this, even just for the second week, I can feel that I can take the time a little more.  I need to end lessons on time, while I'm ahead.  So much is about pacing, about thinking about what is needed next and just doing it.

Grateful for the patience and joy of my students during this time as I am learning.

Color Belt Years

Two days ago I was sharing a group class with 4 young cellists.  Suddenly a powerful thunderstorm emerged outside, a surprise to all of us on a sunny day!  There was lightning and thunder and rain, and I could see their eyes fill with awe and perhaps fear.  There was no way they were going to pay attention to their bow speed in French Folk Song.  So we made a thunderstorm together by playing really fast on the C string, and then made rain drops by tapping the wood of the bow on the strings.  We did these a few times, and then we sat and listened to the sound of the rain on the windows.  I shared with them that it was my favorite sound, another one of them said it also sounded like a waterfall or the shower.

I have been fully enjoying teaching.  In several group classes and also in my one-on-one work I've felt my students receiving and appreciating our time together and I have felt the same.  It is such a change from my experience teaching last year.

And so too have I been enjoying the release of having done my black belt test.  I'm not sure I can recall something that I have felt I earned in the same way.  I feel very connected to the accomplishment, unlike an audition or competition outcomes which seem connected to luck, or the opinion of a few people at a very acute moment in time.  I feel connected to my Tae Kwon Do teachers that helped guide me here, and also feel the next step of guiding others and being ready to fill that position.

Yesterday, was the first meeting for my second year of Suzuki Teacher Training.  This is going to be a very different year from last year.  We will be teaching students and a class and our teacher trainer is going to be observing us and offering feedback.  In our session yesterday, we each taught one of the pre-Twinkle skills (for beginners) to our own class, just to have a run-through of doing it in front of other people.  And it felt so uncomfortable.  I came away from it feeling a insecure (even though there was nothing wrong) and wondering why and where this feeling came from.  I really like the people in my class and we have a wonderful teacher and mentor.  As much as I have the temptation to do so, I don't think I can blame my discomfort on them.

I was reflecting on my experience in Tae Kwon Do and the progression of training.  Being a beginner is wonderful.  You follow and are filled.  You have few expectations for yourself and growth is obvious.  (Granted it's also really hard because you don't know what you are doing and can't really do it, yet.)  Being very experienced is also wonderful, because you know yourself in the domain. But the middle belt levels are very difficult and confusing.  You are not a beginner, but you are also not a teacher.

At my last color belt test, for double high red belt, Master D'Amico spoke to our group about being an instructor and made it very clear, This is not about you, it is about your students.  At higher levels the goal is to focus fully on the person in front of us, even overlooking a critique of our own teaching, for their benefit.  It is not about whether or not we are a good teacher.  It is about them.  It is about seeing where they are and opening ourselves to serve them as best we are able.  In a way, ironically, our teaching skills are not important.

And yet those skills have to come from somewhere.  We do have to learn them so that we don't have to focus on them and can fully serve our student.  And they come from the middle belt years.  Teaching the parts of the cello, or knuckle knocks, or Ants in front of one's peers or with the knowledge that one is being critiqued (even from very supportive peers and teachers) is a different sort of teaching.  It isn't only about the students.  It is also about the teacher.  We are still students.  We still see ourselves, learning the skills of becoming better teachers, and this means that it will be uncomfortable because we are not fully in one place.  Perhaps this is just the nature of the task and the growth needed.

I think my challenge this year is to be a teacher in this class, to observe my teaching and to treat myself as a student in the midst of it, and at the same time, to be as fully present as possible with those with whom I work, to take myself out of it and enjoy my time with my students, to trust myself, even as I continue to grow.

Reflecting on this has made me think about all the color belt years that we have in our lives, whether it is in martial arts training, or aging, or any other skill or new experience we undertake.  It can be very challenging to respect this level of student or participant, from the outside and from the inside.  They, we, do not fit into a category of young or old.  As a black belt, I am both experienced and also a new beginner.  It is a nice place to be.  And because I have this perspective, it makes it easier to see other challenging areas of life in a new way.

These positions we hold in our world are constantly changing.  We are growing so many ways.

Black Belt Test

It is too rare that we speak about love.  Too rare that we truly recognize that this is the most important thing that we have in our lives, that it is more important than all the things that we do, and say, and think.  The theme of the weekend, among the many themes one may have taken away, was that technique is only a vehicle.  We must look beyond it, and practice beyond it to get to what is of real importance.  Our bodies will leave us, but if we share ourselves fully with others, we may live forever.  Anyone who has truly loved, never dies.

I am very grateful to this group of people.  And I was grateful to have been able to test with all the people in my group, including three others testing for 1st Dan from the Madison club.  For some reason, I can't get my pictures to connect, but will share them once I do.  In the meantime,  here is a picture of our dirty feet, after the test.

Parents Practicing

It takes a lot of energy to teach for 4 hours.  I was pretty hungry when I got on the train back to New York.  But also very energized.  Somehow seeing a person and then looking at them even more deeply pulls energy out of my.  It's there, if I don't try to bottle it up.

Teaching children is a window into a family.  Just as I start to see certain physical habits that appear in kids, I can hear certain tropes with parents.  Children that say straight away, "We forgot to practice!"  or "We didn't practice at all!"  being tempered by a parent apologetically trying to explain that they did a little or something to that effect.  The truth is perhaps somewhere in between, but it doesn't matter to me so much as what is happening in that moment.  People can be very concerned about being right.  How does this happen to them?  It isn't everyone, but it's often the people that are deemed "successful."  I sometimes reflect about what I miss about my high school.  Maybe that is part of it.  There were people that were unafraid of being wrong, or unconventional.  Maybe not the most successful people (though the magic was when that wasn't the case), but they offered a sense of freedom to the grind.

I'd like to share this with the parents of my students.  I do care that they practice, and I do know that this takes effort, it's not all fun all the time.  But it is ok to have fun, it is ok to break out of the routine of practice for a minute, to run fingers across the strings in a way the teacher never suggested, to try something new and perhaps risk being wrong.  And it is especially ok if I get to enjoy it and know about it as well.

I was tired after the day, but am really excited for the year, for what I will learn from this experience of exchanges.

To Flushing

I spent a lot of time on trains today and even a car up to Connecticut.  In the afternoon, Andrew and I went to Flushing, Queens to look at another venue, riding the 7 all the way to the last stop.  I had heard that Queens and Flushing in particular was a really diverse part of New York City, but wasn't prepared for the level of authenticity of this Chinatown.  The sidewalks were crowded with Chinese people, and while signs often also had English, it was obvious that this was not a market for non-Chinese speakers.  At one point we stepped into a mall and it was like being back in Asia, the spacing of the lobby, the smell, the decor.  I felt a part of me buckle up again at not knowing all of what was around me, a childlike ignorance and curiosity that was as much a part of living in Japan as the signs and smells.

And although there was no express train running on our return, the 7 runs above ground which meant that we got to behold a beautiful sunset over the Manhattan skyline after a hurricane inspired day of grey and rain.  And we think we might have a venue this time, which is icing on the cake.

Venture to Bushwick

This evening Andrew and I ventured to Brooklyn, to Bushwick, to check out a potential wedding venue on the roof of a large building.  It had a nice view of the Manhattan Skyline to be sure, but other various things about the venue, location, and rain back-up plan made it seem less desirable than we had hoped.  So we walked about 3 miles to Williamsburg, watching the "industrial" neighborhood (so called by the woman that gave us the tour of the building) turn into housing projects, to fringe bars and groceries, to full-out gentrification.  And then we ate some really good Polish food on Bedford and caught the subway home.

beautiful view from Bushwick rooftop

Picnic in Central Park

After talking about it for awhile, we finally set a date and went to Central Park for a very special evening.  And now we are making decisions for the future, being amazed at the money that people charge in New York for....anything.  But mostly, very excited.

Picnic in Central Park

Dalcroze and Arizona

It has been awhile since I've written. The past two weeks were filled with an intensive Dalcroze workshop and then this weekend was a trip to Phoenix, Arizona for a friend's wedding.

my Dalcroze partner for Level 2 Certification, Miyuki Watanabe;
This was only my 2nd Dalcroze test, but the feeling before taking one is not unlike the one I have before doing a belt test.  There are many parts and subparts of the test [Eurhythmics: performing a song composed to a given rhythm, walking that rhythm while conducting, canons in 6/8 and 3/4 (stepping what the piano played in the previous measure, while listening to the current one!), follows, complementary rhythm in hands and feet and switching, etc; Solfege: sing various keys in fixed Do; and Improvisation:  playing the piano!  doing it for people to move to, doing it as an improvisation, and playing for a given image], and there is an element of the unknown.  Sometimes people are judged to be ready and sometimes not.  It is not a guaranteed thing that by taking a summer workshop you will be able to advance to the next level.  My biggest challenge was, and still is, playing the piano, because I am not a pianist.  I found myself trying to internally balance the feeling of wanting to succeed with the pleasure of learning for the sake of it.  It is a difficult thing to let go of, in myself and I think in the culture in which we live.  Being entitled to success based on the work one has done or because people have always said you are smart, is a tough thing to let go of.  So it was good to have another opportunity to face those feelings.  In the end I passed, but just barely in the piano skills area.  I will be continuing this training specifically, thanks to the encouragement and support of the mentors in the program, who, lucky for me, live in New York!
This was the other cool thing about the program–meeting the people who came from different parts of the world to be there.  One of whom is pictured here, a woman from Japan who spoke and understood about as much English as I do Japanese.  It was a good chance to speak Japanese, and to embrace someone doing something difficult in another language.  Luckily for her, she is a piano and solfege teacher in Japan, and has a wonderful sense of harmony, so once the instructions were understood she was set to go.  It was great to meet another Japanese friend who has now returned to that repository of untouchable friends living somewhere, thousands of miles away in this world.  Or so I believe.  Good to have had the experience with her.

Wedding!
We spent the weekend in Phoenix, AZ for the wedding of Christina Havens and Michael Byerly, two friends from Japan.  And they were married by another good friend from that time.  They held the wedding in the Musical Instrument Museum which was a really cool collection of instruments from everywhere in the world, and with a gathering of only about 50 people, it was a special and intimate experience.

I also learned a lot about another part of the country.  It was really mind blowing to see the dessert, so different from any landscape I had grown up in and certainly different from New York City.  And I learned that they get monsoons this time of year and that they are sometimes preceded by dust storms, one of which is pictured her in the distance.  

There were so many cacti and they were beautifully dramatic during sunset, silhouetted against the mountain ridges and rich sky.  I failed to have a camera at any of those points, sunsets or otherwise, but couldn't leave Arizona without at least one picture.  They are very large and very old, and grow just about anywhere, even intersections.   

Walking to Harlem via Morningside Park

I didn't realize that my doctor's appointment was only 3 blocks from the school where I taught all year.  This morning I retraced the path that I took several days every week and remembered the hopefulness or dread that I felt as I descended down the Morningside Park steps, and the relief and perplexity I felt returning up them, after another day of not quite getting it right.  It's a beautiful park, overgrown now but still really beautiful.  I remember seeing that beauty at at times a distraction from what I was feeling or thinking and other times an affirmation of the good in life.

Things feel very different now.  Yesterday was a nearly euphoric day of teaching in Westport, CT.  The sense of nervousness beforehand is yielding to excitement, and afterwards an internal debriefing of a different kind.  What a strange thing that in this world there are families that although not without problems, are able to shelter and raise their children in a mindful and safe manner, and that there are others that cannot give their children this kind of attention.  There are so many threats and stresses to everyday life that there simply isn't the space to invest in the future.  The present is enough of a handful.

But it is a different story in Westport which means it is a different story for me.  It makes it much easier to teach, to have a parent there, taking notes, following through during the week, sending emails and messages about their child's practice and demeanor.  They have systems for behavior that I don't have to create or mitigate, ways of motivating that seem to do the trick.  It is really easy to teach in this way.  I am able to give what I have, and the children seem so much more able to receive.

It is not a simple thing to figure out what are the causes of this discrepancy and how they can be alleviated.  My time here in New York, spent with the incredibly privileged owners of several vacation homes, nannies, and teachers and tutors galore, as well as those families with single parents, multiple jobs, and distrust of authority, has really highlighted the disparity of living in America in a visceral way.  The same place is not the same place in a different state of mind, the same path is often not the same.

Summer Sun

These are beautiful summer days.  I have the time to practice several interests, the time to read, the time to sit and stare and reflect on the past year and the past years.  Having this space, filled with reflection, exploration, teaching, playing, has meant a reawakening similar to what I felt when I lived in Madison.  I was very content there, but to have a similar feeling elsewhere must imply that we can feel a certain way independent of place.  But what are the elements, what are the pathways, the relations, the practices, that lead to a certain state of mind?

One of the practices that I am undertaking now is one specific within cello practice, that of memorization.  I am trying to memorize my Suzuki teaching music as well as some far more challenging music that I had learned in the past.  I have always had a difficult, if not impossible time memorizing, even the simplest little melodies.  Fingers, ears, eyes, always got in the way and confused, fighting for control of how to produce the melody on my instrument.  But somehow now it comes.  Several years ago I started to memorize poetry that I loved as a way to get there, and then chose one piece that I loved, and now several years later I can identify numerous possible leads that might be helping me memorize large chunks of music relatively easily in addition to these practices: martial arts, improvisation, doing it for my Suzuki class, feeling the lack of pressure to prove anything with the cello (in other words, feeling a freedom of enjoyment), Feldenkrais, any other body practice that has increased and integrated my sense of awareness, not stressing about it....

There are so many things that come together to create a person.  There are so many experiences, sensations, dispositions, and openings, if we allow; and it is terrifying and liberating to realize how fragile and flexible we are.  What more can we become when we allow ourselves to be unlimited?  

I feel like the days can go on forever right now.  That feeling of limitless sun in a single instant.

To a 6-year-old in Westport, CT

How wonderful, the light that falls on buildings at sunset and crowns them with a glory more than they are. Grace can fall at anytime and how wonderful when it does, something to celebrate.  And sometimes it falls from places below, rising from dissent, from suffering, from decay, from insecurity and frustration.  

A child's vulnerability in a group class today was a gift to me.  He started to cry when he made a mistake in Song of the Wind and couldn't get back on to join us.  And the same in Go Tell Aunt Rhody.  His mother told me that he had played them perfectly that morning, and it was frustrating to him that even though we gave it another go for him, that he couldn't get them all the way through.  He is a slower paced individual, not quick to speak or react.  The option of getting back on is perhaps not so available to him as it is to others.  His frustration was probably more than any of us can know, totally worthy of the tears his mother told him not to shed.  But today in particular I noticed his beautiful intonation, and I told him this after class, as he was trying to pull himself together.  "We've been working on that," his mother said, grateful for the comment.  And he paused a second in his sobbing, his breath still taking him in a despairing direction.  

It can be so hard to see our beauty.  To see the things that are loved about us.  This child has no idea how much he is loved.  I can see his frustration, I can see his mother's concern, perhaps her own insecurity in his behavior and how it reflects upon her, and in those things, they are so lovable.  Perhaps it is their concern for perfection, their seeking of love in something, be it another person, be it in an ability, or in an ability to simply be able to play with other people.  But there is a light that shines on them.  And it is a lesson to me, that in times when I do not feel worthy, there is also a light upon me, and every person that lives.  

Sunset Under the Brooklyn Bridge

An evening under the Brooklyn Bridge.....

The Dentist's Office

When I finally got the receptionist's attention at the dentist's office, I told her I was there for a 12 o'clock appointment.  "Andrea?  I have here that you were at 11."   Hmmmm....I was pretty sure it was 12.  I had immediately written it in my calendar the week before and don't usually mistake this sort of thing.  But unfortunately I had denied the printed appointment confirmation receipt the week before, and so couldn't show her anything.  But I was pretty sure.  She called back for a dental assistant to come help address the issue.

During our conversation another man walked up and started talking to her, perhaps not realizing she was occupied.  She seemed to recognize him.  "T, you're late.  No your appointment was at 11:30, not 12.  No, you're late."

"You can go ahead and take a seat,"  she said to me.  "I've called for the assistant."

Most of the seats were full.  It was more full than last week when I came for a cleaning, but it was a similar scene.  The TV was turned up, showing local news (people being interviewed about how hot it was), people were talking full voice.  Especially present were the voices of the mothers scolding their children for minimal offenses, being out of their seat, or just being too squirmy.  And when yelling didn't work, there were potato chips to appease.  I don't think there was another white person there.  

After about 10 minutes the assistant that I'd met the week before came out and asked if I could come back at 4.  I really couldn't.  He offered another time next week.  Based on my experience the week before–having had a 10am appointment and not being seen until 11 and then not being finished until 12:30–I explained I could do that time, but it would really have to be that time and I'd need to be done about an hour afterwards.  He looked down and walked back to check another possibility, that being too much to assume.  So we settled for a time, earlier in the morning,  when the chances of the office being overwhelmed would be less.

It has been enlightening to be in the middle of the Medicaid system.  I was in one office, and even gave a urine sample before being kicked out because my insurance was not accepted there.  In another dentist's office, I learned that I had been assigned a different primary dentist (how was I supposed to know this?) and that unless it was an emergency, insurance would not cover that visit (the receptionist tried to convince me this wasn't the case because their office would just bill later, after the date when my new preferred primary dentist (them) went into effect–I didn't bite).  It's incredible how much time it takes to take care of oneself in this system, to figure things out, and my issues are incredibly minimal.  Who can give up a day of their lives to sit in a clinic waiting room, and then do it again when it was the wrong place, or with kids, or to find out in the end that they have to pay a ton of money because no one told them they weren't covered there?  It's ridiculous that this is what healthcare is in our country.

Or at least for a certain population.  Insurance issues are issues at any level.  But the amount of waiting, the quality of care (in my check-up, the water cleaner was leaking water everywhere, the floss was so course it wouldn't go between my teeth, and a giant horsefly visited us several times), and the personal treatment (were I not a white person I wonder if I would have had a chance to set up a new appointment with the assistant, unlike the man who was unarguably late) are incredible.

To walk into one of these clinics is to look through a window at the systemic issues of a certain type of living and care, one that is not actually my own.  My background is incredibly privileged, and it is through that lens that I see these things and know that they don't have to be this way.  The treatment of one's self, one's children, and others.

Likely there will be a day when my income is stabilized and I can afford to sign up for a different health insurance, one that is covered at different places.  It may not be that far off that I am kicked out of this current system, deemed a different worthy than to be a part of it.  And maybe then I will forget what it is, growing comfortable in the lack of these offenses, enjoying the gentle muzak and running water and screens of fish floating in corral reefs that will consume a new way of living.  Perhaps I will think of these offenses–which to me, not being pervasive in other aspects of my life, are minor annoyances–and think how I could have possibly lived that way.  My lifestyle will shield me from these discomforts and make me think them impossible to live with.

But there is no end to wanting more.  Seeking greater and greater comfort is an exercise in retreat.  To look the other way is to blind oneself.  But as I grow up, into the privileged class that I am and will likely settled, I have to ask myself, where do my choices cross with others' inability to choose?   What power do I have to share the perspective that I know from my upbringing?  Where is my potency, seeing this, and yet being so far removed?  

Our Neighbor

My doorbell rang today and it was our elderly Indian neighbor.  She had come to me because neither her landline nor her cell phone was working and she was hoping to use my phone to get in touch with Time Warner Cable and Verizon to figure out what was going on.  She got some half answers and so left with the intention of unplugging and replugging her landline to see if that would work, and going to the Verizon store to speak with them in person.  Neither of which seemed definite solutions.

So when I returned home today, I visited her to make sure everything was ok.  She answered, so happy to see me, saying that she had been planning to come over to tell me everything was fine.  She welcomed me into her apartment, bright with light from the setting sun over the Hudson River, and had me sit down.  She talked about the phone issues and how everything was now ok, she showed me a device that she can carry that brings her a button away from medical help should she need it, and we exchanged names and numbers for the future.  All of this was relief.

She wrote "Dr." in front of her name with her telephone number and I verbally noticed it.  I had actually already heard from an elevator partner one evening that she was a doctor, and an incredible woman, and how he was going to interview this great aunt of his (was that the relation?) for an article her was writing.  "Yeah, you should really get to know her," he had said.

I took what prompt I could and got terrific results. She gave me a good outline of her life and travels from India to the rest of the world and back, interested in education (the topic of her doctorate), studying and teaching at great universities, and finally coming to live in New York.

She's invited me to come with her to Flushing, Queens, where apparently there is an Indian temple that she would like to show me.

I only have so much time to live in New York and I realize that the summer is a good opportunity to take advantage of it.  What things can I see and do here, what are all the many things that people from around the world come to do?  But what an incredible opportunity, to be a part of someone's life in this way and to learn from her in the middle of the summer.

Governor's Island (and Strand)

Another day of tourism:  Governor's Island followed followed Strand bookstore (18 miles of books!).  The island was so peaceful, that by the end of my hour there, I was anxious to catch the ferry back to Manhattan.  There were so few people, I think especially because it was a weekday.  And the many deserted buildings made it feel even more like a ghost town, a place from the past.  But for the hour plus that I was there, it was great to see the art work that has been set up, the interactive adult play gym and whatnot, and chill on some hammocks.  Never would have thought that public hammocks were within a 10 mile radius of my home, but in New York, I think everything is here, somewhere, if you know where to look.....

there are many hammocks on Governor's Island
they are hidden in little groves surrounded by wildflower
in the distance is the Statue of Liberty

empty houses, everything was empty
they have signs for different artistic or craft organizations
which are probably open on the weekends

a junkyard for children,
among the many construction sites on the island.......

at work......

a deserted mini-golf course
and a work of art around a tree
open field 

Manhattan across the way

taken as I departed, looming storm in the background

Japan State of Mind

There are a lot of things to remind me of Japan these past few days.  Last's night's Beethoven 9 of course reminded me of the 10,000 voice performance HPAC did of it every year.  Simply running my fingers through it with a new conductor and in a new space was as novel as it was familiar.

And then this afternoon I joined a friend for a Japanese film.  She is slightly older and grew up in Japan as the child of missionaries there.  She has helped me find things Japanese in New York, not least of all the Japan Society and it's annual film festival which is happening right now.  As we sat in the audience before the show, she shared that she had loved the festival last year because it's like being back in Japan.  Before the movie began, the film's composer Ryuichi Sakamoto (who is apparently the John Williams of Japanese film) gave a short introduction from the stage.  Watching  him bow to the other hostess was wonderful enough, but as the film began I understood what my friend had been saying.  Even though this film was set in post-WWII, it still took me back to Japan.  The way people moved, the way they use their space, the language and timing, even the slightly overly dramatized style of the movie was very Japanese.  And the story–about a mother who is visited by the ghost of her son who was killed in the Nagasaki bombing–depicted an aspect of Japan's personal history in a way that would have been hard for an American director to emulate.  As an American in Japan, I did not have an intuition about the war and post war years.  I have an idea of the fronts that the American's fought during that war, and the horrors they encountered (albeit even this is marginal), but Japan's perspective and idiosyncratic suffering is not something I could have grasped.

But in another sense I am returned to Japan in the solitude that I now find myself.  Alone for this month of July I have a space that is familiar from the time I lived in Japan.  I went to the park this morning, at mid-day to do a Tae Kwon Do workout, and halfway through a man rode his bike onto the grassy spot where I was, put out a towel and started sunbathing.   He watched me for a bit, and then started interjecting questions, and then suggestions, and I suddenly found myself getting a lesson in boxing.  I was reminded of my Karate lesson by the river in Japan, another time when I had time and space to allow myself to listen to an unbidden teacher.

Yesterday I went down to some of the art galleries in Chelsea and checked out the pier.  And today, after seeing the film, I decided to walk the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset.  It felt like impromptu trips to Kyoto and Osaka.  On the train at one point one group of people was speaking Italian, another sign language.  Like Japan, it seems it might even be possible to go through a day with speaking no English!  And now, I'm sitting and writing in the silent space around me.

It is precious to be alone, and it precious to be with another.  And I think it is a challenge to do either well.  Solitude can become loneliness, companionship can become distraction.  And after a year of companionship I am returning to this familiar space again, but also, again, in a new way.

some of the apartments in Chelsea (wearing my tourist eyes)

Chelsea Pier 

Memorial Concert for Orlando Victims

This past week I've been playing in a volunteer pick-up orchestra that culminated in a concert this evening as a memorial for the victims of the Orlando shooting.  I signed up for the concert partly because it was a memorial, but also largely because it was great repertoire and it is fun to play with people and meet others.

Upon arriving to the first rehearsal on Tuesday I found that there was only one second violin, two first violins (one of whom is primarily a violist), and not even one of each wind instrument (forget the brass).  People had trouble counting basic rhythms, coming in on time, even starting at the same place was an issue.  More than we could chew:  Beethoven 9 and three additional pieces (Corigliano Elegy, Copland Quiet City, and Barber Adagio).  But the cello section were cool people and the most reliable section in terms of attendance of any other, and I had a friend in the violins.  I had made a commitment and I had no intention of backing out of it.

It has been interesting to be a part of such a project.  I know this music very well.  I've played in orchestras before and this is a different league.  And yet, apart from worrying about how the conductor was handling his time (we've spent 2 hours and 50 minutes on one movement of one piece and the concert is tomorrow????) and the sheer fact of having to be controlled and rehearsed by a conductor, the transgressions of my fellow musicians bothered me far less than it has in the past.  Things were out of tune and wildly (excitedly) not together.

But there was a sense of solidarity in the chaos that was really refreshing.  No pretension, just working through it to make it happen. And few musical choices were dictated.  Bowings were free, as well as many other aspects of the music.  Everyone was just clinging to get through.

Maybe there could have been another way, but the fact that we were unpaid meant that people chose when to come to rehearsal, that there was no librarian, or personnel manager.  It was a mess.  But it was done because people felt it needed to be.  The experience has made me rethink what it means for something to be "musical."  As a trained musician this was entirely unmusical.  Anything that I have learned about expectations in a rehearsal and in playing and listening was broken.  But there was something there that is often missing from professional experiences which definitely could be considered musical in a human sense.  There was a need and a love to do this from some people.  And from others there was a commitment and camaraderie untied to monetary gain.  It was a wonderful program (first half music composed by openly gay American composers, second half, Beethoven's call for unity), and it was truly offered as a gift.  It was beyond our ability but people were there of their own accord.

It is a strange thing to make a living doing something I love.  The same is true for teaching.  What is my vocation?  It is a common question:  what do you do?  How is that something other than what I am?  I am me, here I am, doing and living.  I think money can separate us from ourselves.  Work must be something we wouldn't do otherwise.  Almost by definition.  What a world would that be, of people living and doing with no other motivation?

It was an interesting and strangely wonderful experience.

More than we are

This morning I met with a Tae Kwon Do partner, as I do fairly often, for a  7am workout.  Last night he got in from Italy, where goes every few months to visit his family in Vicenza.  I suppose the jet lag would be in his favor for such an early start to the day, but beyond that he seemed newly invigorated.  Something about going home, seeing certain friends and family, maybe even speaking in his native tongue, or seeing a familiar landscape of mountains and sky.  I don't know what the experience fully was for him, but I saw him refreshed and open in a new way.  Having recently returned from a home not even that far away nor that different, I can appreciate the new perspective it can offer.

People are so many parts to them, and specific circumstances or situations can lead to a very subtle expression.  Sometimes it isn't even that subtle.  Yes we are who we are, but we also take on the color around us.  Not to do so is generally considered unhealthy, being out of touch with reality.  It is a fine line between visionary and unstable.

To see someone living differently inside their own skin is a very special thing.  And to feel that way from within, is a very special thing.  There is an ecstatic feeling to being jet-lagged, to being out of place and yet being grounded in oneself.  The senses have separated from the body in some many odd ways seeing new things, tasting, smelling, touching, feeling in new ways. Sometimes a journey can peel away the clutter surrounding us, dusting off the cobwebs of habits and expectations.

In the day to day it can be hard to see ourselves in the midst of the clutter that accrues.  And it can be just as hard to see others.  What is the breadth and depth of possibility that we each hold?  What does it take to explore this for ourselves and how can we better see and listen so as to be open to another's possibilities?  What a gift we can give to one another to realize and respect this potential.  We are more than we are.

No Place, But Home

After spending a week in Cincinnati, I enjoyed a descent along the New York City skyline.  I remember coming down from the sky after being in Japan, seeing America come closer and closer, reaching out beyond the plane to touch it with my eyes and memories and expectations.  It is never the same to return to a place.

It was wonderful to be home.  There was a settled feeling, and the whole family was together, sometimes just breathing in the same room, no one saying anything.  I think all of us, unspoken though it was, were incredibly grateful to be together.

Waiting on the platform to take the train back into the city, the wind ripped the wide leaves of a bush in the train yard, gently but mercilessly in and out of the bright sunlight.  There are so many stories to enter and leave.

And now I'm back in this city, which is such a beautiful and exciting place to be.  Returning was not the same as leaving, or returning before, or coming for the first time.  It was so good to be home.

Dream Students

A few days ago I walked out of a first lesson with a 5-year-old child, and thought, what a dream student.  He had been one of the students in my Instrument Discovery class, where I introduced a group of child to the cello through weekly classes over the course of 5 weeks.  He always practiced for these classes, even if that just meant sitting with the cello and plucking a few strings.  And in the lesson he had remembered the things we had done, and sat quietly, while I spoke to him listening and taking it in.

But as I thought about what a model student he and his mother seemed to be, I realized that the lesson just before his, with a woman in her mid-20's who is coming back to the cello and is exploring ways to play in a band with some of her co-workers, was also a dream.  During the lesson we were able to explore how to improv in (what I felt) was a productive and fun way, building on skills, going from exploring freely on different harmonies to creating call and response phrases.

And earlier in the day, even the wiggly student whose feet I comically leaned on for most of the lesson, presents some exciting possibilities.  He has a free curiosity, walking through my apartment before and after the lesson to explore, incredibly intrigued by all the instruments in the room, and constantly exploring sounds on his cello.  He likes to figure out songs by ear, to laugh.  There is so much to enjoy.

For each student, there is something very exciting to explore.  The mind works in so many ways, the body receives in so many ways, and so many combinations of these things.  It is really wonderful to be able to work in this way.

It is really inspiring to have adult students.  Students of any age, really, but adult students in a somewhat more selfish way. 

After having been at the Dalcroze conference, I have a goal to become a Dalcroze teacher and part of that, a large part of that, is mastering piano and having the ability to improvise on the instrument.  In addition to this I will have to really cultivate my solfege (fixed Do) and eurythmic abilities, all of which seem incredibly daunting.  But I have these wonderful examples with me, students who are just as much peers and motivators in the path of growing.  To reach the highest designation in the Dalcroze teaching hierarchy might be a stretch (like having a goal to write a novel in French), but all the things that are a part of becoming that are things that I wish to cultivate.  And this is where my students are.  It allows me to join them in doing something new, something daunting, something exciting and rewarding in and of itself.  And I can see the way that I learn, the way that my mind feels as it reaches for more than the day will allow, the way it feels to wonder if this is worth it, what motivates and what discourages.  And since I do not have one teacher, perhaps I will be able to observe when I wish I did, and what I wish that teacher would say or do to help me.  

Princeton

This past week I spent in Princeton, New Jersey, at the Dalcroze Society of America's biennial convention.  It was a truly beautiful experience to see, hear, and experience music in such a way.  I feel very much alive and awakened from it and very inspired.  There are many things, many thoughts, many experiences that are still echoing and touching me.  And I'm not much inclined to touch them with words at the moment.

Something more concrete that I do wish to remember, was also a result of being in Princeton.  Behind our dorm was a wonderful field, with some trees but not too many, and well-kept.  It was perfect for morning Tae Kwon Do of which I took too little advantage.  But this morning I did, and on the edge of the field, on the sidewalk was an Asian woman with a very little girl, probably not more than 2 years old, that I assume was her granddaughter.  I saw them watching me and getting closer, until a point where it became appropriate to bow to them.  She nodded and came closer and so I went over to say hello.

It was a strange experience, because there was no other person in my field of vision and for all I knew, experience told me I was in Japan again, practicing by the river, being visiting by passers-by enjoying the morning air.  And so when she spoke and said, "I come from China," but could say nothing more in English, and even continued shyly on with gestures in Chinese, I was the one that felt out of place, awkward for not knowing her language and not being able to have an exchange with her.  I had been here before.

What would it take for me to step forward to someone in such a way, to brave such a thing?  And for what?  How can we see the things that are of value before we stumble upon them, to step up to them, even if they are unknown?  I have great respect for such people, true awe for such graceful courage, and gratitude for giving me something to take with me and remember.

Big Sing

This evening was the annual Big Sing, an event where anyone can go to St. John's the Divine and sing great choral works with some of the most prominent choral conductors in the city for free.  The church is a wonderful space, a very inclusive community and so it was fitting that the event be held there.  A parent from the school where I taught joined me.  She is looking for solace from the passing of her father two weeks ago.

Singing is such a wonderful way to connect with others and to open a space we forget we have in ourselves.  She grew up as Jehovah's Witness and said she renounced it 15 years ago because she wasn't allowed to sing.  And now she is a Buddhist or atheist, trying to reconcile the incredible emotion that Bach, a composer of God, is able to transmit to her through his choral works.  She can't read music ("It's Chinese to me") and so I pointed along to the words and the notes and she followed the line as best she could, and the words, her first language being Spanish.  She was finding her way in a non-native sound scape, singing for the first time in years.

It's touching what people will do.  Who is this person who has now asked me to come to her home for dinner to be around her children and her family?  Who is this open heart after such loss?

A Japanese Day

We have a New York friend who grew up in Japan and now in her retired years, after working as a translator, she enjoys all things Japanese.  She took us around an exhibit today at the Japan Society where she volunteers as a translator, and then showed us a Japanese grocery store she likes, and then a Japanese home goods store, and then the best of all, a Japanese book and stationary store!  Wonder of wonders, one of my favorite things in Japan.  All the beautiful stationary, the excellent writing utensils, and cute ways to organize parts of your life you didn't realize were a mess.

Afterwards she treated us to a very nice Japanese restaurant, where she spoke with the waiters on our behalf, and where we were greeted and bid farewell by the people cooking behind the counter.  The food was delicious and truly authentic, which is something hard to find even in New York.  Japanese food is far more than the sum of its parts.  It is about the presentation, the portion size, the number of different dishes, the service, and the delicate balance of flavors.  It's amazing how often places serve Japanese food without it being Japanese.  Quality really matters, and it was refreshing to be back in that sort of space.

Reading through the Japanese language books at the store, and even in the past few days prior to this visit, I've once again become interested in learning the language.  In Japan, I never felt that I really achieved mastery of the language and yet I always enjoyed studying it.  I think I studied it partially because I wanted to interact with Japanese people, but also I think it was just a fun thing to do, something that was productive for my life but also very interesting and beautiful.  New ways of writing, new ways of thinking about ideas.  For me, when I think about it outside the context of the need that I felt to study the language at the time, I realize that I really just enjoyed learning it for itself.

It's possible to think of the three years of non-fluency that I spent there as a failure, but I actually achieved a lot in terms of comprehension and literacy and the curiosity in it lives on.  And that it lives on means it didn't fail.  So along with learning to play the piano a little better, improvising, organizing my teaching studio, and preparing for my black belt test in September, I think I will have another hobby, one that is completely unnecessary or goal oriented, that has no need attached to it at all.  To study Japanese again.  Just for the fun of it.

Suzuki at Carnegie; Pictures of Central Park

We spent the day moving young cellists around Carnegie Hall.  Over 170 of them were on stage for the last few Suzuki songs.  It was a surreal experience, to see so many young cellists playing together, but then there were over 750 violinist.  Incredible.  Incredible, too, was the precise organization that it took to make it happen.  Row organizations and timing and parent drop-off and pick-up, figuring out who was playing what and where they would be seated for it, practicing the review pieces so that it would sound as good as it did.  There were many arts going on today, some musical and some logistical.

And then afterwards we hung out with some of the other teachers, meeting and mingling.  And because it was a beautiful day, we went for a walk in the park.  Passing by a baseball game under a beautiful sky with the Manhattan buildings looming, never too far away.  

Ride and Shake (Beginning of Summer)

First day of summer.  Andrew came home and suggested a bike ride through Central Park.  We got to see many pockets of the park peopled with picnickers and runners and bikers and even a boxer.  There are so many types of people in New York, and they come out to enjoy a bit of greenery and to forget they are in a big city, except that they are still surrounded, packed together, with other people.

And then we had ramen followed by a malt at what is becoming, I believe, our local diner of choice.  The milkshake maker at this place takes his job very seriously.  He is a mixologist of shakes with excellent presentation skills.

The sky was beautiful today.  It's wonderful to share it.

Last Day of School Teaching

This is the end of the year.  Today was the last day of teaching at Harmony and after the graduation ceremony tomorrow where the students will be playing, they will be turning in their instruments.  The Success Academy Charter Schools is no longer going to bring in outside organizations to do after-school programs and so the students we have been teaching all year will no longer be playing.  I'm hoping a few are able to continue, and also hoping that the school system at least finds another way to help them stay in music.

It's a strange feeling to have the year be ending.  Each time I left the school I thought about how I could improve on the next time, or maybe how I could start the year over again.  Regardless of the decision, I hadn't been planning to return as a classroom teacher next year and yet somehow it seems even more final.   There are grand ideas and minute details that I dream of imparting to the students there, and yet my message has felt so muffled this year, so ineffective.  I think my arrows were not very straight and were blown off course by various winds, several that I can count for sure, several that I suspect were there but I may only come to know years from now.

I have learned so much from this experience, though.  I wish I had learned all there was to learn, but now it is done.  I am so grateful to the students for their patience (or at least as much as they could muster) and for those that have continued to love playing despite the frustrations of the classroom.  I have learned that respect is something that you practice, not earn.  That people and children are not only what they present to you, but are deeper within themselves and exist in the future and the past in myriad states.  It is not an option to quit and remaining open is the only way when it becomes difficult.  Attention getting devices and points are hallow but effective.

Tomorrow the scholars graduate from 4th grade and move on to other things.  They step into a world beyond my reach and I think that is a very good thing.  It is hard to say goodbye because I don't really feel like we ever said hello.  I shared so little of myself and was it because I forgot or because I couldn't find a way in such an environment?  But as I walk away, this is on my mind as another lesson.  To share more of myself with my students, in whatever way I can.

Hearing of Dr. Suzuki

I'm at the Suzuki Conference in Minneapolis surrounded by esteemed, even legendary Suzuki pedagogues.

There are many great ideas being shared, interesting talks and presentations, both practical and theoretical.  But perhaps the most striking thing so far has been an informal discussion between members of the Reunig family some of the first teachers to embrace Suzuki in America.  They knew Dr. Suzuki well, and their daughter, five at the time Suzuki first came to America, became one of the first guinea pigs.  It was wonderful to hear them speak so openly and comfortably in front of a large audience that only seemed to make them feel warmer.  As the mother, Joan, said at one point, this was their family.  It is beautiful to see the lineage of love that has been strung in this community, to see the generations of teachers and family members dedicated and passionate about sharing the gift of music with children.

Carrie, one of the children of the family, helped moderate the discussion, and shared her experience, something very rare, of what it was like to be a student with Dr. Suzuki.  She shared the feeling of working with him, as she had many occasions to do.  She said she was never nervous with him, that there was a real safety with him, that she was completely taken care of.  She said she felt really seen and known by him, as though there was a real soul to soul connection. "He presented a potential that he could see in me.....he held out a bridge for me, on which I just needed to take a step closer to that potential....I had a feeling of respect for myself and confidence in myself....he had a vision to give this feeling to every child."

Just as recordings cannot really replace a live performance, hearing these words from someone who lived them and experienced the life energy of such an incredible person has no replacement in written or even recorded anecdote.  Ideas are so accessible in this world, and yet this sort of experience still has a value that nothing else can touch.  Presence is irreplaceable.  And yet, we were able to hear and experience Dr. Suzuki through their words and they way they shared them.  We are able to transmit something.

Dr. Suzuki said to the Reunig parents, "Surround your children with wonderful people."  How wonderful to be such a child.

Gratitude for freedom

Being a great teacher really requires understanding the wavelength a student is on.  Seeing them more and more fully.  So I felt like a very young teacher today when I walked into the 14th (13th) floor Central Park West apartment for my practice partner session, and upon seeing the chairs that this soon-to-be 6-year-old had set for our session during the 5 minutes I was running late, wanted to tell him how deeply I appreciated his courtesy and thoughtfulness--how touched I was that upon ringing the doorbell to the apartment, he had opened it immediately.  He had been waiting.  

But it was impossible to express to him how significant this was to me after a day of struggling to find respect at the school where I was teaching.  Earlier in the day, I had to make the expectation clear that we don't talk while another person is playing for their evaluation, that we don't throw flashcards around, or jump up and scream after playing a piece.  Expectations that I had somewhat expected would be in place for a 9 or 10-year-old.  And here, this kid, not even 6, thinking to set up chairs so that we can get started with our lesson as soon as I arrived.  How silly to think I could explain my gratitude.

But on the other end, those kids that can't sit still.  How deep are their emotions and their confusions I cannot possibly know.  It terrifies me to think.  I learned through an assistant teacher today that one of the ones that is a constant struggle is insecure about going to middle school, that friends are mean to her.  They are all under pressure now to take their state science test.  And the tears and the backlash come in class.  Some are able to control themselves and to manage the stress.  And others are very sensitive, or distracted, unable to make sense of all the input that is trying to form and conform them into test-taking beings.  What are we learning to be and to become?  There is so little time and space in the classroom to be deeply considerate of a child.  I admire those who can do this well.

There is a lot more to see.  But I also appreciate that I get to see several sides of what is possible.  There is a deep disadvantage in certain communities, a chaos that causes a fearful gripping in its members that does not exist in others.  It is a feeling in the body.

It occurred to me the other day that the absence of fear is not courage, but rather, freedom.  And I wonder how many people have the comfort to even consider this, shoulders up and pushing forward into life.  It begins from childhood.  I can see it in the ease with which my practice partner has consideration for me and trust in my guidance; and the correlating distrust in my other students and their inability to be considerate, even at an older age.  It is not a judgement of them as people.  It is what they have been given and taught.  It is a challenge to me personally to teach with this distrust, it is a challenge for these students to be vulnerable enough to really learn, change and grow, and it perplexing and frustrating to me as to how, in a group setting, in this teaching atmosphere of breeding test takers, I can push against the waters.

But it makes me at least wish to try to listen more closely to what is going on with each of them.  There is more that I can understand and in turn help them understand if I do.  To help those that are guarded know that there is another way.  And those who are not, to know this as well.

Yay Students!

Today I wanted to try a meditation practice with the kids.

"OK scholars, today we are going to start class with one minute of listening.  This is what musicians have to do really well, so we are going to practice this.  So for one minute we are going to be silent and just listen to the sounds around us.  Can you hear the highway noise, people talking down the hall?  See how much you can hear."

"So is this a game????"

"Um, sure, yeah, it's a game.  Definitely a game."

If every endeavor could just be viewed as a game.  Playing all these things that we do in life, things that are stressful or difficult.  It's just a game.  And they seemed to like this game.

There are so many intriguing challenges in teaching.  It's part puzzle, part intuitive guidance.  And what a pleasure to meet all these people.  Today after class, one of my student's mothers was a little late, unusual for her, and she said that she had family visiting from her country.  "Ah and where is that?"  "Senegal."  "And how often do they come?"  "Oh my brother comes for 10 days (?), but my mother, this is her first time.  I told her last night, 'You should go to bed,' and she just looked at me and said, 'No, no I can't, I'm just so happy to see you.'"  What an incredible reunion and wonderful to share in her joy of it.

And now I'm building a studio of adults which is really exciting.  A woman from India, a classically trained Indian vocalist, who works as a graphic artist.  Another who is a traveling nurse but studied cello for 4 years and after a year off is taking advantage of being in New York long enough to start lessons again.  Another who is a photographer and enjoys helping hoarders  de-clutter.  A woman from China, an architect who has lived here for 2 years, who caused me to bow to her humility as she entered my apartment and immediately took off her shoes, bowing as she did so.  And tonight a New York lawyer, who's family moved here from Russia in 1905 (so, a real New Yorker!), who had direct questions for everything we did, and is learning to play the cello at 71 for better aging.  It's a great group of people.  I'm so excited to be working with them.

And the same for my young ones in Harlem.  I look at them and see them growing.  Such wonderful people.

It is challenging to think of what a person needs, whether it's enforcing discipline or encouraging freedom, whether it is a specific technical challenge or a mental block.  There are so many ways to see and interact with another person.  So many resources to offer them and directions that can be taken.  And in the midst of it, despite these challenges and maybe because of them, I can feel my voice for teaching starting to grow again.

Guarded Empathy

This was the first high school I've been to with escalators.  Also the first where 8 bullet-proof vest-wearing armed security guards questioned me on the other side of a metal scan and x-ray security check.  On the 4th floor was the actual school where I was going to sub for another cellist, a middle school in the same charter school network where I teach my 4th graders.  I got to seem them in four years, or at least where they will be.  Larger people, wearing similar uniforms, still being reprimanded by faculty.  "You can't be here without a pass, watch him and make sure he goes back to his room,"  "Well, you can't eat in here and you can't eat in the hallway.  I guess you should have had your lunch when it was scheduled."  There is still a tension between rules and disregard of rules.

Of the five cellists I was supposed to have in my class I saw three, one of which came in, then left to go to lunch but somehow missed it, then went to a homeroom classroom to eat her lunch telling me she wouldn't be in cello class.  Another came to the class 4 minutes before it ended, just enough time to run through their ensemble piece.  And the other, the shy, golden-hearted one, who came early and had an awkward private lesson with me for 45 minutes.  Thinking that at any moment the others might arrive, it was hard to dive into anything.  Also since she is not my students and my presence, maybe never to be seen again, was completely unsolicited by her.  I shared a perspective on vibrato with her, and shifting, and ensemble dynamics.

It is hard to have a situation that is so endemic that one can throw love and more love into it and not feel that anything comes out of it.  But then what is love?  Are we, am I, really putting it in?  I've never taught in quite this setting, and certainly not in the style expected of this institution which is so far from what I would like to share.  It's a difficult thing to balance, and something that I hope with start to make more sense.

And shortly after, rehearsing with a good friend for a chamber music concert reminded me of skills and feelings rarely practiced these days.  Flexing that muscle of what it means to really play with another person, to feel what they are feeling.  Music can teach us such empathy.  And what scary thing that might be at times.  In these schools, children feel like objects, I feel like an object, we are animated objects.  But in chamber music, empathy is essential.  How can I teach this?

Turning Inside Out

It doesn't matter that I don't like the teaching style at the school where I teach, or that I don't enjoy teaching in such a manner.  It doesn't matter that I feel bogged down in the nagging tone of voice that I feel I acquire while teaching there, or the fear that it is coming from within me and will haunt me forever.  It doesn't matter that I likely won't be teaching there, again, or that a part of me is looking forward to the end of the year.

What matters is the students that I'm teaching.  And for everything in my class and in our time together towards which I can be critical, the only answer is to find another way, or to keep looking for new ways.  Children really do learn what you give them and surround them with.  Somehow they are playing the cello.  But teaching them something more is what is needed.  There is no turning away from that.  There is more consideration needed–in our technique, in our words, in our actions.

Try Again

Yelling to get a child's attention equals I lost.  Teaching takes practice so tomorrow I'm going to try to turn awareness of others into a game.

New Students

This is an exciting time of beginning an adult cello studio.  There are several trials this week and this evening was the first lesson with one of them.  It is also inspiring to me to meet adults who are interested in learning something, and it is really fun to take them over hurdles they never imagined doing.  And adults are really cool in that they have already experienced a lot of life.  They have stories and complex emotions, and yet there is still so much more that cello can teach them.  It's a reminder that I too can learn these lessons from the cello as an adult.

I am really excited to meet each of these new people, and excited at the idea of having a group of adults all beginning at the same time, capable of having a group class together and sharing in that social aspect of learning and growth as well, supporting one another in this journey.  It is a really exciting thing to think of, going forward.

Day in Westport (remembering the board)

It has been a moving day.  From a sincere exchange on the bus with a former opera singer (about growing older, contending with one's body, finding a new career, and sharing the new found calm), to the tour I received of Westport Connecticut from a potential employer at the Suzuki School there (the beaches, the million dollars houses, the moss on the trees), to all the new students and their parents that I met (to the mother that sent me a heartfelt email about my lesson with her son), to the cab driver that shared his working day (after day after day) life with me after having been laid off from a payroll management job at a non-profit.  It has been a day with my cello, a trip up the coast to try on a new potential job.

I would like to take this position, if the numbers can work out.  There are so many possibilities here, in this life I'm living.  Driving through the New England rain with a committed Suzuki teacher was a centering 45 minutes for me.  Taking in hours of green and committed students was a different life than my current teaching situation.  I'm considering another position as well in the city (still uncertain if there is really an offer), and in two weeks doing an audition for Teaching Artist Apprenticeship not knowing if that is really something that I would be able to do given these other possibilities or the direction in which I want to go.  There are a lot of options.  The fire is starting.  But I have to be centered with what I want, what I envision.

Stepping Into Something New

Spring time seems to be the time that people become interested in cello lessons.  I have three trial lessons this week.  That's up from zero the past two months.  And there are some teaching prospects for the coming year as well.

I am wondering what my future will be for the school program where I am teaching.  It has been a challenging year, and yet so rewarding to see the work that has been done.  It is exciting to see students playing the cello, when 7 months ago they couldn't.

And yet, coming away from the belt test I am reminded of a teaching focus that I would like to strengthen in myself.  It is something that I think can be quite natural and yet it needs practice.  When I see my students struggle with finding good posture, or fluidity, or intonation, I remind myself of my own ability to see where I want to be, combined with my inability to be there.  Teaching and learning require the pointing out and the following, the realization and the actualization.  Neither is instantaneous.

I recorded my students for them to do their own self evaluations and for me to do them as well.  It's funny to frame something, to see it set apart of the the run-up of the day and the week.  Here is this perfect little person, full of many parts, from their family, from their family's past, from their school and peers.  Sometimes trying, sometimes distracted.  Seven perfect little people, doing things they once couldn't do.