Appreciating Life (visit to Granddad's)

It's hard to know how to bridge a difference in age and time.  Perhaps I will understand it better when I am finally much older than I am.  It's not the first time that someone has told me to value youth while I'm able; but how can I do that?  From their own admission there is no way for me to comprehend what it is like to have parts of my body leave me, things that I take for granted introduce themselves as neighbors neglected for years.

It is hard and strange to watch someone grow older.  To see their body become less differentiated, their faculties wear with less acuity.  Who is a person, at what stage of their life are they who they are?  Watching my grandfather this afternoon, I saw him struggle to express his thoughts in the same way a one-year-old might, saw him reach slowly for his cup and tentatively bring it to his lips.  But from this side of life, he is not the same as he was 90 years ago.  What a difference it makes whether one has more forward or backward to look, and how easily it is to admit it?  People seem to be running from one or another their whole life.  Is it possible to exist in only one time?  We would have to deny its existence all together, and along with it, the evidence that it inflicts wear upon us.

Today was different not only in his difficulty speaking, in the extent to which his body has shrunk, but also in his conversation.  Rarely, if ever has he spoken frankly about getting older.  It always seemed his practice to protect us from any unpleasantries he might be carrying, generally preferring to be our counsel instead.  But today he exposed them to us, saying he never imagined it would be so hard to speak, telling us to enjoy our youth.  And today he took us along a personal memory which was different in texture than any I had heard him share before, a memory of waking early in the morning to take a shower and listen to music in the middle of the night when neuropathy in his legs kept him from sleeping.  He said he had a memory of sitting at the dining room table with headphones on while the rest of the house slept.  A time before any other distractions from our daily pains could help us.  Just music to fill the empty hours.  

It isn't easy for me to hold the string that connects so many parts of life.   It's not easy for another, nor is it easy in myself.  Life bears so many abilities, beauties, confusions, ironies, absurdities, how can we comprehend it?  What is one person from another, the length of life, or its measure?  I feel very lucky to have been given a perspective from later years in life, not only from my grandparents but also from friends and mentors.  And yet I am stuck with a dilemma.  How can I possibly appreciate life for all that they realize it is worth?  

The hour when the snow turns blue

I beat the sun.  In the dark, just over the horizon a giant star was waiting, but I got there first.

First Snow of Winter

There are many dark things in this world, but I am so grateful for snow.  How blessedly beautiful it is, and lucky I am to be able to walk and run and in the park in the evening and in the morning and to see the way it glows from within, and softens the sound and the look of the world.  It crowns the trees and purifies the ground.  Perhaps one day, we will live in a world with little snow.  How heartbreakingly, wonderfully, wonderful to have had a day with a long walk with someone I love in the blurry white, to take refuge in an unplanned visit to a friend that lives on the edge of the park, to share hot chocolate and cookies, and to go back out into the white world, cold, but in no way alone.

People Mobility

On my way downtown, the train I got on at 116th announced that its last stop would be 103rd, because there was a broken rail at 96th Street.  There were no further helpful instructions.  So at 103rd Street, the hundreds of people on that train all had to get off, shuffle out of the station and find some alternate means of getting wherever it was they were going.  A lot of them got on a bus, a number of them hailed cabs, Vias, Ubers or Lyfts,  and others (myself included) walked the 7 blocks to 96th where we were able to get on an express train (missing a number of stops that we might have been able to take were it a local).

Luckily I was only going to a class with a very friendly teacher, and luckily I had been able to leave early enough to allow that despite the added time, I was only 2 or 3 minutes late.  But what if I had had a job interview, sandwiched between other obligations in my day?  Or if I had had to pick up a child from daycare and had maxed out on my number of times being late?  Or if I were going to work, or an important meeting?  Late for a flight to see a sick relative?  Why does this city not care about the worker that can't afford to pay to take a cab everywhere they go?

It made me really angry to think about it.  And angrier still to think how ineffective that anger was.  All the politicians know this is a problem, but no one is fixing it.  It wouldn't make a difference if I wrote an angry letter or yelled at them.  The feeling is that they don't care about a lower class that is not giving them campaign contributions.  It is a terrible feeling to be so ineffectual.

My life is quite devoid of such anger, and as such, it doesn't stick.  I come home to a warm space, have a very controlled and happy life, and something like an MTA glitch is merely an inconvenience in my day, not something that will derail most events for me.  But there are lives that constantly have these setbacks, that are filled with anger and injustice, that are not heard.  In this country, there is still an indentured class of citizens.  Class mobility is not easy when it costs so much time and money to be poor.

Is it a gift to relinquish such control in the face of so many hardships?  The borrowed feeling of powerlessness today was in many ways liberating.  What is there to fear if no one cares, if you have no control anyway?  Perhaps dying is much easier.

But is that a way to live, or a justification for not caring about others?  And then what am I to do of it?  That's the dull blow at the end of the fading anger, which admittedly doesn't even keep me up at night.  I am able to let it go, because it does not really belong to me.  One of the workers in our building, whom I've spoken with a number of times, calls me ma'am.  I know his name and use it.  But I'm neither entitled to a name, or better still, the silence in lieu of it.  I am of a different class, one that is served, one that doesn't speak Spanish, one that has generations living on this soil.  And it seems there is no way to bridge that.

May I discover another way.

Changing the Color

There are so many horrible things in this world.  It is hard for me to understand how people can have so much hate, or be willing to hurt so many others for personal advancement.  The news if filled with horrible stories.  Our government is doing horrible things; horrible and hurtful.  And yet one day we will all die.  The terrible things that get under our skin, the things that news outlets cycle and recycle, will one day not exist, nor will there be any record of it existing.  It will end.  Everything will cease to be.

It's not that these things don't matter, in fact, quite the opposite.  But how do we interact with them?  Starting my morning playing Bach doesn't change the news.  But it makes part of this universe, at least for this instance of time, more beautiful, more loving.  And to share that with others can change the color and the fabric of our world, at least for the time that we here.  And in the end, there is nothing else that matters.

A very long day, including a recital

Overall it has been really nice to hear my students' recitals this fall.  It's rewarding to start creating a deeper connection with people and to really see something forming in a way.  I can hear the things that we've worked on, that are there because we worked on them together, and I can also hear places that we can grow together.  In both ways it's exciting to be building something new with so many wonderful people.  

Flying Above

I might be noticing a trend in flying recently towards sentimentality.  Something about suddenly being lifted above the ground where I was walking, seeing hundreds or thousands of houses and people in one little window puts things in perspective.  Or it might be the air pressure.  That's actually my first guess.

Regardless, I appreciate emotions and the different reflections they offer the mind.  Whether they come from a physical or a situational place seems a bit irrelevant, unless I'm trying to "solve" them.  If I find myself pondering mortality and the wonder of existence, it doesn't matter if it is brought on by lack of sleep, or diet, or air pressure, or the very real absurdity of our ephemerality.  Who would have thought that any of the world we know around us would have been possible from the natural landscape in which it is nested?  It seems just as impossible that we could grasp the nature of ourselves and our place in it, and yet, look what we've been able to create.  Surely a flight here and there and the world becomes smaller and larger, in just a few hours....

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.

Subway Rides and the Daily Grind

Sometimes I have to move around the city with my cello and sometimes it has to be at rush hour.  But because I had my cello this morning and got squished next to a woman that I got on at 86th St, I got to hear about her experience playing in the Met Orchestra.  She's a cellist too and had jury duty before she had to play an opera this evening.  It was interesting to hear her perspective on orchestral playing and gigging in New York.  It's her job to have a different schedule every week, playing different productions.  What a life.  Yesterday one of the fathers in my early childhood music class was a Tony-awarded orchestrator and conductor for Broadway.  Who knows what the other thousands of people around me do in their day-today?

Sisyphus Stones

A stone I died and rose again a plant;

A plant I died and rose an animal;

I died an animal and was born a man.

Why should I fear? What have I lost by death?

-Rumi

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/09/14/nyregion/a-mystery-solved-why-the-sisyphus-stones-rise-and-tumble.html?_r=0

Waves of Possibility

One of the great things about having so many students is that it is impossible to hide from myself.  Meaning, I have to confront what I'm teaching and passing along because I see it right back at me many times throughout the week, enough so to rule out chance or individual student differences to some degree.  At the very least, I see the different shapes that my words and actions form on various terrains of young and older minds and the minds of parents.  Over and over, I question that I am transmitting what I value and over and over I see reflected that I may not actually be living and sharing what that is.

But with so many students, there isn't a ton of time to deeply reflect, or reorganize, or arrange, and so reflection and growth seem to be happening on the fly as I have to reckon with the results.  I wonder what I would have thought if I had known that any of my teachers was still learning how to teach, was wrestling with trying to understand how to handle any of the many challenges I know I threw at them.  Without saying so, I beg the patience of my students and hold a deep gratitude for their trust.  But since what I really want to teach is listening, and joy, and possibility, and love, and because there are so many ways to all these things, maybe it's time to be more vocal of both my humility and appreciation.  

Open Sky in a Crowded Space

There are a few subway stations where there is are huge elevators that transport people to the platform rather than stairs or an escalator.  168th street is one of them.  While some of the elevators depend on operation by the passengers, there are others that are operated by an MTA employee.  This person sits in a hot, stuffy, crowded space for hours with grumpy, anxious, tired people, pushing one of two buttons:  Platform or Street.  Sometimes they have a fan, sometimes a radio.

I suppose it makes sense that one would develop strategies for this sort of job.  Nevertheless, it was a fresh breeze to be wished a good safe evening my this gentlemen, and to witness the entire elevator of New Yorkers change their posture and most gratefully return the wish from such an unexpected source.  This was a New York boatman from Siddhartha, transporting us back and forth, breathing in the angst and returning an open sky in a crowded space.

Self-Doubt

One of my students has been working on the same piece for awhile.   He has ADHD and it can take of bit of time for things to all click together in the way they need to when playing the cello.  Hooked bows, shifts, intonation, hand positions, etc.  He's also one of the sweetest kids I've ever worked with.  His mother has talked to me a lot about his frustrations with practice during the week and we've come up with strategies to help.  But in our last lesson she brought up that he had been feeling some self-doubt.  That's a little more than I had heard in the past, and so I just had to sit with it for a moment when she said it.  How does one respond to a 10-year-old feeling self-doubt?  The irony is that I had been feeling the same way recently.  To respond to him was, in a way, to respond to myself.  If I could tell him off-handedly not to worry about it, I should be able to believe it for myself.  It's so easy to say, Oh you're fine!  But what if it isn't.  So I had to pause.

I wasn't ready to give a full answer.  I'm still not brave enough.  In the end I spoke about what a gift he has that he shares with others through his music, how much inspiration others take from him.  This is completely true.  There is something special about his playing.  And he has no choice but to serve that.  That was all I could give him in that moment.

But for myself, when faced with this sort of issue, I have to dig deeper to actually resolve it to any satisfaction and that's where I don't know how to help him or others.  I feel inadequate in other ways in my teaching, but I wish for more courage to walk with someone in their self-doubt, in their confusion, in their frustration.

I'm approaching the other side of the hill in terms of how many students I have.  Just a little earlier, it was too many, but now that I have a few more, I'm failing to resist it so much and just going with the flow.  Perhaps I'll find a respite in the waves and discover what it is I'm hoping to convey for myself and them.

Marcel

I learned that Marcel's name was Marcel when he was filling in for our regular doorman and helped me track down a package.  During that first interaction, he was helpful, but didn't strike me as particularly friendly.  He had a straight-faced approach to my request, suggesting that I check what time it should have been delivered and further suggesting (perhaps due to his past experience) that I wouldn't be inclined to go through that trouble.  I don't remember how the whole thing ended, but I got my package and asked him his name in the process.

And not uncharacteristically, this evening as I was walking up what seemed an empty sidewalk to our apartment I heard a voice yell, "Hello Andrea!" and a hand wave from a first floor window.  It was Marcel, guarding another building and greeting me happily at the end of a day.  It's not lost on me how much inertia is overcome in such a greeting.  Nor do I miss the the gratitude that I feel for it.

Fall

One of the most annoying things about being a musicians is giving up a good gig.  It kept me up the other night and still eats at me.  The reason I did it was to honor my teaching commitments.  Am I good person or just suffering from lopsided self-knowledge?  I miss playing seriously.  And it grates a little more on me that I my students don't yet know how to share the intense passion I have for it.

In giving it up, I've realized its value and that's even more valuable than the gig itself.  These mini-deaths are so important to live and relive, and thanks to my never-ending ignorance, I get to do just that.  There will always be another regret, and in those blessed regrets, opportunities to love something more and more deeply, to have a greater appreciation and gratitude for what is valuable.  When I played in an orchestra everyday, it drowned me.

But now, I have less patience for apathy, both in myself and in my students.  We are alive.  We have the opportunity to feel, and touch, and experience and share with one another.  How will we live up to this potential as fully as possible?  It is the time of year when light is leaving us, and somehow everything seems far more precious.

Moments of Respite

After a reset day of sleep, practice, and a run, Andrew and I ventured to Bryant Park via Times Square.  There are so many New Yorks.  The calm river run of the day, the respite of being indoors, the crowded subway, the bright lights of Times Square, the loud music and sirens and horns, the fancy shop windows on 5th Avenue, the smells of roasted nuts, sewers, subway corners, meat skewers, and candy shops.  In the midst of all the noise and bustle we encountered a Mennonite choir within the Times Square subway station.  People pushed by, some stopped to take pictures.  They were visiting from many places, many denominations gathered to spread the word of God's love for those seeking it through singing.  It was a lovely respite, even for those of us not seeking.

Stretching out to Queens

I don't think I scarred any young children and some may have even had some fun in this first week of early childhood music education, despite my pianist's suggestions that I be more peppy.  I have a strong reaction to such comments: they were the reason that I dropped music education years ago and I think, regardless of the age being taught, are misguided.  Teachers should be genuine.  As I grow more comfortable I will show authentic joy without the worry of the lesson plan.  I'm already having fun, but certainly less so if it is under scrutiny.  I write this and say it to myself as I segue to my other work of the day and week, that of being a mentor to other teachers.  It is so important to be taught as a teacher.

This afternoon I headed way way way out into Queens on the F train, 90 minutes away from home to a busy suburb with gas stations, fried chicken, Halal restaurants, and even a funeral home with a lawn.  I found the school building which housed MS358Q, along with two other schools with similarly codified names as is common in New York, and spent nearly two hours meeting with a group of middle schoolers about to embark on a journey of cello playing.  They will be in a class of 14.  We had individual interviews with them to see how interested they really were and to give them an idea of what to expect.  They were all excited about getting their cello.  And yes, it's pretty cool!

What a joyful thing novelty is; embarking on something new, and not yet feeling the pangs of insecurity and disappointment.  And after these, the triumph of perseverance in the face of doubt.  There are so many ways to grow and grow more.  I get to be the one growing.  And at the same time and from the awareness this affords me, I get to guide another, in fact many others, on the same path.

Inertia

Inertia.  Of habits, of words, of gestures, of expectations, of time.  I may think that it's about stepping into the inertia of others, but really it is my own.  There is a lot of it in the city.  Somebody throws a ball and another is left scrambling for it, tossing helter skelter to yet another.  It piles up over the course of a day, week, month, year.  Neck ties in a flurry, umbrellas competing for space, boots covered in salt, the heat of one body adding to the heat of another in a crowded subway car.  Where does another person stop and where do I begin?  

Sky in NYC

Since coming back from Alaska, I've really wanted to get hiking again.  I scoped out the Greenbelt on Staten Island and was planning to go there today, but when I realized it would take over 2 hours each way to get there and couldn't leave until 2:30pm, it was no longer desirable.

Instead I left my phone, put on my hiking gear, took my good camera, and went for a 3-hour "hike" to the East River via Morningside and Central Parks.  I had previously said that New York is about people, but this walk made me realize that it is also beautiful for it's own sake.  And it was also an opportunity to reflect on the importance of that quality in a place.  Sometimes New York feels very transactional, and as a person living here, I start to feel that I am merely a part of transactions.  I am hired by someone and exist for how I can serve them.  Or I hire others or pay for their goods and they only exist for what they can give me.  We stop seeing one another as anything more than what we can offer and somehow we become objects.  And so in this city, it seems very important to remember our humanity, and for the space itself, to see its beauty beyond the transactional quality of the buildings and modes of transportation.  "Hiking" to enjoy the surroundings.  Not to get anywhere or burn calories, but to be outside in a space, appreciating it.

The sky is still there and still beautiful, and only because we see it and think it is so.

over Morningside Park, Harlem

in Central Park

Central Park 

Central Park, Jackie Onassis Reservoir

sky reflected in windows

Park Ave

East River

East River, Brooklyn

Silent Questions

It's a new year.  I've started the second year of teaching many of my students. Not only is it great to be able to see familiar face again, but having a second year allows me to reflect on each of them and to think about where we might be headed, or what would be valuable for each person.  It's also really cool to see growth happening, even after some time away from one another.  

For one, it's establishing an assumed respect in the lesson.  For another, artistry.  For another, inspiration through their natural creativity.  For another, to find an asset in their sensitivity, rather than a weakness. Before I started teaching this afternoon, I wasn't completely clear on what each might be.  But it became very clear for most after seeing them again and having time together again.  There are still a few that I'm curious about, wondering where we might be going.  I wonder what will happen if I am open in every lesson throughout the year to silently asking this of all my students.  What do you need?  What are you asking me to help you with?

Finding Alaska in the City

Having had a fair amount of time away from the city, I am seeing it in a new way, seeing the things that are less desirable about it.  It's hard to get away from people, hard to find the time to hike a trail, hard to take time away from computer activities or to get outside.  And then there is the balance of workers in NYC, the people that sweep up the prepared salad that I spilled on the street, the doorman that delivers my packages to my apartment.  It's a strange irony that progressive liberals are the ones that benefit the most from lower-paid workers.  In Alaska, everyone does what they need done.  No outsourcing of cleaning, food delivery, childcare.  Perhaps you might need to hire someone to pave your private road because you don't own the necessary machinery or skills, but that's a different sort of outsourcing.  The elitism of New York City, is not one of it's finer points.  Nor is its push to make everyone work work work.  We become little cogs in someone else's scheme, regardless of our status.  Alaska, so free!!!

My brush with nature today was a run through Central Park.  It was covered in picnics and strollers, children, families, older people, anyone hoping to take advantage of the incredible weather and a day off from work.  And there was something nice about that, too.  The challenge wasn't bears or slippery tree roots, but slow walking people holding phones or ice cream and piles of garbage stacked against the curbs.

New challenges, and still a good way to live, but the magic of New York as the place to be has worn off.  What does one need to survive or to thrive?  There are so many answers to that, so many ways to live that are valid and rewarding and beautiful.  And as much as I loved the openness, it would be foolish to ignore that that quality still exists in the closed space that surrounds me, to to shut out the possibility of enhancing it here.  Of what does it consist?  Time to talk to others, courtesy of space for others, strength in establishing my own limits and needs so that I may be more giving.

Honeymoon, Alaska, back to NYC

This morning we returned to New York after a 2 week-plus honeymoon to the Pacific Northwest and Alaska.  We hiked, saw family, grew in many ways, and even slept in for a few days here and there.

After flying to Seattle, the next day we drove over to Wenatchee National Park, and did a night of car camping to test out our stove and gear.  The following day, we did what turned out to be a very strenuous 1-day hike to Robin Lake, via Tuck Lake, and camped next to a cool alpine lake.  Another day of hiking and camping in Wenatchee (and no bears yet) and we drove down to Portland where we ended up crashing at a cousin's house and seeing the solar eclipse in Mollala, OR.  It was hosted by the Mollala Public library which supplied free eclipse glasses, camera obscura making, and music.  (This in contrast to the many events at $200+ across the state.  Go public libraries!)  Totality really was cool.  I'm not an eclipse-chaser yet, but it was way cooler than I thought it would be.

We went to downtown Portland for a night, then drove up to camp in Olympic State Park near Seattle and then did city things for 2 days.  Pike Place Market, Space Needle, and the incredible Chihuly Glass exhibit at the botanical gardens.  I've loved the look of Chilhuly glass, but never had the opportunity to fully appreciate his artistry and the way it reflects and pays homage to the things he loves in life.

And then to Alaska!  The first big adventure was Denali.  We had originally just thought to car camp there and hike around, but as we started to research their website, it became clear that they really encourage and inform people about backcountry camping and hiking.  There are no trails, just topo maps, and you make up your course, telling them only what unit (large area designation) in which you will be sleeping.  You are out there with wildlife, and although we started simply, this was still a growing experience.  We followed the East Fork Toklat River bed through gravel and learned how to (and that we could) cross rivers.  In Denali we literally got our feet wet, and through their great park organization and rangers, learned to step beyond our fear (well, a bit) and become immersed in the wild.

We meant to camp more, but it rained a lot.  The first night after Denali we found a last minute room at the Black Bear Saloon.  I think these rooms are usually for people that shouldn't drive home. but we loved the bed and hot showers.  We (Andrew) drove through the rain, through a three-mile tunnel to Whittier (only way to get there is this single-lane tunnel that controls traffic in and out, and is shared with a train), and went to Seward for beautiful rainy views of the ocean.  And then we drove, by way of a salmon river viewing, to my Uncle Dave's home in Kasilof, which overlooks the Kenai Nature Preserve.  The next few days we went, sea kayaking with otters, and went on several hikes, sometimes muddy sometimes glacial, and every night indulged with a warm bed, the outdoor weather being too wet and unpredictable to camp when such a nice option was available.

And we listened to AM, and observed people's reactions when we said we were visiting from New York City (one man said, "Oh I'm sorry.")  This is a land of hunting, and fishing, and owning a plane in order to get to certain places (there are hardly any roads, and some towns are not connected to the rest of the state).  It's a place of having freedom to do what you want, and not owing anything to the government.  And it's a place of space (no billboards), of isolation, of time.  The internet doesn't reliably work, and thus Blockbuster lives on.

And so it was a shock to come back to New York, which is not a place of any of these things.  But the value of New York is it's people.  And sometimes that's good and sometime people forget themselves and others and it's a challenge.  In Alaska, it is so much easier to avoid those slips.  There isn't often an occasion.  One can be alone with nature so so easily.  It was wonderful to be there and I think we would love to get back again, just to remember a different way of living that cannot, despite the many many ways of living that are around us in this city, be lived here.

Hike with OMP

Today I got to go for a short hike/walk and informal picnic concert with some wonderful young musicians from Opportunity Music Project.  I am constantly grateful for the way these courteous and musical individuals teach me more perspectives on life.  From a young high schooler from Uzbekistan, to his friend recently arrived from Venezuela, to the father I shared the car ride with who told me of the life he shared with his son, to the people in the front seat, one from Japan, the other from China, and the kid who I had coached to play his sixteenth notes with gusto who chose to sit next to me to eat his calzone.  Other children came to show me the young toads they were catching, many of them chased one another around the picnic area before they were cajoled into playing a short concert between the drizzles.  It is wonderful to have an organization, especially in the midst of the stresses of New York, that treats both music and people with such humanity.

Courtesy

Courtesy may be one of the most musical virtues I can think of.  Sometimes when it is rush hour and it seems necessary to push and shove in order to get to work on time, I try to remember to be more musical.  And in doing so, I realize that I give myself and the people around me more time and space.  I exercise courtesy for their presence, and the living that surrounds them.

When we play, we must have courtesy for every note, to give it room to breathe and live.  It is one of the traits of a great musician that they can control time in this way, can make it stop, make it hang in the air, because they have so much respect for it.  They defer to it, live within it, and become it, and so can take on its form and dance in its being.

So many times I've sat on stage with a wonderful pianist, playing the cadenza of a concerto, the stage lights reflecting and consumed by the black shine of the instrument, the audience silent, everyone clinging to each sound.  The disparity between my lived reality of time and the one being spun was so great that I feared I would scream or an alarm hidden somewhere on my body would suddenly go off.   But it never happened.  Only the moment, from one to another.  The crush of living in the present.

Musicians can do this.  Anyone can do this.  We can learn to respect the present and in so doing, control it in a new way.  When it is rush hour, or any hour, we can choose to have courtesy, to be more musical in our demeanor, to see the people around us and trust that others will see us.  We can live in our time, whether it is late, or early, or imperfect, or punctual.  Regardless of the time or space we occupy, regardless even of our feelings about it, we can exercises and express courtesy for ourselves and others.  And in so doing, can open new possibilities for living.

Chelsea to Greenwich to Washington Square Park

I had to say goodbye to a student that I really came to love today.  We only had three lessons, but sometimes things just click.  She belongs to another.  It's just the nature of teaching that it is important to love deeply and let go freely.

And this evening Andrew and I went to a Feldenkrais class, and in a very relaxed state walk through Chelsea to Greenwich Village where we had a lovely dinner at a cash-only French restaurant called Tartine.  We then strolled over to Washington Square Park, seeing huge bubbles by the fountain, a light saber battle expo, dogs with casts, on wheels, and on skateboards, free poems, a tall Jewish man promising to freestyle upon request, a baritone sax player filling up the beautiful sunset for his own satisfaction, demurring at our "tip" offering as he packed up to leave, presumably to eat his box of glazed donuts.  We watched two games of chess on the way out and found our way through groups of people savoring their Saturday night, sharing their presence with the world.

Saying Goodbye to Group

Group classes take a little more planning and a little more energy to teach.  Balancing what different students are able to do, and their attention can be challenging.  There are also so many opportunities for creative interaction and questions about what is pedagogically important that it can be confusing where to begin.  But I still really enjoy working with a group of students in a way that private teacher just doesn't quite touch.

So it was difficult today to have teach my last group lessons at one of my schools today.  I requested to pass them along to another teacher because I felt that several of my students were in need of longer lesson times, and I didn't have the time in my schedule to do everything.  It's always hard to say goodbye to unique experiences.  And also hard to say goodbye to unique groups of students.  But I'm excited for what they will be able to experience with another teacher and happy they will get the diversity of teaching this way.

And now to deepen the tone with those with whom I will have more time.

Cool Rainy Day in NYC

It is nonsensical but true that it seems to rain more often when I teach at OMP.  And also that if I go directly to the subway station after teaching at LMS, people will be coming up the stairs having just gotten off a train I've just missed.  But if I use the bathroom at the school first, I catch a train quite quickly.

If I close my eyes while students are playing, they listen more.

I've drawn so much inspiration from so many teachers.  There isn't one truth above all others, no perfect form or substance to teaching or offering.

Gardening on a Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day in New York.  I was in my apartment for most of it, but went for a run along the Hudson and by the 95th (?) St flower garden in Riverside Park.  One of the gardeners was out, tending to it, pulling weeds, I suppose.  My whole-hearted thanks to people that have some reason to make the world a little more beautiful.

Eyes Up, Ears Open

A student came into my lesson today and even though I had something to offer, it was obvious it was not what he needed.  Things quickly shifted from offering to receiving, and thus, hopefully, sharing in a different way.  Listening is an important part of music.  I'm just hoping that I heard his thoughts as fully as possible.  I suppose that can never truly be the case.

After another great Feldenkrais session, I took the train home.  There are so many people that ask for food and money in New York that it upsets me to always blankly be saying no, or looking away or just staring at my book.  I decided that when possible, I would always give a quarter.  It isn't much, but it's something and it's something that I can give every time asked and not loose much, even if it goes somewhere I'd choose against.

One woman got on the train and asked for food and I had none to give.  Another man came on the train singing America the Beautiful, harmonizing himself a cappella, singing beautifully.  "I'm not homeless, I'm not hungry.  Contribute if you like what you hear, or hear what you like.  I also take bribes."  He joked around, observing all the people on the train and the way they avoided his eye contact, despite his lack of pleading.  I would have given him a dollar the way another woman did, but I didn't have any money, not even my quarters with me.  Regardless, it felt good to be able to look at both of them as humans, knowing that I really would have given something had I had it.

Sometimes we're not prepared for what comes to us.

Dalcroze Lessons

As part of this conference, there are several keynotes each day and usually they include a teaching demonstration.  On the first day it was just a general class, on the second day we got to watch a group of elderly people do Dalcroze for the first time, and today we saw a group of children.  There is so much to learn from the teaching that goes into these and so much to see as an outsider from the growth that is happening.  

Yesterday it was really beautiful to see the group of older adults learn to find a beat with their bodies, learn to look up at one another, to coordinate their hands and feet, to hold a beat in the minds and pick it up again mid-phrase, to express themselves in front of others with different body gestures and poses, to make social connections with one another right in front of us on the stage.  They came out of their boxes and really blossomed over the course of 45 minutes.  There is a study that has shown that Dalcroze can reduce falling in elderly people 50% (more so than dance lessons and other similar activities) and it most certainly raises self-esteem and a sense of social belonging. 

The class today with children was very different, but it gave a sense of pacing and calm that I would not have anticipated seeing in children.  The teacher really expected them to hold attention on what she was offering, and stayed with their focus throughout the lesson (all while doing it in her non-native language of French).  For me it was a lesson in breath while teaching.  

We have one more day here to take in more of what is available from these great teachers.  Very fortunate to have this opportunity.

Old Quebec

We took a break from the conference and went to the old part of Quebec City.  Beautiful walking through old buildings and looking at the water from the hills above.  It was a nice break from all the things that conferences are.

Dalcroze this way, Dalcroze that way

This is an unusual Daclroze conference in that it is one with a more academic focus.  One of the pillars of Dalcroze is to experience first and then explain afterwards, and the balance of words about music and the classroom experience of it is sometimes limping, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another.  But at this gathering there are engaging explorations from both perspectives.  Thinking about it and feeling it.  It can be hard for one to speak to another, and difficult for those well-practiced in one to feel comfortable and valued when put in the light of the other.   As much as it would be nice to believe that it is possible to examine a topic objectively, people are people, egos are egos, loyalties, hierarchies, boxes and categories and judgments..they all still exist.  But sometimes we can be more pure about the goal and put it above us as people.  Dalcroze in this context seems tricky because it is so many things and has so many purposes that it can be hard to know what is higher and more important to serve than oneself and one's subjective perspective.  

Dalcroze can be educational, or therapeutic, or help performers, or offer something to music theory.  It can offer something to music researchers as well.  And they can also give something to those that practice it, to understanding the theory behind their practice.  There are so many things happening in one place, and tensions and confusions can arise, but in the end, the goal is growth, of oneself and of all the people with which we connect.  

Beyond Language

It is both unsettling and magical to be in a place where I don't speak the primary language.  Communication is turned on its head and gestures, signs, intuition, tones, all become far more salient. We are in Quebec City for the International Conference of Dalcroze Studies, and although there is still a fair amount of English, French is by far the dominant language.  The welcoming ceremony had many wonderful performances and presentations, in both French and English, including a short film and a discussion from its the creators. 

At one point, a teacher from the hosting university was honored and invited to get up to speak.  Preceding him was a grateful former student who told us how he had championed Dalcroze and brought it to the school over 40 years ago.  She spoke very highly of how he had touch so many lives. He said in English that I would not speak in English because it would be better for everyone, and that he would address the audience in French, instead.  And then there was a beautiful silence before he began to speak.  I don't know what he said, and perhaps it would have been disappointing had I understood his words, because his silences were so meaningful to me.  Divorced from the details of the stories and feelings he was sharing, I could read another part of what he was offering and what he had offered to others for years.  In addition to the brilliant improvisation performances, the beautiful visual films and graphics that were a part of them, the interactive singing, and lovely speeches of the ceremony, this will be something I remember.  

We can gain when we let go or lose something that is close or a comfort to us, something that we depend upon.  Sometimes its covers other possibilities of experiencing the world and seeing the people around us clearly.  There are many people with whom I will likely never be able to hold a full conversation, but we can still meaningfully communicate with one another in many other ways.  Another 4 days of enjoying the magic.....

Pacing

I'm wondering and hoping that it is possible to stretch my teaching endurance.  How many hours can one teach in a row?  My schedule seems to get full so quickly and the coming year is looming as a busy one.  I remember reading something written by a psychotherapist that there is such a thing as compassion burnout.  And although I'm not  therapist I can understand.  It takes energy to be with somebody for an hour, and to not only attend to their needs, but to ask oneself what they are and how to bring them to the surface and how best to address them given the person's overall and current disposition.   Regardless of being tired, I usually enjoy the work I do enough that I can keep pulling out more energy if needed, but my body still has certain needs.  At the very least, it's making me more serious about my boundaries and also my expectations for those with whom I'm working.  And maybe I will be forced to find a more peaceful maintenance of myself that I may have longer phrases in general.

Supporting Possibilities

If I had been born with different genes, or had different parents, or been influenced by different role models and teachers, life would probably be different.  It's so easy to compare ourselves with others, and for parents to compare their children with their expectations of what they could be.  Maybe we envision some barometer of success that is outside of what we are realistically given or can give to others.  It seems commendable to try.  Without that, it isn't possible to discover the potential that is there.  But there may be a great deal of value in a flexible goal, in a new direction, somewhere away from where our eyes were initially fixed.

Facebook is wonderful in that it brings others' lives closer to us than they might have been.  I can see friends of mine from the past achieving all sorts of things.  Professorships, jobs in ensembles, families, and travels around the world.  Sometimes I think some of those things might have been me.  Maybe they could have been my life.  But I was given a different set of many things, both inherited and modeled.  I've found myself in this spot in life, a very good one, but different from other trajectories of lives with which I've interacted.

There are many possibilities for children, but of all the things that I think parents and teachers can give them, love will go the furthest.  It will support all the good places that they may find themselves one day.

We are all endowed with a singularly unique perspective.  My recently divorced friends sees weddings and the relationship between a bride and groom in a way I cannot.  And the black woman on the bus, watching the young white boy tourist with his mother avoiding sitting next to her, is able to chuckle at this ignorance in a way I never could.  A mother of one of my students is able to scold her and love her deeply in a way I am not entitled to understand.

Watching the Exchange

Today I had the pleasure and privilege of watching 9 different teaching candidates teach short lessons to a group of students in northern Manhattan.  It's amazing to see how different people become over their lives.  Each one of them contributed and shared in a unique way, likely a result of their genes and the teaching and nurturing they had received over the years.  It also drove home to me that after a certain level of proficiency, it matters less the content, and more the way in which it is delivered.  I watched three teachers hone in on a particular student, each identifying the same issue, and each one speaking with her and interacting with her in a completely different way, all different in their demeanor and the way they framed the task at at hand towards helping her.  Her technical difficulty was even an issue that her primary teacher said he had addressed multiple times.

I also learned something from that girl, as she sat there so calmly, one teacher after another, continuing to try without strain.  As we left after the last candidate she stood in the middle of the room while everyone's attention was elsewhere, and made her most beautiful note of the day ring out.

Listening to Andrew play piano at the end of a tiring day

When life gets a little crammed, music has a wonderful way of opening up the joints, stretching the time, changing the color and timbre of the world.  It can give peace, or energy, or solace.  It brings the mind into focus when it's dancing in too many places at once.  What a wonderful thing it is, and what a wonderful gift to be able to give others.  Teaching or playing, the world is a different place with its presence.

New York Public Library at the Lincoln Center

First time at the New York Public Library's Performance Library at the Lincoln Center.  And I was so nervous.  I didn't know where to go, or that they would have to check my bag in the coat check before I entered the research area, or that I would have to get all my call slips approved and could only get 4 books at a time.  It was worse than a first date (not that I've had many).  But now I've been through it and can play it cool (or a at least a little more so) the next time I come.  A fun finding and a beautiful space.

The Spirit of The Spirit

Another one of my favorite things about New York is The Spirit, a local paper for the Upper West Side.  It's hard to capture what's so special about it, but it probably has something to do with the local interest articles, or the news about no news, or the events near me, or the voices of the people that write the various columns.  

In this last category there is one particular voice that I fell in love with the moment I read her column, "Graying in New York," and I write her name here because I am such a fan and would love to one day meet her, and dare I timidly say, even be her friend: Marcia Epstein.  I'll leave the link to the first-ever article that I read of hers, "The Importance of Friendship," which is about just that, and also the evils of Amazon Prime (I couldn't agree more!).  https://issuu.com/westsidespirit/docs/sp_090116/9

I always enjoy Marcia's balance of unpredictability and germane insight.  The article in this latest edition spoke about the connection of family beyond oneself.  Perhaps like these blog entries, her columns always seem written through, beginning to end, without too much concern about editing.  I always get excited to see that she has written something, and make myself save it until I've read up to it in the paper.  It's a little treat.

Anyway, here's the latest:  http://www.ourtownny.com/columnsop-ed/20170718/family-dynamics/1&template=mobileArticle

Bach

In the quest to figure out another recital program, I've gone through a number of ideas and pieces.  This morning, though, I realized a piece that I deeply love but have never had the audacity to play.  I  guess I have toyed with it here and there, but have never actually committed to the idea of seriously playing it.  And when I realized this, it seemed that must be a part of the answer, or at least a serious goal towards which to work.  I don't have a bucket list.  That seems like a somewhat strange idea to me, but I suppose I could put this on an unwritten one.  It's difficult and beautiful, a bummer of a combination, but a motivating one.  Looking forward to the coming days of practice, and dreading the ones when I can't.

182nd St, Dos Puentes Public School

For today, a picture from yesterday, cooling off....

Playing the Violin

And another thing...

Violin-playing is really fun.  I was dreading being a sub for a violin class today, pulling up memories of having to teach at Success Academy.  Despite many positive teaching experiences and feedback since then, there has always been a part of me that doubted my ability to teach in group settings.  But not only did I learn to play some violin today, I also learned that I can find a balance of love and discipline in the way that I work with kids, even when they are being unruly.  And I got to be an assistant, i.e. "student" in a violin fiddling class.  I realized how boring things can be and how much teachers expect students to just pick up, and how confusing it is when it doesn't make sense, and how teachers can make students feel bad unintentionally.  And kids don't even really know it's going on, just that they feel bad about themselves in some way.  So many valuable lessons in one day.....

On a personal note.....

I love kids.  As I teach, and maybe as I grow a bit older, I love them more and more.  All ages, whether good and bad.  I just think they are really cool.

And at this point in my life, at 33, it's time to make some choices about whether or not I'm going to have my own.  And I think I would like to.  Unfortunately as a woman there is only so much time, and I've enjoyed a lot of it being solo and independent.  But after getting married last month, it seemed like a good idea to perhaps at least start trying, since these things can take awhile.

It's a difficult thing for me, as much as I love children, to be fully ready to give up my body and my life for one.  In the past few weeks, I've started to think that perhaps against all odds, I had become pregnant very easily and quickly.  And admittedly, I'd had mixed feelings about it.  I love eating peaches and apples and sometimes strawberries, and don't normally care about them being organic, but now I'm supposed to because pesticides might effect my child's immune system.  This morning in our Tae Kwon Do workout, I realized I should probably not be doing all the sit-ups and leg-lifts full-kilt, pushing myself to do them as quickly and with as full range of motion as possible, because it would be unsafe.  I should not do all the kicks that require twisting of my torso, or jumping, nor should I engage in free-sparring with contact.  Now would not be the time to explore my personal limits.  Although it's beautiful to have the opportunity to miss that right.  Also, no drinking, or smoking (though those are non-issues), and various other things that I will discover have "pregnancy" warnings on them.  All these little things claim the sovereignty of my body.  And then nursing, and postpartum, rediscovering myself mentally, emotionally, and physically......

So it was a relief to discover this morning that I'm not pregnant.  Yes, I would have been happy to discover that I was if that had been the case, but for now, I get just a little longer to own myself and my body.  I'm still waiting to be ready for the wanting.  I'm just not there yet.  Hopefully even writing this out will help me see the balance of what is given for what can be had, these little luxuries of "freedom" in exchange for a life.  I still have worries and doubts in myself for my altruism.  But I can also trust that things will come in time.

Long-Distance Learning

This morning I had a Skype lesson with a student of mine who returns to her family's home country of Ukraine every summer.  I had not realized that her family had set up cello lessons for her back there, and was very happy with her progress at having been able to have lessons 3 times a week.  From thousands of miles away, she told me the things her teacher had been working on with her, and played some of the songs, all different than ones than I know.

It was a different technical approach, and seemed to be working very well for her.  It's another one of those hidden bonuses of living in New York that I have the pleasure of having a student that goes home to another country, and can have a window into a different way of learning.  Styles of playing are quite different in different regions of the world, just like languages, cultural norms.  I don't speak the cello technique that she was being taught, but definitely understand and appreciate its value and now have a young teacher of my own.  It's fascinating to me to see the passing down of technique within a culture or tradition.  I believe some of my teachers had teachers like the one with whom she is currently studying.  I recognize the vestiges of the approach, even if it is different than the way I currently approach teaching.  It's opening my view of how big the world of possibilities can be, and what's allowed and valid.  And then it becomes a question of breaking it down for younger people.

Later in the day I got an Uber and the driver, when I told him I was a cellist, happily said he played violin when he was growing up in Georgia (the country, as he made clear).  Funny to have had a taste earlier of the Eastern European musical pedagogy, and then to be given a ride by somebody else from that tradition.  He asked where I was from originally, because as he said, "Your accent is a little different and you are much nicer than the people around here."

It is such a resource to have students that can bring gifts from other teachers.  It is one of the great things about the world that we live in, that we can learn from one another.  I admit that in my student in Ukraine, as well as another one I taught this afternoon that had grown from time at a summer music Institute, I wish I could be the teacher of the world.  I feel room to grow as a teacher, room to learn from others, and that can have a conflicted feeling.  But it is overshadowed by the growth that I see in them, and by knowing that I have something to offer and that to judge that is to keep it from them (which is unfair), and that growth often happens when students are exposed to new ideas, new teachers, new environments.  These are all incredibly valuable and important things to keep in mind.  It is not about the teacher, it is about the growth of the student.  And if I can grow a little in the meantime, all the better for myself and them.  

Hot Summer Sleeping

Hot summer nights can be great for over-sleeping.  And everything gets closed in on itself for the rest of the day.  What expectations we might have must sit back behind other priorities.  And those included four very different students to distract from the chaos of squeezing everything in perfectly.  Luckily our lives are bigger than our desired routines and our perceived needs.  And we become bigger when we live past those obsolete realities and serve others.  

All the same, looking forward to another night of summer sleep.....

Practice Habits

What keeps us from practicing as much as we should, or the way that we should?  What keeps us from eating well, and getting enough exercise?  Do we ever fully appreciate the capacities we have, or always wish for others?  What injustices are stopping us from being as fully realized as we might be?

Before watching a documentary on prison injustice, I taught a lesson to an adult.  She among other adults, admitted to not practicing consistently.  I suppose it's different than being convicted for selling crack and spending 15 years in prison, but in some ways, it seems similar.  It's only a difference in magnitude in my relative eyes.  I've had limited exposure to drugs, and over-exposure to bad-practice habits.  What if that exposure were reversed?  They are both easy offenses to commit when the world surrounds us with temptations, even alternate needs.

What tunes our moral compass?  What leads it astray, and how do we find inner fortitude to find our way for the best of ourselves and others?

Blue Sky Day

Philip, our doorman, told me earlier today that his train was delayed last night, so he didn't get home until 2:15 am.  He takes the 1 to 96st, then the 2 or 3 to 14th, then the L to Brooklyn, and then a bus after that.  Long way home after a shift that gets done at midnight.  Wouldn't it be nice if everyone could live where they  work?

I started the day with Tae Kwon Do behind Grant's Tomb.  It's been awhile since an open field of grass, and open hours of time.  A woman asked me about it, said it was a beautiful day, and I agreed.  "Gets me out of the apartment, I don't have a dog, " I said pointing to hers.  Yes, she said, she very much agreed, seemed to be overwhelmed with gratitude for her companion.   I finished my workout, and as I walked home, the bells of Riverside Church were ringing for the end of service.

Later in the day, after sunset, I watched from above, two people on the soccer field in Riverside Park, do some sort of martial art with very sharp hand movements, and a contraction and release of the core.  I watched not only the way that they moved but more intently the way that one taught the other, she shadowing him one move of a form at a time, taking breaks, then starting again, and again.  Just the two of them.  So much love in teaching.

There are many ways to define a community.  Even when going solo, there are others watching, listening, and an exchange is happening.  We can give simply in our presence.  And others are giving to us.  Ringing bells to mark our days, sharing their gratitude, their difficulties, allowing us to enter into those or sheltering them from us, practicing their devotion in an open space for all to see and hear.  Summer in New York, on a blue sky day.

New Ways to Move

There are probably more valuable and awesome reasons to live in New York that I don't know.  People ask if I go to see plays, or concerts, or performances, and the answer is that sometimes I do, but not that often.  It's just expensive, and sometimes it's nice to have downtime.

But it's nice to have that option.  There are famous and fabulous performances happening every week.  But it's also nice to have many other options, all the time.  It's nice to be around such a diversity of people, to take public transit (ok, that's not always nice, but I far prefer it to cars), to have huge, beautiful parks, and lots of interesting people.  And tonight, because I could, I went to a Feldenkrais class for the first time.

I've lived in my body for more than 33 years and it still always amazes me to discover it in new ways.   The simple act of rolling the shoulder, lifting the head, arching the back, or curving it in new configurations opens up the marvel of what is with me all the time.  And to do it slowly opens new possibilities that have been there all along but shoved underneath the pace and necessity of living habitually.  As I do the lessons, often I feel like laughing in amazement.  How different are the sides of my body!  How can they function in remotely the same way?

Another cool thing about New York is something that many people would say is not cool:  no backyards.  The hidden benefit of this was explained to me by a mother and her middle school daughter.  One of the things she loved about having kids in New York City was the playground culture.  Because there are no backyards, kids all go to the playgrounds (and there are TONS of them), and moms are there and everyone plays with whoever else is around.  It's a big mixer and a microcosm of living in the city as an adult and sharing space with others.

It also means that I can sit on a sidewalk across a street or just go for a walk and see tons of kids playing with other kids and parents interacting with them.  After coming home today, it was still really nice outside, so I went to sit in the park for a bit.  There was a father trying to get his 2-year-old to be interested in some older kids doing bike tricks down the banister of the park steps.  I've watched these guys before and it is really cool and totally fun to see them do their tricks, but the kid was not interested at all.  Still, the father tried to entice him, "Come on let's go check it out, take my hand,"  and would take his hand and start leading him that way until the kid would break off and go in another direction.  This happened several times.  I don't know how it ended because I wasn't really trying to infringe on their space, but the opposition struck me.

It seems a life-long pursuit to work in harmony, both with oneself and with others.  New York has a lot of edges, and maybe because of that, it is easy to realize how flexible it asks us to be.  We are constantly pushed up against others and accommodating as we share our space.  But there are so many ways to move.  Another thing to love about this city.