The Presence of Others

I rarely have a bad day, but this morning certainly seemed to be tipping in that direction.  I'm getting slightly sick, am mulling over a schedule conflict wherein I need to choose between personal and professional life, and Trump is doing Trump things which always feels bad.  And then as I hurried to the train to get downtown, the 1 train wasn't stopping in the direction I needed because of a medical emergency.  I had to go uptown three stops, and transfer to a downtown train......Things just seemed to be piling on.

On the train, I happened to sit down next to a man named Ron.  On the other side of Ron was a friend of his, and on the other side of this friend was a woman that kept reminding them not to share the voices in their heads.  They would talk about or to people that weren't there, and she was obviously there to oversee them as their caregiver.  A few stops later, another similar group got one, speaking to themselves, swaying, with another caregiver that acknowledged the first group.  

I was swept from my world of worries to theirs.  They lived in another reality, one in which there weren't scheduling conflicts which required their own volition, one in which somebody else helped them get from one place to another, one in which perhaps even Trump couldn't touch them.  Their world was something foreign to me, and to the other people on the train.  It belonged to them and within them.  It most certainly had its own fears, angers, sorrows, but they were not my own.  It was such a relief to be in their presence for several stops and to be taken out of myself.

I finally arrived at my destination and walked into an Early Childhood Education Suzuki class.  And once again, I was taken outside of myself for the next hour, absorbed in young minds discovering the world around them.  These were still worlds with sorrow, of distance from mom and finding her again, of confusion, of pain.  But living in these other realities took me away from my own.  It was because they were real that they pulled me out of myself. 

I think finding another's pain, joy, suffering, happiness, is one of the best ways to open the window a little wider.  We need not only be ourselves.  There is a whole other world to see when we borrow the presence of others.  

LR

Spent the day with my best friend from high school, who has offered to do my make-up for a special occasion.  Some things are truly timeless, regardless of how long it has been since we've seen one another, and regardless of the changes happening in life.  Something really special about having a person with a shared memory from so long ago, that was shaped by similar things, that understands me in a unique way.  No value can be put on that.

Spring in New York

It's so magically cool and warm.  There are storm clouds around the city from time to time, and the walkways are suddenly bursting in green, as though there was never green before.  If somebody told me that every spring we get younger the older we get, I would believe them.  This seems like the first spring.

Maybe because everything around me is opening itself to the world, I feel at greater ease doing the same.  Every year, it is the same, and yet never in winter can my body believe it could be possible.  Are we guarded, are we open-chested; or are we  copying the trees that silently, patiently stand around us, living as they are, changing with the sun from day to day?  A tree is cold, a tree is warm, living happens below the surface and above it, hiding and then sharing with all the world.  Might we give ourselves this freedom, even in the months that seem so boarded, so tired, so constricted?  Does the root have spring in it, or does it need the world to be so?

Possible

There are so many lives to live in New York.  And for better or worse, there are so many lives to live that show themselves to the world.  Perhaps it is possible to live in isolation here, but public transit alone seems to preclude that.  And with so many lives, right there in front of my eyes, I can see all the possibilities there could be.

I don't ever envision being a Broadway actor, or holding a job in financial risk management, but seeing an orchestra perform certainly raises my awareness of a possibility and something that I miss.  Tonight I was able to see a wonderful performance, one of those in which the string players might be seen leaning to their side to share a moment with their stand partner, perfectly matching one another's bow speed and articulation.  I'm not sure that playing in an orchestra was always a transcendent musical experience, but it certainly was possible to connect with others in a very intimate way, one that has no parallel in other parts of living.  I miss the depth of listening and anticipation, trying to follow another as the move and breath.

There are so many avenues to be taken in life here.  And sometimes that can be overwhelming.  It is so easy to find ways to stay busy and involved in meaningful endeavors, but there are so many of them.  It can be hard not to get caught up the tide of things going the way that they go, landing as they happen to land.  Doors open and I go through them, but I don't feel that I've been the one to open them in a long time.  So maybe it's time for a lesson, or a quartet, or something of the sort, to keep things growing and alive in as many ways as possible.

Man on the Train

It is still such a pleasure to be living in New York.  In the past week or so, I've had several errands throughout the city.  And that means reading on the train, walking through a new neighborhood, and seeing new people.  I dropped off a dress in the financial district, a backpack in SoHo, and visited Brooklyn to see the glorious cherry blossoms at the botanical gardens. 

Nearly every time I travel in this way,  I see a person that seems interesting in some way, or have a meaningful interaction.  

Today's goes to the man I sat next to on the train.  When I stepped on I noticed his black baseball cap, his camouflage oversized backpack, his tattoos, and the way he leaned forward in his seat.  Over the course of sitting next to him, he pulled out a bottle of a banana smoothie, something I had not put into the box I put him in.  And then a large book opened in his hands, one that was printed in such a way that made me think that the words were valuable in some way, not a cheap or quickly written book, something a little more hefty.  Again, my stereotype was poked through.  And then as I looked more closely, at the back of the book, I noticed that it was in German.  Suddenly it all made sense.  I was transported to Germany for the single stop that I had finally become aware.  Here was a piece of a country, that was practical, resourceful, tough, intellectual, fastidious.  

How wonderful to come so close to someone on the course of a commute.  So close to a culture that I've never visited.  To take in a small essence of something different than what I assume, and to be reminded of that.  

To be moved

Last night we played a recital at a friend and mentor's home.  We've played there before, a beautiful apartment on Central Park West, with a view of the park and a large piano.  It's very gracious of her to open her home to us and allow us to invite whoever we want.  She and her husband supply wine and desserts and cheeses.  It's always a lovely relaxed evening and great way to share music that we've been working on.

The program made no sense.  We called it, unofficially, "Pieces We Play,"  because there was really nothing else holding all the works together, no theme or planning to it.  The order was difficult to decided, but in the end we decided to open with Andrew's solo Beethoven sonata, followed by two songs composed by our host to Robert Frost poems, my Britten solo suite, and closing (after more wine and desserts) with Brahms's second sonata for cello and piano.

I love both of the pieces that I got to play on this program.  Hearing the Britten when I was in early high school was one of those moments that brought me closer to loving music and marveling at the incredible expression the cello is capable of divulging.  It is such a challenging piece, though, part of its allure.  I've flirted with it for years, and even performed, but never without the music.  In the past, performing from memory has been a huge challenge and point of anxiety so that I came to the point of simply not doing it.  And the Britten is an incredibly complicated piece.  The Brahms is rich, touching, heartbreaking, ethereal, swashbuckling, and similarly elusive in its own particular challenges.

And both were such a pleasure to perform.  It's fun to play with Andrew, and not just in the sense of playing our instruments but in the childlike sense of playing with the music as we perform it.  It's fun to discover with him and hear the things that he hears.  And somehow I've learned to play the Britten for memory; it is inside of me and very reliably so, to a point of little anxiety.  This performance was the beginning of trusting that, and knowing that I can be as sharing with an audience in this vulnerable state was when I have a protective stand in front of me.

For me, this was in part, also a growing opportunity, one that I undergo for the sake of my students.  If I am to ask them to go outside there comfort zones, then I must do so as well.  I need to constantly refresh the details of the technique and mindset required to play complicated pieces of music, so that I am honest in my teaching.

And I had two students there.  It was an adult-oriented evening with wine and going late into the night, but in addition to my one older student, one of my younger one's came with her father.  She is only 8, I believe, but stayed alert for the whole program and talked with other adults during the break.  Afterwards her father came to me, and told me how wonderful it was for her to see and hear this.  He said she thought that she was moved by parts of the concert.  I replied in a stock "I'm glad she was able to enjoy it,"  and he answered in his Polish accent, "Enjoyed is not the thing, she was moved, and I think this is the really important thing for her young mind."

So much of life is taking care of things.  Having money for things, getting to things, etc.  And for parents, making sure their kids eat well, stressing about school and grades and test scores.  I'm sure the list is much longer than I can conjure.  To have a parent put this in my mind, that the value for him for his child is that she is moved, that she learns to be moved, was perhaps the most touching part of the evening.  What greater reason is there for us to be doing this in the face of all the brashness of modern living?  That we maintain our inherent love and sensitivity, and that we give this to our children.

No Sitting....

In the elevator, on my final ascent home this evening, Charlie's owner was trying to get him to sit.  "Sit, Charlie, come sweetie, sit."  But Charlie didn't sit, not at all.  "I think there's something wrong with his hips, he's not old, only three and a half, but I think his hips are bothering him.  Hey Charlie, can you sit?"  But still, Charlie wouldn't sit.

"Can you put your bow on the D string?  Please put your bow on the string.....ok and now can you put your bow on the string please, to get ready to start....thank you."

I wonder if my students have bad hips sometimes, or more likely something else.  Why do any of us do or not do the things we are asked, whether by others or ourselves?  There must be some reason, and even though we can use words to explain so many things, it does not mean that it is within our comprehension to grasp, let alone explain what is really going on.  And there's a lot going.

That being said,  I'm always so impressed when students are right with me.  It can be a really pleasure.