New York Sunset

The train I'm on is going over the east river and the sun is setting behind the city on my left.  New York has such beautiful sunsets.  I think a part of me believes a sunset is the unraveling of the drama of the day.  In Japan I was hardly ever able to see the setting sun, but typically when I did, it was very calm, whatever final cries it had to give us were hidden from our eyes by the omnipresent green hills.  But here in New York there is such a flare in the finality.  The ripping away seems so tragic, so glorious.  All the people, all the events, the thoughts, expressions, crammed into this tiny space, not ready to close out the day, restless and glowing into the night.  

I'm headed to New Haven, a place I've never been to stay with a friend of a friend the night before an inaugural audition back to playing.  Every time I approach an audition I learn something new.  The last few months have been busy with a move from another country, with seeing family, getting settled into a new place, furnishing an apartment, getting a job and training for that job.  Things have been unsettled.   But then when is life normal?  Regardless, I've admittedly had to come back into playing, trying to get not only my hands in shape, but my focus, my ears. 

I've been fairly preoccupied with the upcoming teaching at hand.  There has been a lot to process from the training, a lot of responsibility, a lot of planning, and I'm excited about what will come in the Suzuki class as well.  It is a novel thing which has taken my attention along with other aspects of getting settled in the city.  And to harness and redirect all the curiosity and piqued interest, all the things that I feel must be done and can be done in this new life and new world, so that I can focus on the art of preparing for an audition, has been difficult.  At first I was just was going through the motions.  I knew I had to practice, to get my fingers on the strings, to play something even if I'm not engaged.  But why?  Because I want to teach, and the return to practice is something I need to be able to teach to my students.  I'm slowly starting to feel the strings again as I remember doing before, slowly starting to hear what needs to be heard, to develop an internal pacing which allows me to slow down, take it apart, put it together again, hear more deeply.  And I'm remembering how all of these things which are usually so engrained in me have all been learned.  They are something I can give as long as I cultivate them in myself.  Now also, the gift of rebuilding and facing something when it seems to give me nothing.  I think practice is a way to love and a way to loving.  A way to keep the heart open. 

The sun is not gone, it's just with others.  It will be here again and again.  How wonderful to live in a world where there is always a tomorrow.  

Tone

I walked through a lot of streets today, from one teacher training program to another, thinking about where I am and where I'm going.  I've spent a lot of time teaching in my life, but in this New York life teaching music will be an area in which I will undoubtedly grow.   I realized this morning that to grow, one must be less in some way than what one becomes, and I felt a humility in realizing that my walking self was a much less experienced, much greener, less wise teacher than I will become.  I have so much to learn from all these people around me.

I began Suzuki Teacher Training with Pamela Devenport this morning and was faced with a strong antidote to the No-Nonsense Nurturing voice in which I've been immersing myself.  Such a warm positive, loving energy.  It's hard to believe that the students of each of these approaches are both from the same species.  It isn't that these teaching styles are incompatible; in many ways I think they may be very similar and I trust that both are working from love to have high expectations for their students.  Both believe that every child is capable and expect that accountability from their teachers.  But the tone is different.  To me, one is direct and demanding, and the other warm and persistent.  But I think there is love in both and it will be very interesting to experience both in the coming weeks and months.  (And there is still one more educational model to be thrown into this mix, starting next week.)

We concluded teacher training for the Harmony Program this afternoon and so next week will begin the classes and trying to find our way, our structure, our voice in the classroom.  It is an exciting time and in between now and then I'm trying to find another voice, my audition and playing-the-cello voice which is a little rusty at the moment.  Dusting and polishing, getting closer, seeing and learning more.

Tough Love

There are many different ways to love.  Sometimes people use the word as though it is a fixed state, but I think it is more realistic as an action.  Love is an act that we must cultivate, not a state of being to achieve.

In the last few days I've had several opportunities to experience different ways in which people can love.  Perhaps most explicitly for me was the Tae Kwon Do black belt test that I attended in Rhode Island.  Love is perhaps the most prevalent theme about which one of our masters speaks.  It was a celebration of love, of giving and receiving, of keeping the heart open even in difficulty.  In the background was a wedding, a family reunion, a worship group which sang hallelujahs throughout the late morning and afternoon sun on the lakes and in the sky.

And today I had my first experience at Success Academy Harlem 1, the school where I will be teaching cello for the Harmony Program.  Success Academy is a charter school with mostly lower income students and they have sculpted success through a very systematic and structured way of working with children ("scholars") to ensure that there are practically no behavioral problems. I've been working through online training to prepare myself for the teaching standards they practice, but today was the first time I got to see it in action.

As a child, I definitely would have cried in such an environment, as an adult I sucked it in and sat up straight.  During the hour I observed, the teacher did not smile once, or even come close to it, or show any emotion at all.  The class was completely silent and followed her directions exactly and she was completely clear about what was expected.  Their behavior was constantly noted as she awarded points for following the directions, giving a good answer, leadership, or compassion, or made corrections to behavior.  Every activity, every transition between activities was timed on a visible timer.  There was no room for deviant behaviors.

And within that hour she read a chapter of a book, had them reflect on some poor behavior in the morning and also give "shout-outs" to one another for good behavior, had them make arrays of rectangles to demonstrate multiplication principles, had an activity about this and then used it to teach them about square numbers and prime numbers.  They learned and reinforced a lot in that hour.

It's strange for me to see school in such a strict and seemingly joyless manner.  But there has been a lot of success in terms of test scores in these schools and that is the thinking behind such a rigid method.  The online course I'm taking calls it "No-Nonsense Nurturing."  This is how I will be expected to teach, at least in some semblance.  It will be a challenge, but I believe it is done out of love.  It isn't mean, it's just very clear, and perhaps it is what is really needed in schools where there is little structure from home life to create a good learning environment.  At the very least, it will be a new element in my teaching vocabulary, a new method to add if I can hone it.  I would like to be as adept as possible to working with more challenging classrooms, and if this structure has been proven to work, I would welcome at least learning it and being capable of executing it.  It will be a challenge and I feel quite lucky to be able to receive training and the opportunity to try.

There are many ways to love.  Often people smile to share their openness, and certainly this is appreciated.  But perhaps there are some more difficult ways to love, which don't even seem to ask reciprocation, at least not immediately, and in that sense, perhaps are more sincere.  And in this way, love is when one acts to help another grow, in whatever way is needed.

Becoming New York

Umbrella up, umbrella down, walking in rainy New York.  Measure the oncoming crowd, umbrella up, umbrella down.

Every time I take the train I think I become slightly more a New Yorker than before.  I now see the tourists standing out, and even though I may not know where I'm going, I do know how.  There is a time and a destination to my step, a quick change of pace, of trajectory.  Part of me may be irritated the obstacle they create except that I am still so close to them, and except that I love seeing the world in the pictures they take, the placards, the dedications in railway stations.  What a blessing to be surrounded by people that marvel at the world I (will) daily occupy?

Today the train was wet and crowded, crowded, crowded.  And I think I became a little more New York.  My body has pressed up against these people, sharing sweat in an oh-so-uncomfortable way and wishing they would clear the doors so the train could move forward.  My heels have been nipped and amazingly (or is it really?) a sincere apology issued.  I am constantly impressed by the kindness and courtesy shown to me here.  This morning the newspaper vendor gave me an umbrella, You live here?  Yeah.  Pay me tomorrow.

A few nights ago I dreamt of Japan, only it wasn't a Japan in which I had ever lived.  It was a Japanese garden, surely.  But my feet danced over the ground, up and down the walkways, leaping over the delicate greens and across the ponds.  How much is the body involved in what we know of a place?

In New York the ground is hard under everyone's feet.  The steps are large for all the sizes of legs that walk them, except perhaps for the tourists who are looking.  Everyone is going somewhere.  Everyone is important.  There is an urgency that seems even to compel the trains to try harder to move faster.

I am less enthralled by the diversity than I was a week ago.  It is becoming common place, normal, slowly, slowly, less noticeable.  But I think if it is possible to keep something common beautiful, this would be it.  I have recently heard three musicians in my train excursions:  a violinist, an erhu player, and a man playing the kora and singing.  Diversity may become quotidian but it's never the same.

This city is still so full of so many things and I get the impression still that this will never complete change.  And unlike Japan, I think perhaps I could get acclimated to it in the sense that no one really is.  I can start to feel at home in this homeless city, where home is somewhere else for most of its people.  And right now, there is something very comforting in that.

I have everything I need (except a food processor)

There are so many stages of getting settled into a place.  And so many places into which to settle in New York.  While my mother was here last week, we toured through the lower part of the island, and took a boat around the waterways.  I was on vacation for those few days and although I've yet to begin any serious work, I'm back at the "desk," practicing, brainstorming my life and what to make of it in this new place.  There is no orchestra to give me a purpose.  I have a part-time teaching job on the horizon about which I'm excited and healthily intimidated.  There are some music education training courses in which I'd like to enroll, perhaps a choir.  But I'm far from settled.  And New York seems to defy settling.  The dust is always drifting, even if it is quite close to the surface, even if it is in a whirlwind.

Yesterday we ventured to Koreatown where there are many Korean people, many Korean restaurants, and a grocery store perfect in its mix of Korean delicacies as well as catering to the cheese and Oreo cookie needs of the western diet.  Our Korean dinner was perfect in that we could read the menu, but didn't know what to do with the whole fried fish, raw egg, and hot sauce that they hurriedly set at our table.  It was comforting to be culturally uncomfortable.  We then walked through the streets of mid-town and decided to go through Times Square dazzled and amazed by the lights and the sheer number of people from all over the world, even super heroes and muppets.

After being a tourist with my mother, these were still two more parts of the city, extreme experiences, that we had not had.  And how many more are there?  It seems impossible to take it all in.  There are free Shakespeare plays int he park, free opera screenings, free yoga classes, and everywhere is the free sighting of incredible diversity and humanity.  There are so many kinds of people in this place, so much so that there is no higher or lower, no fear of judgement.  Whatever you might be, there is likely someone who is more of that, or less of that, and so likely nobody will really notice or care as long as it doesn't concern them.  And maybe even if it does.

And so there is a blank slate upon which I am beginning to walk.  Yet I find that I am already defined as being within some section of New York living.  If nothing else, where one lives means something about them.   An I'm settling in to a very nice part of the city, a place where it is quiet and green and there is a doorman who takes deliveries to my door, and workers that make the garbage disappear when we set it outside the back door of our apartment.  It is a very nice place to be living, though it feels a little foreign, certainly something worthy of finding a new grounding.

I wonder what it will be like to live in this sort of place for three years.  Will I ever feel entitled to all the things I'm being given?  Can I be grateful enough for what I have?  There is a burden of privilege that I feel upon me and I wonder how that will change in the coming years.  Will I own it?  Will I live up to it?  Can I shake it in any other way?

Trip to the Bottom of Manhattan with Mom

At some point the number of languages being spoken and the number of cultures represented in any given square meter of New York will cease to amaze me.  At some point I will no longer look up at the tall buildings or be impressed by the significance of the history represented here.

On World Trade Center from the Financial District

Trinity Church from Financial District

9/11 Memorial

Brooklyn Bridge

Mom on Brooklyn Bridge

Statue of Liberty in the distance

First Few Days in the City

In the past few days I've gone from the beautiful farms of Pennsylvania to the beautiful cityscape of New York City.  My mother and I drove into the city on Saturday morning via the George Washington Bridge and got a true tourist's welcome from the self-assured drivers of the upper west side.  After decompressing a bit, we went on a boat tour around the southern tip of Manhattan, watching the bridges emerge above us, listening to the history of the city and the rising and falling real estate markets on the various banks of the river, and seeing the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.  Of course, the Statue of Liberty is one of the most iconic figures around the world, but there is still something incredible about seeing it before me.  It's quite large and quite grand.  An incredible gift from the French, indeed.

The tour ended fairly close to the entrance of the High Line and so we joined hundreds of other tourists walking above the city on this green elevated converted train track filled with art sculptures and vantage points.  We descended when our hunger rose and found a beautiful and delicious restaurant called The Park nearby.  We walked along 6th Avenue until we found a subway line to take us home.

On Sunday, we went down to Rockefeller Center and the MSNBC Studios to watch the Melissa Harris Perry Show from the control room where my friend is a producer.  It was cool to see the complexity of putting together a live news show, and also cool to see this show in particular which tries to give greater attention to some of the issues affecting minorities.

We then went to the top of Rockefeller Center to see an incredible view of the city.  Yes, it's big.  It's really big.  What does that even mean?  Many people, many buildings, many parks, many sounds and smells, many ideas and ways of living, all crammed together in this tiny island.  It feels quite privileged and impossible to see it all at once.

We descended, found lunch, walked along a street market to the Public Library.  We saw the lions, but it was closed for the day, so we walked around Bryant Park and discovered all the cool programs, classes, games, and reading spaces that were possible.  Then to Grand Central Station and a bus ride along the park with a fellow passenger offering a small diatribe on the mayor and his inaction in helping the poor carriage horses of Central Park, a beginning among others to becoming local, to having local concerns.

And yesterday into today continued the local transitioning with a trip on the subway and through the streets in interview (decidedly non-tourist) clothing, neglected by the pamphleteers, the offering of a part-time job (teaching cello in an after school program in Harlem), and the obtainment of a New York City Library card.  At the end of the day, I have a job, I have a library card, and I've walked the streets as a resident.

But tomorrow, back to the prolongation of tourism, holding off the quotidian perception of living where I live, in this incredible city.  My mother and I will venture to the tip of Manhattan to see the financial district, the oldest areas of the city, perhaps the Brooklyn Bridge and the water memorial for 9/11.

It's exciting to be here.  The moving-in is finally happening.  The transition is underway.

farmland in Pennsylvania

Entering Manhattan via the toll at George Washington Bridge; merging ahead!

Peace fountain in the garden of St. John the Divine

headed down the Hudson River

there she is

Brooklyn Bridge

Brooklyn Bridge

from the Hudson River

Cranes along the High Line

stacked cars, seen from the High Line near/in Chelsea

Southern view of Manhattan from Rockefeller 

Northern view from Rockefeller