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

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

Giving and Receiving in New York

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

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

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

New Home

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

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

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

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

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

Mondays

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

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

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

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

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

Color Belt Years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Black Belt Test

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

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

Parents Practicing

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

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

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

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