Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Waiting.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Accepting Rust
So a lot of exciting things are going on! As a brief summary, I checked another item off my list of things I absolutely have to do in 2010 by seeing CRUMBLE (Lay Me Down, Justin Timberlake) at Single Carrot Theatre on Thursday. I liked the play and thought it was well-executed on all fronts, so nothing but good news there.
In other good news, Piano Day is almost upon us! I'm fulfilling a lifelong dream on Wednesday, when I'm expecting an antique piano to arrive in my dining room. There will be a post about the piano's history, plus photos of its arrival. Yay!
However, before I get into all that (there will be time enough midweek), I've been thinking lately about perfectionism, aptitude, and attitude when it comes to creative work. I've said it before and I'll probably say it many more times: I struggle with perfectionism as an impediment to my work.
Despite all I've said about it, though, I've never mentioned the one case where aptitude won out against perfectionism in my life. When I was nine years old, I decided to learn to play the flute. It wasn't my first instrument or my last, but it was by far my best. For many years, I planned on playing my flute as a career, getting a BFA in music performance and signing on with a major symphony orchestra.
The flute was/is the one art I have ever felt, deep in my heart, set me apart from the crowd in a big way. Yes, I gave poor auditions and yes, I played obvious wrong notes sometimes. But I never felt I had met my match among my peers. This was something I felt unequivocally great at--when I tried to be the best, I was.
However, by virtue of self-doubt (as always, I wondered if I had the focus) and/or listening to other people, I didn't get that music degree. To this day, I gravitate toward people with performing arts degrees because I feel I relate to them on some basic level, but if I chime in too much I end up feeling like an outsider. A fake. A wannabe. After all, anyone can be a big fish in a small pond. Every teenager wants to take the stage for thousands of people. But I never really showed the world what I had.
At the same time, I know few people with performing arts degrees who have made it their primary career. In fact, if I look at my two closest friends with BFAs in performance, both are working for non-profit organizations, just like me. It's possible--maybe even likely--that I would have ended up in the very same place with or without the music degree I always wanted.
These days, I spend a lot of time singing and playing the piano, mostly because it's a great solo combination. I don't need to rely on a group of fellow performers to give me context. But I can't help but wonder if falling in love with being a mediocre singer is, in some sense, an easy way out. Not that I don't enjoy or shouldn't do those things, but no one is ever going to watch me sing and approach me afterward to say "that was incredible. Really incredible."
And by the same token, it hurts a lot to know that at this point, no one's going to say that after seeing me perform on anything. Not playing for four years while I went to college really set me back, and it's hard to get out my flute without focusing more on what's not there than what is.
I'd like to touch on this again, and more: the knowledge that I'm free to do anything I want, but I'm often impeded by the feeling that I've turned my back on something fundamentally important in my life. I really need to own the spot I'm in and make it what I want, but that's hard work indeed for a self-critical perfectionist like me. I'm interested to know if this is a common struggle for people who devote a lot of energy to a creative art in their younger years, only to be set back by a demanding degree program, a lack of a piano or fellow musicians, or a pure and simple lapse. Everything comes back eventually, but it's hard to face the reality at first. It's hard to realize you've let a great tool get rusty.
In other good news, Piano Day is almost upon us! I'm fulfilling a lifelong dream on Wednesday, when I'm expecting an antique piano to arrive in my dining room. There will be a post about the piano's history, plus photos of its arrival. Yay!
However, before I get into all that (there will be time enough midweek), I've been thinking lately about perfectionism, aptitude, and attitude when it comes to creative work. I've said it before and I'll probably say it many more times: I struggle with perfectionism as an impediment to my work.
Despite all I've said about it, though, I've never mentioned the one case where aptitude won out against perfectionism in my life. When I was nine years old, I decided to learn to play the flute. It wasn't my first instrument or my last, but it was by far my best. For many years, I planned on playing my flute as a career, getting a BFA in music performance and signing on with a major symphony orchestra.
The flute was/is the one art I have ever felt, deep in my heart, set me apart from the crowd in a big way. Yes, I gave poor auditions and yes, I played obvious wrong notes sometimes. But I never felt I had met my match among my peers. This was something I felt unequivocally great at--when I tried to be the best, I was.
However, by virtue of self-doubt (as always, I wondered if I had the focus) and/or listening to other people, I didn't get that music degree. To this day, I gravitate toward people with performing arts degrees because I feel I relate to them on some basic level, but if I chime in too much I end up feeling like an outsider. A fake. A wannabe. After all, anyone can be a big fish in a small pond. Every teenager wants to take the stage for thousands of people. But I never really showed the world what I had.At the same time, I know few people with performing arts degrees who have made it their primary career. In fact, if I look at my two closest friends with BFAs in performance, both are working for non-profit organizations, just like me. It's possible--maybe even likely--that I would have ended up in the very same place with or without the music degree I always wanted.
These days, I spend a lot of time singing and playing the piano, mostly because it's a great solo combination. I don't need to rely on a group of fellow performers to give me context. But I can't help but wonder if falling in love with being a mediocre singer is, in some sense, an easy way out. Not that I don't enjoy or shouldn't do those things, but no one is ever going to watch me sing and approach me afterward to say "that was incredible. Really incredible."
And by the same token, it hurts a lot to know that at this point, no one's going to say that after seeing me perform on anything. Not playing for four years while I went to college really set me back, and it's hard to get out my flute without focusing more on what's not there than what is. I'd like to touch on this again, and more: the knowledge that I'm free to do anything I want, but I'm often impeded by the feeling that I've turned my back on something fundamentally important in my life. I really need to own the spot I'm in and make it what I want, but that's hard work indeed for a self-critical perfectionist like me. I'm interested to know if this is a common struggle for people who devote a lot of energy to a creative art in their younger years, only to be set back by a demanding degree program, a lack of a piano or fellow musicians, or a pure and simple lapse. Everything comes back eventually, but it's hard to face the reality at first. It's hard to realize you've let a great tool get rusty.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The First Step
After coming to the conclusion that no one in the world wanted to help me clean out my basement -- or even sit and make conversation with me while I did all the work myself -- I decided to make a weekend out of it all on my own.
The situation: about a year ago, my parents packed a van full of all my childhood/teenage possessions that still existed in their house. My basement, which I'd just spent a long time cleaning and felt great about, was suddenly full of boxes upon boxes of completely unorganized junk. A lot of it had memories attached, and the task of dealing with all that stuff was so big and nebulous I just avoided the basement altogether -- until this weekend! Really, there's no pretty way to say it:
I began the day on Saturday with coffee in my Tomorrowland mug (which I love) and leftover brownies. Delicious!
By the time I reached 4:00 this afternoon, every muscle in my body was tired, but I was only one Broadway musical away from the finish line (more on this in a minute). The fatigue in my veins felt almost cleansing, pleasant to my calmed senses. Cleaning out makes my whole life feel lighter. By letting go of all the extraneous stuff in my life, I can give my mind room to breathe while really cherishing the artifacts I do choose to save from my past.
Remembering the 7 Habits, I began my weekend with the end in mind. Clearing out the basement and building a room down there is the first step in a chain reaction that will give me a really nice writing space. One of my goals for this year is to establish an "office" that acts as a writing studio, a space that I feel great about rolling out of bed and heading into to write in the morning. Letting go of a lifetime of clutter (which is totally empowering anyway) will allow this to happen, and that awareness really kept me motivated while I worked.
In the course of my travels through the mess I found some angsty artwork from seventh grade and a truly scary marionette.
Also, rather than exhausting myself entirely early on, I made sure to pace myself and take breaks before I reached a state where I absolutely couldn't go on. I started with on-the-go playlists on my iPod, but quickly began using musicals to divide my time into manageable chunks. Not wanting to break up the story, I stayed put until each show was over. I listened to:
Gypsy
Passion
Into the Woods (actually too long for this -- I got really tired by the end!)
Songs for a New World
Between musicals I made sure to take legitimate breaks: sit on the couch and read, play WoW, lay down, write in my notebook, etc. And guess what: I made it! Much like they do on reality TV, I sorted all the stuff I wanted to keep (actually less than I thought -- the picture below shows about 1/3 of it) into our storage room and left the main basement room full of boxes to give away. Now to figure out where it can go!
All in all, it was a great and productive weekend. I even found a binder full of letters that inspired me toward a major writing project. I've been waiting for the right protagonist to stumble into my life, and I think I've got him. But that's "a whole nother" post, as they say.
And look, I even got a chance to pot some tomatoes and strawberries for late-summer snacking!
The situation: about a year ago, my parents packed a van full of all my childhood/teenage possessions that still existed in their house. My basement, which I'd just spent a long time cleaning and felt great about, was suddenly full of boxes upon boxes of completely unorganized junk. A lot of it had memories attached, and the task of dealing with all that stuff was so big and nebulous I just avoided the basement altogether -- until this weekend! Really, there's no pretty way to say it:
I began the day on Saturday with coffee in my Tomorrowland mug (which I love) and leftover brownies. Delicious!
By the time I reached 4:00 this afternoon, every muscle in my body was tired, but I was only one Broadway musical away from the finish line (more on this in a minute). The fatigue in my veins felt almost cleansing, pleasant to my calmed senses. Cleaning out makes my whole life feel lighter. By letting go of all the extraneous stuff in my life, I can give my mind room to breathe while really cherishing the artifacts I do choose to save from my past.
Remembering the 7 Habits, I began my weekend with the end in mind. Clearing out the basement and building a room down there is the first step in a chain reaction that will give me a really nice writing space. One of my goals for this year is to establish an "office" that acts as a writing studio, a space that I feel great about rolling out of bed and heading into to write in the morning. Letting go of a lifetime of clutter (which is totally empowering anyway) will allow this to happen, and that awareness really kept me motivated while I worked.
In the course of my travels through the mess I found some angsty artwork from seventh grade and a truly scary marionette.
Also, rather than exhausting myself entirely early on, I made sure to pace myself and take breaks before I reached a state where I absolutely couldn't go on. I started with on-the-go playlists on my iPod, but quickly began using musicals to divide my time into manageable chunks. Not wanting to break up the story, I stayed put until each show was over. I listened to:
Gypsy
Passion
Into the Woods (actually too long for this -- I got really tired by the end!)
Songs for a New World
Between musicals I made sure to take legitimate breaks: sit on the couch and read, play WoW, lay down, write in my notebook, etc. And guess what: I made it! Much like they do on reality TV, I sorted all the stuff I wanted to keep (actually less than I thought -- the picture below shows about 1/3 of it) into our storage room and left the main basement room full of boxes to give away. Now to figure out where it can go!
All in all, it was a great and productive weekend. I even found a binder full of letters that inspired me toward a major writing project. I've been waiting for the right protagonist to stumble into my life, and I think I've got him. But that's "a whole nother" post, as they say.
And look, I even got a chance to pot some tomatoes and strawberries for late-summer snacking!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Singing New Songs
Recently I recorded another song phrase in Evernote with the intention of fleshing it out later. I did this a few weeks ago with another song, actually wrote down the lyrics to the whole thing shortly after singing a single phrase. I can feel an organic process developing here, and I like it. I haven't mandated or structured this, I've just let it happen. Part of me realized that making songs is sort of like my other writing: lots of rewrites, lots of revision, polishing pieces and making them into a whole later.
It's reassuring to know I can develop a process that feels good when I used to discourage myself so much -- thinking if something wasn't perfect I had to scrap it. Refusing to believe in rough drafts for songs and poetry.
I've written about relaxing before, and how performers need to know how to relax their bodies to be at the top of their game. Writers need to relax too, occasionally writing with the whole arm, always letting the words come out uncensored. After all, tense writing seems an awful lot like strangling your sound with anxiety when your're trying to sing.
At any rate, in the near future I may try to get some of my song ideas off the page. While wandering an antique store last Sunday I suddenly found myself playing a piano, which shocked me a little. I didn't realize until I'd already picked out a line or two what I was really doing, what it meant -- small pieces of my life are coming back to me one by one. If I just relax and forget about all that could be holding me back, things just happen.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Writing, Among Other Things
It's been a quiet week on the blog, but in a surprising plot twist I've actually been writing more than usual. A week ago I sat down and struggled through three-quarters of a page in my notebook before getting too tired. Two days after that, I filled four solid pages and suddenly my writing practice clicked back on course. A return to my requisite pen and paper exercise usually causes a dip in my blogging, probably because I'm so excited to be funneling my writing energy into that space again. Anyhow, this week has been full of sights and sounds, new pens and notebooks, and new and different faces -- all potential distractions I decided to turn into motivation.
I've heard that exposing very young children to new and different environments can speed their development, creating new connections in their brains and pushing them toward early childhood milestones. As an adult, this effect works its magic on my writing. I primarily think in words, so catch me staring off into space and my thoughts probably sound a great deal like the scribbles in my journal. Getting out of my rut and exposing myself to a variety of people and places pulls out phrases that wouldn't have surfaced at my desk -- the world becomes electric, my senses heightened, and small details really pop.
We spent this weekend entertaining my mom and sister, and having out-of-town visitors makes me view the city in a different light. Not only do I travel outside my usual radius to find the water blowing up in a fine mist off the harbor, a roomful of orchids at the conservatory frozen like dancers in the air -- I see my everyday surroundings through an outsider's eyes. My perspective on my neighbors setting up a picnic with their two-year-old in the backyard, that belligerent homeless guy in Fells Point Square, a stately brownstone, a boarded-up house, changes completely. I wonder what it all looks like to my 11-year-old sister who has experienced little outside our town in rural Pennsylvania. Or my mother, who has lived in the suburbs, the city, and the country, but most recently (and most steadfastly) the country.
Even seeing familiar friends but relocating to a balcony with stars overhead, the Baltimore skyline in the distance, and streetlights in the corners of our eyes left me enamored with the tiny details of life. I felt uniquely present in a significant moment, even though for all the world it looked like any other day.
Last night I was trying to capture this wide-eyed delight in the perceiving in my notebook before going to bed and realized all my favorite pens were on empty. Lately I've started running out my pens on a somewhat regular basis, which makes me feel good about the amount of writing I've been getting done. While replenishing my stock today I found the most adorable notebook and bought it despite two dangers: one, in the past I've had trouble writing in nice notebooks because I feel obligated to fill them with equally nice writing. Two, I often get antsy and move on from my current notebook long before it's full.
Today I decided that I'm feeling good enough about my writing practice not to set silly standards for it, and having a fun notebook to move into should motivate me to write a lot in order to fill my current one as quickly as possible. We'll see how it goes. I'd love to find myself in a race to the finish, filling page after page with unexpected thoughts. For now, I will show off some photos and make a note that my new notebook is made from 80% post-consumer recycled paper and 20% banana fiber. That's right, I'll be writing on banana leaves. Also, that makes it a "tree-less" notebook, which I think is pretty cool given the many eco-positive arguments for writing on electronic paper.
All in all, what a great week for writing. Next up: making headway toward a great writing space in my home, or maybe just enjoying a return to my old, good habits.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Just What You Ordered: A Disjointed Post About My Weekend!
This weekend I...
Went outside at 8:30 on Saturday morning, weeded the front bed, and enjoyed my coffee on the porch steps while surveying the neighborhood and taking in the little details that make everyday life so beautiful:
I also started singing a new song and actually bothered to record a little snippet of it in Evernote so I'd remember it later. With my 2010 goals in mind, I'd like to try my hand at working it into a finished product at some point.
Earlier this evening I sat down to my daily writing and got through about three quarters of a page in my notebook before my writing muscles started burning with exhaustion. All in all, not too bad given my right arm is just barely regaining usefulness. I'm hoping for a tiny bit more every day, but I'm not going to push the fatigue too hard lest I evoke a return of the sore and sleepless nights.
Not part of the feature presentation here but getting an honorable mention for the weekend are: succumbing to the nesting instinct and planning home improvement projects with tape measure in hand, leveling both my main WoW characters, and overcoming my fear of telephones to discuss possible writing projects. Whew!
Last but not least, you may have noticed I somehow -- don't ask me how, really -- managed to get a camera up to my face even though I'm unable to lift the top half of my right arm off of my body. Oh, and I'm still wearing a sling. Ssshhh!
The Kinetic Sculpture Race in Patterson Park was really too much not to photograph, even though I'm not really an event photographer. I took around 150 photos (I think), a small sampling of which I uploaded to a little photo essay on Flickr. Here are a few of my favorites:
Went outside at 8:30 on Saturday morning, weeded the front bed, and enjoyed my coffee on the porch steps while surveying the neighborhood and taking in the little details that make everyday life so beautiful:
I also started singing a new song and actually bothered to record a little snippet of it in Evernote so I'd remember it later. With my 2010 goals in mind, I'd like to try my hand at working it into a finished product at some point.
Earlier this evening I sat down to my daily writing and got through about three quarters of a page in my notebook before my writing muscles started burning with exhaustion. All in all, not too bad given my right arm is just barely regaining usefulness. I'm hoping for a tiny bit more every day, but I'm not going to push the fatigue too hard lest I evoke a return of the sore and sleepless nights.
Not part of the feature presentation here but getting an honorable mention for the weekend are: succumbing to the nesting instinct and planning home improvement projects with tape measure in hand, leveling both my main WoW characters, and overcoming my fear of telephones to discuss possible writing projects. Whew!
Last but not least, you may have noticed I somehow -- don't ask me how, really -- managed to get a camera up to my face even though I'm unable to lift the top half of my right arm off of my body. Oh, and I'm still wearing a sling. Ssshhh!
The Kinetic Sculpture Race in Patterson Park was really too much not to photograph, even though I'm not really an event photographer. I took around 150 photos (I think), a small sampling of which I uploaded to a little photo essay on Flickr. Here are a few of my favorites:
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