free of fear

I recently accepted an appointment to serve on a committee for my Baha'i community. When I first got the call asking if I would be interested, I knew immediately that I wanted to do it. While I didn't feel ready exactly, I was promised training, and one of the things that shows up in the Baha'i writings is the power of doing service to make individuals become who they need to be to do what needs to be done. I also thought of quotes like: "Lose not thy chance, for it shall come to thee no more."

I was really worried about my schedule, though. With everything going on, I was pretty overwhelmed by the idea of adding anything else, and this appointment would be no trivial matter. So I said I wanted to think about it and watched my schedule very carefully for a few days. That exercise itself was actually pretty enlightening and cleansing for me, and ever since then I've had drastically less desire to do some of the trivial things that had been eating up more of my time than they needed to. Based on those few days of observing, I felt like I could make space within what I was doing to do what was needed for the committee.

Then it came time to schedule actual meetings, and the overwhelmed feeling came back. I didn't feel like I could add enough to my schedule meeting-wise and still be fair to my family and my ensembles. But, as I said to one person after a conversation attempting to set up a meeting time, I was afraid to stop playing with an ensemble. I suppose I was afraid it would make me less of a musician, less happy, and I'm not even sure what else I may have been afraid of. The unknown, perhaps.

I thought about that all the way home. It seemed strange to me, distant, unclear. What was I afraid of? What if I stopped playing with ensembles? So what? I like it, but I like playing by myself, too, and I can play tuba during my lunch break and work on material for that CD I always say I'm making some day. Which day, though? Why not this day? Maybe it is time for that, too.

"Love is a light which can never dwell in a heart possessed by fear."

Within the hour my thoughts turned from if I should stop playing with my quintet to how to bring it up. They were actually quite gracious when I talked to them, and found a perfect sub for me the next day. It's like it was meant to happen. I'm on a six month leave, and I'll reassess toward the end of 2010 what seems like a good idea going forward.

In the mean time, I feel happy to be free of the fear and evening rehearsals. I'm also looking forward to playing for myself, and even more, am trying to do my part to be made ready for this new venue of service that has opened up for me.


Current favorite quote:

"The closer one gets to realizing his destiny, the more that destiny becomes his true reason for being."

from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

What am I doing again?

Last night I went to band rehearsal. I love band. We played music from The Empire Strikes Back and Marriage of Figaro. We played other fun things, too, the director is a great person, and I like being around tuba players and playing with so many people. Among the numerous enjoyable moments was when a trumpet player pulled a duck call out of his bag saying, "I always carry it with me."

It almost made me want to stop playing with my quintet so I can play with the band every week.

But then I remembered: I can't quit quintet; quintet is my favorite. Isn't it? I love quintet. It's practically the perfect balance of individualism, good company, and, of course, tuba parts well worth playing.

Or maybe giving recitals is my favorite. At least, given a venue, I couldn't seem to keep myself from scheduling recitals, once I got started. I love doing them. Especially when people come and enjoy them. It's not hard to remember, though it's starting to have been a while now.

On a somewhat related topic, I seem to find other people's jobs very interesting these days. Not everybody's. But I do keep noticing jobs I don't have that might be satisfying to do and wondering why I got myself where I am and if there is some way toward something that makes me feel more alive, work-wise.

I hope I can find inspiration at work soon.

Even if it's by playing the tuba in the basement during my lunch break (I did that yesterday, too).

the fantastic concert

Last Tuesday, on my husband's birthday, we went to see They Might Be Giants. We brought the kids to the neighbor's house and, after the gDiaper tutorial and other points of communication with her, hopped on the 5 for the short ride up to First Ave.

Once we picked up our will call tickets, which amounted to having our hands stamped with a picture of feet and being waved in, we wove around to the back of the crowd, which was up behind the sound people and in front of the bar (one of the bars? I don't know, it was the only time I'd been there, and I didn't really get a chance to explore). Luckily, we were behind a bunch of short people and had a pretty good view.

We arrived just as the opening act was wrapping up. They sounded good to me, but we didn't hear much. Josh watched the original War of the Worlds while we stood there, and people on stage shifted things to and fro, getting ready for the main act. I mostly looked around, bounced excitedly on my toes, and waited.

Eventually the band came on (right around 8, just as my friend Scott, whose advice was critical to our attendance at this show, predicted) and played the song about the elements. I thought to myself, "Wow, they started with one of their educational/strange ones!" Then they played the song about President Polk and I realized that they have mostly strange songs, and many kids' songs, which is part of why I enjoy them so much. After that they did the one about the birdhouse and the lighthouse, and I almost cried. What can I say, music does things to me.

It was such a great concert. It was all built around an album they put out in 1990, Flood. Which is a long time ago. As they were about to come on, Josh pointed out to me that the Johns (both of the main band members are named John) are practically old enough to be our dads, and we're 30 now! There were fans in the audience of all ages - long gray beards, 30-somethings, youngish teens, college-aged folk and little children accompanied by their parents were all about. At the very front there were at least two girls/women with artificially straight and neon-colored hair who jumped up and down whenever the beat allowed it, just as I was jumping on the inside. As the show continued and my legs got more and more tired of standing, more a people joined the neon-haired people in their jumping.

There are so many things I want to remember: the Johns' casual hilarity and the way the crowd ate it up; how the dark-haired John would play his guitar with his right hand (the one on the neck) way up in the air in front of him, sometimes jumping, and occasionally with one foot in the air too; how the audience cheered when the other John brought out the accordion for the first time; the dense, sparkly, exciting and somehow witty effect of the confetti cannon (which John told us was stocked with confetti left over from the McCain campaign, though, he said, "don't worry, there is nobody here who was for McCain"); how personable the Johns were with the audience, at one point thanking people in different parts of the room, mentioning the glass wall that used to be on the upper floor, perhaps for the nursing mothers, and on and on; the sock puppet, one of the "avatars of They", with a paper coffee cup for a hat...

It's so interesting to see people playing and singing the sounds that I'm completely accustomed to coming from of a recording. The performers always look so human, so much made of the same material as other humans, and the same size too, and I'm usually surprised and touched by that fact, though I also feel I shouldn't be. It inevitably makes me wonder if they have the same human struggles as the rest of us, which of course they do, with their own personal details. I was a little bit startled to hear them allude to the fact that performing the same music for years and years may get a little dull if they don't mix it up a bit. Even though it's obvious. It was all interesting, and entertaining as well.

Near the end of the show, dark-haired-John announced that they had 8,000 bumper stickers that he would be handing out. According to him, they are quite cheap when ordered in such quantities. My date didn't object to my pushing up to the stage, inchingly, with much of the rest of the crowd (though he waited out of the way of the masses), and in the end I was rewarded by being handed two bumper stickers by John himself. I was very happy, even though it got dark as I reached the stage, and red back-lighting prevented me from getting a look at the guy's face, which I'd been hoping would help me decide if he really did remind me of somebody or not.

I held on to those stickers the whole bus ride home. Josh offered to put them in his [roomy] pocket for me, but I didn't want him to, and eventually I realized why. These stickers were handed to me, in my hand, by a rock star! Even if he seemed relatively normal and maybe even geeky (not unlike some of the nice computer engineers I work with), it still was kind of thrilling in a weird way.

Anyway, I was easily able to put the stickers down when we stopped at our apartment briefly to get a drink of water before picking up the kids next door. I still have them, though, of course.*

What a fun show. Happy birthday Josh, I sure enjoyed it!**

*For the moment.
**Don't worry, Josh liked it too.