Connections

What was said:

“You must be very good at that. I bet the kids all love you. You have the perfect personality for that.”

Who said it:

My piano professor from graduate school.

What I heard:

“Good thing you aren’t teaching privately or performing because I don’t think you would be good at those things.”

Have I mentioned where I am right now?

Professional development has always been a double-edged sword for me. I got into teaching because I wanted to be a lifelong learner and I’m doing it. Teaching and learning. I also would like to be good at it, though. As a teacher, I don’t think I can call myself a good learner if I am not sharing what I am learning effectively. I don’t know what it will take for me to feel like a successful professional, but I don’t usually feel that way. I looked into the hotel mirror and plucked a gray chin hair. Clearly, there’s no longer a place for me at the young professionals’ workshop. I’m losing time!

This is my first MTNA conference since 2019. They had been canceled, and then virtual, until last year, but I was not ready to attend an in-person conference until this school year. PD, while valuable, has just been one. more. thing. At least for me, I have to be in a place where I can absorb information well so I can share it. The last 4 years have been a lot for us all (really the last 8 if you have any interest in the US being a democratic republic), and perhaps I’ve needed more time to process than most. I don’t know if that’s okay, but it is what it is. I took students to the FEMEA Southern Regional Chorus in October, to FMEA All-State Chorus in January, and now I am here, trying to figure out how best I can serve myself and my students. Do I trust God enough to connect with others? Is it possible that I can serve Him better by seeking their help in my professional endeavors?

I’ve found myself reluctantly interacting with people. It would be unfair to call me a cold person, but I definitely am an introvert with a nasty case of imposter syndrome. Why am I here? I don’t have any private students right now, though I do teach group piano at work. I don’t want to open my mouth and then someone learn that I have nothing to offer them. Nightmare fuel. I will say that I’ve run into supportive people, including my professor, a friend from Seattle I was expecting to see, and a friend from my FSU years that I have not seen since 2008! I’ve stepped way out of my comfort zone by sightreading simple duets with a stranger, who was quite helpful in talking about how she set up her business. It’s just so hard for me to put myself out there and be vulnerable, which was literally the first advice I got in my first teaching job out of school – learn to be open. 13 years later, I still struggle.

One reason I know that I am in the right field is because music helps me to be my best self. I get so excited to share music I am less focused on my many imperfections than connecting with the music and the people who made it and who will make it. It’s so incredibly powerful. Maybe instead of dreading networking, I can look forward to connecting with people who are passionate about the same things that I am.

Me: Immediately washes hands after connecting with others

Now What?

My next steps will most definitely NOT look like they did 10 years ago. I remember immediately looking up a 10k trainer, putting 6 weeks in, and running those 6.2 miles at an 11ish pace. L.O.L. To be young again. However, I do want the same things I wanted then – to continue making progress. So why not in the same way?

I am not regularly strength training as I was. Frankly, I am not regularly doing anything, which is part of why I’m so proud about running all the way through on Saturday. Putting my mind to things and doing them isn’t behind me, as I was beginning to fear. 30 pounds heavier, 10 years older, no strength training – and 3 minutes slower than my first time? I think I’m closer to the floor than the ceiling, which intrigues me. Notice that I didn’t say it excites me, since I am still feeling a bit shy about embracing a routine. That being said, I am determined to reach for the ceiling, even if it means being a *tad* uncomfortable.

I discovered over spring break that I don’t hate the gym. I hadn’t had a membership since 2018 and stopped going to the one in my apartment complex once the pandemic began. When my boo and I had a little getaway for our anniversary, I had no plans to go to the gym then, either! I was going to do my 5k training on the streets, ya know? One morning, I started out for a run and I felt a few raindrops. I learned then that I am more willing to mask in an uncrowded, immaculately clean fitness center than I am to get my twists wet. Since we’ve been back, I have been trying to figure out when I can hit an upscale hotel again with the express purpose of going to the gym!

As I write this, it sounds like I have transitioned into a weekend (vacation?) warrior. My next race is in 4 weeks, but it is in another city. I see myself doing strength two days a week at the house and running on the weekends. I tried to allow Garmin to create a get faster plan for me, but I couldn’t even bring myself to press “start plan.” It’s just not me at the moment. I don’t anticipate a summer full of races because it is JUST. TOO. HOT. Getting fit, walks for good causes, deciding to consider another training cycle when the weather is cooler.

Look at me, it’s less than a year since my last post. Goal – getting in four strength workouts and four runs before posting again.

Just because life looks different doesn’t mean it’s not still sweet. To my next steps!

Whose Day Was it Anyway?

I performed at a wedding yesterday. But get this – I. Sang. Lady J, pianist. Sang. Outside of a classroom. By myself.

I’m taking classes in Byzantine Chant. I will save the story for how I got here for a different post, but I am incredibly thankful to be where I am. I am learning to read a different notation system. Check out the same song in Byzantine notation vs Western, from St. Anthony’s Monastery:

Yet another reminder that despite my extensive musical background, my knowledge is in fact incredibly limited. Learning how to read has been great fun, and after about 3 months of classes, I’ve decided I prefer it over western for singing since the pitch is relative. It makes transposition a lot easier, at least for me.

My priest knows I have been taking classes, and it turned out that the pastoral assistant would be unavailable to chant for the wedding, so I was asked on Monday to sing for the wedding on Saturday. I said yes, even though I had been hoping that my first day at the chantstand would be on the feast day of St. John the Baptist in January. It may sound silly, but I felt like I wanted a saint with my (male) name on my side the first time I was singing. How could I say no to serving if I was available, though? I am learning to chant not just for my edification and delight, but so that I can serve in church, and here was my church, needing service.

The pastoral assistant provided me with a link to all of the music in Byzantine notation. I was pleased that I was able to follow along with the recordings and get the melodies down fairly quickly. After all, the only Orthodox wedding I’ve attended was my own, so I had very little idea of what to expect. I had a Zoom meeting with the pastoral assistant, who helped buoy me with confidence as I showed him my progress.

I took it easy in the morning yesterday – lightly humming my way through the melodies so as not to wear out my voice. I went for walk/run (my intervals are up to 3 minutes now!) and stretched (hah, I’m doing that, too!). I excitedly drove to church, dutifully arriving 30 minutes prior to the wedding, which ended up being an hour early. Let me tell you – as a Jamaican with a tendency to run late, Greeks seriously give us a run for our money.

My first performance was 32 years ago. I am JUST now learning to stay calm prior to performing, and this bride and groom were putting my ability to remain calm to the test. 30 extra minutes to wonder what pitch my priest would be starting on, as it is my job as the chanter to match it. From the pews, perhaps some people don’t notice, but I do not like when everyone chanting/singing does not maintain the starting pitch. Would he be too high for me to be comfortable? I didn’t know. I decided that worrying wouldn’t help and enjoyed the Christmas music that the organist was providing.

The bridal party started arriving while the organist played Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. Classic. The organist had asked me to signal when the flower girl had come down the aisle so that she could end and start Here Comes the Bride. I dutifully signaled and looked as the bride made her way down the aisle. I started tearing up and immediately reminded myself to keep it together- sinus drainage doesn’t really promote great singing, no? I was happy that I was teary-eyed, though – it is nice to be moved by ceremony and simply feel connected to a sacrament for other human beings.

The priest began. E flat. UGH, I thought. I used the lower part of my voice to match him. I was hoping he would be on G so I could use my mid-range, but alas, here we were on E flat. He had said I could go with any pitch I wanted, and he would match me, but it didn’t feel right. E flat was in the air, and I had a moral duty. 🙂

The service went much faster than I had anticipated. I read through the Epistle because I didn’t have the confidence to intone – it felt too much like winging it and that was a little much for my first time at the chantstand. I sang one less song than I had prepared, but I was pleased with most of my execution. I am still working on my resonance and breath support with notes higher than B4 so those were kind of iffy, but I don’t think it impacted sacramental validity. 🙂

My priest and the organist definitely pumped me up afterward – looks like I will have another opportunity to chant again. But that’s not even the best part. Guess whose day the church was observing – St. John of DAMASCUS! I had no idea until I had checked the church website in the morning. So I got a St. John after all – a hymn writer, even! Perhaps even a better match for me than the locust and honey eater, no?

I’m hoping the bride and groom had a joyous day and will have a joyous marriage. It was nice to be a part of a big day for them, but it was a big day for me, too. At the end of it all, everyone there was celebrating God, and it was awesome being a part of it. Yay!

Icon of St. John of Damascus

I Must Confess

Well. Miss Baptist Lady J did something today she never thought she would do. In.👏 A.👏 Church.👏

I received the sacrament of confession!

You know how it is. The Protestants are all like “blah blah blah it’s just me and Jesus, intermediary this, absolution that WHATEVER.” Having grown up in that tradition, I understand the reflex, but as the wifey of an Orthodox Christian, I’ve had the opportunity of coming to God in a new way. This past November, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a bag at my door with a devotional and journal for the Nativity (that’s right, not Christmas, the Nativity). Orthodoxy has enabled me to appreciate Christmas in a way that does not drain me. I’ve written in this space that thinking of gifts is very little in comparison to the social obligations that come with the holiday season, and observing Advent has helped me to focus on what I should be – the coming of Christ and preparing my heart. I remember feeling sad when Epiphany came and went because the season that I was experiencing with joy was over. I wrote in a letter to my church that it was legitimately the best Christmas I had had since 1994, when I awakened to find a new bicycle under my tree.

2020 was a *year* for most people, and I am no exception. I have eaten and drunk my quarantine feelings, thankfully avoiding the virus myself despite other family getting it, watching people from afar get Covid-19, dealing with death of family members. I have been harboring bitterness and I feel my physical weight is a reflection of my emotional weight. I’ve been looking forward to the Lenten fast. While I have given up things like eating out or alcohol in the past, I have never tried to fast like the Orthodox during any fasting period. I understand that the purpose of the fast is not to lose weight, but I am sincerely hoping that being thoughtful about my food intake will bring me closer to both spiritual and physical health.

March 14 is Forgiveness Sunday, and as the calendar has approached I’ve thought, I’ve got to get it together. I should not ask God to forgive me perpetually if I am not doing the same. Our church bulletin had some ideas on how to prepare for confession, and I’m reading over this list thinking to myself – maybe I would save the priest some time if I just talked about the sins I haven’t committed. I maintain that nothing is harder than loving your neighbor – the ones who still don’t wear masks properly, the ones who insist Covid isn’t a big deal, the ones who would be fine with America resembling apartheid South Africa with permanent white minority rule. I can’t control that foolishness, but I can control myself and my attitude, and frankly, it probably isn’t good that part of me is going to be sad when herd immunity is reached because that means I won’t have an excuse to duck social activities any longer.

When I walked into the church for the first time in over a year, I was shocked at my reaction. Tears came to my eyes as I looked at the icons in this holy space. It was like I was being welcomed home. Father explained to me how confession would work, and I then faced the icon of Jesus and prayed for an attitude shift and forgiveness of my unbelief. I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say that I wasn’t sure how effective today’s exercise would be, but all I know is that what I’ve been doing hasn’t been working and it was safe to say that it was unlikely that talking with my priest would be harmful. We talked about a lot of things and he came to the story of the Prodigal Son. You should click on it because reading the Bible is good, but in case you come across this blog post in a lazy mood and don’t know the story, a father with great wealth has two sons and one of them is like, hey, gimme my inheritance now, he gets it, and he squanders it. Meanwhile, the other son is dutifully working for his father. The idiot son is like – hey I’m an idiot. I should go back to my Dad, who sees his formerly ungrateful son from afar and throws him a party. Meanwhile, responsible son is like DUDE. I’ve been awesome. Where’s my party? Only idiots get parties? The Dad says that they totally have to celebrate that the idiot has realized that he is an idiot and has plans to stop being an idiot.

Then there’s Lady J. I definitely have older son vibes. Apologize to me? I may hear it, assent to it, but really I’m thinking to myself – why were you an idiot in the first place? You should have known better. Let’s be real. The idiot son should have known better. BUT. Am I not the idiot son pretty much daily in my relationship to God? Or in ways I may not even realize with others? So here I am, just mad that the undeserving are getting parties when meanwhile, I’m in the middle of my own party I’m not appreciating. Yikes. How many ways can I sin AT ONCE – I must be gifted. Heh.

So yeah. My heart is a bit softer than when I left the house this morning. Here I was, thinking that I wouldn’t be anywhere that excited me more than Total Wine, but you know what? The peace that came over me as I entered the church building was unreal. On Sunday, I am looking forward to hiding my TW stash at my parents’ house for safekeeping for the Lenten fast and then driving to church for the Forgiveness Vespers. I have been humbled even since I’ve returned home – I looked at the checklist that I committed to doing over the course of Lent and I ALREADY had forgotten that I had checked off “go to Forgiveness Vespers.” My prodigal a** did the checklist just THIS MORNING.

Soft heart. Hopefully with a side of less soft abs. I’m coming back, Jesus. ❤

I’m legit fatter than this unsuspecting calf right now.

Battle: Part 2 of 3

I have been 35 for nearly a month, and it has not looked like anything I imagined.

I am part of a large cohort of humans whose 2020 looks much, much different than they had planned. I was supposed to have lost more weight instead of gain back what I lost at the end of 2019. I had scheduled to race in Austin and Philadelphia and remove them from my bucket list of running in America’s 50 largest metropolises, rather than rehabbing a knee injury via Zoom physical therapy. For the first time in my professional life, I am unsure of my job security as an educator, as I suspect that any job cutting may come at the expense of specialists. My family has had biennial reunions since 1992, and now only God knows when we will reconvene with our matching shirts and high decibels in a hotel lobby. I lost an Uncle to Covid 19 whom I typically only saw at those reunions and have yet to be able to properly memorialize him because of stinking Covid 19.

What do I care about? How do I honor God from my couch? I hate to say that I want to be true to myself because my best self honors God, but He made me with certain strengths and weaknesses; if He made me a square I’m not supposed to mess with circle business, you know?

Yes, I care about being healthy, especially given the pandemic and my proximity to my parents and grandmother, but I do not have the emotional energy that I had last August to go ovaries to the wall with a disciplined eating regimen. I am volunteering to do some data entry with a campaign I support, but you know what? Sometimes I just want to take a nap. I was asked to step into leadership with a professional organization, and listen to this – while I am the first to advocate why my existence as a music teacher is essential, for some reason when I think about doing the work that facilitates student experiences, I think to myself – how important is this right now? There are people calling for the military to be in the streets; maybe the concerto competition can wait?

As I read my own words, I see a common thread. I’m not trying to tickle my own ivories, but come on – apparently God has blessed me with the spirit of a helper. Isn’t my moral responsibility to my family first? Can I really serve them if I am not my healthiest self, which means I gotta be right with God and perhaps not ordering baklava and pralines and eating with little restraint? Or am I being too hard on myself? Life has come at me pretty freaking fast in the past year, and I cannot fight every single battle that comes my way! I think part of adulting is accepting that my arsenal does have limits – but isn’t part of growth increasing my arsenal?

I WILL help – after I get a cookie.

The Trouble with Listening

I keep a poster with this saying in my classroom, among others in a similar vein, to help visually remind my students that listening is the first element in being a learning musician. We absorb and enjoy this aural art with our ears. I ask of them daily – “Is it possible to talk and truly listen at the same time?” Thankfully, I don’t teach too many smart asses who say yes, and I believe that they actually get it. Most of my students are empaths to whom I can say, “When you have something to say to me, don’t you want to know that I am paying attention to you? Doesn’t everyone deserve the same?” When we really listen to one another’s thoughts and the music we make together, it is then that we can fully experience the beauty of our work.

Even a 5 year old can grasp this. Why is it so hard to put into practice?

On the 4th of the month, I have great concern that my Fabruary may turn into Flabruary. I have not run since Saturday. I had a run planned yesterday but I chose to get a massage instead because my entire body feels tight. Even as I tell myself that I am listening to my body by not running for a few days, I feel like a loser. I fear losing the great progress that I made in Shamuary. I wonder if I am simply a weak person who cannot handle the training load I have put upon myself. You know I cannot cope with having peaked at 34.

“You know what I need to do?” I said to myself this evening. “Read my blog!” I am feeling like I have never been sore in my life and I logically know this cannot be the case. While it feels like the end of the road for my progress, I understand realistically that progress is rarely linear and it’s more likely that I simply need a bit of recovery. I put “injury” in the search box and what do you know, I have experienced the need to alter my plans more than once.

Perhaps we find listening difficult because it feels passive. We feel as though we will miss something if we don’t immediately act or speak. We feel a pressure to contribute and make our abilities known – so much so that we overlook the cost of pausing to observe and absorb. I wish my body felt like a million dollars so that I could confidently take on what is in my running plan this week, but she’s trying to tell me something and it sure ain’t “do your 11 mile run on Friday.”

I still fully intend to be fearless in 2020. My body is reminding me that sometimes bravery requires the willingness to stop, listen, and adjust.

Shamuary Sunset

By God’s grace, I made it, y’all!

The first month of 2020 is already behind us – but it didn’t end before I did my best to stick to my plans. I give myself an A on my running and a B minus on my eating. I am down a few pounds since the year started and I ran 55 miles this month. Most notably, I suddenly feel comfortable sharing the ups and downs on my race times. I am not sure what clicked in me yesterday as I was updating my race calendar, but I started scrolling through my Garmin app and updating it with past race times. I felt pride over times that once shamed me. I started running in 2013 and my calendar only goes back to 2014, but over the course of the year I intend to not only fill in my race history but detail it with the good. There is no bad or ugly because I am still here.

It is incredible that I started running when I was 28 and this year I will be 35 with no intentions of slowing down. Yes, I meant to make that pun! I want to push my boundaries and peel away the fears that keep me from being open about my abilities. I’ve been fighting trim and I’ve been fighting fat but dammit, I am still fighting.

Here’s to Fabruary! May it be a great one!

Heh. May. That’s when I turn 35.

I do love the sunset – and the sunrise – and breakfast! Yay!

Shamuary Plans

From good old Merriam-Webster:

Shame (noun): A painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety.

Last night (last year, heh) 3M sent me a link to a commercial she had seen. In it, a woman’s effort, or apparent lack thereof, in an intense spin class is shamed by both the instructor and the other participants. The happy ending shows the woman cycling by herself in the gym, free of the judgment of others. I told 3M that I didn’t think the premise was so bad, as much as I train alone; that perhaps the woman needed the encouragement to try harder. She did, after all, look much more at peace on the cycle at the end of the commercial.  Can peace really produce results?

I have been thinking about how much differently I train since I have been married. I moved away from my group and my training has been much less structured. While I can say the most negative emotion elicited by someone else was annoyance, I have often (irrationally) feared shame when training in groups. Yes, I intellectually understand that all sane people are focused too much on themselves to have the time to judge someone else in the moment. For me – the mere act of joining a group induces shame. To ask for help requires consciousness of shortcoming. It’s right there in the dictionary!

I have decided, for the month of Shamuary, that I am willing to sacrifice the peace of solitude for the potential to progress more. I meant it when I said in my previous post that I want to be fearless, and the only thing that haunts me more than my shortcomings is their public airing. As we speak, I am making plans to join a local running club again, where I may have to explain my two year absence, OR cope with the fact that I kept to myself so much that no one remembers me. Feeling shame for being human is one of satan’s shams. Not today, devil. Not this Shamuary!

Hashtag Silver Lining: can’t feel shame if you are unconscious.

One More Time

I amuse my students in rehearsals by telling them the only time they shouldn’t take me literally is when I tell them, “One more time!” This is a “lie” that all music teachers tell, I say. They groan, but they know that doing it one more time will bring them closer to a result they can appreciate. One more time can be the difference between a confident performance and a reluctant one, or it can be the space between a solid, harmonic ending and a stumble across the finish line of our song.

As 2019 concludes, I find myself making resolutions – one more time. Like my students, I groan because I am tired. I wish I could have it all right in this moment, but I don’t. There are many who scoff at new year’s resolutions because of the natural tendency to allow ourselves to lapse, but that is not the fault of the calendar. Why would we fault each other for trying to be the best versions of ourselves? This is a difficult thing to do, all year long!

Even when my students need to play one more time, I make a conscious effort to tell them what they are doing well. I want them to know that celebrating their strengths and managing their weaknesses can happen concurrently AND that I love and appreciate them and their effort. I deserve the same for myself, do I not?

I am thankful that at the end of 2019 I am a tad less cynical than I was at the end of 2018. This is despite not meeting my goal of running 1019 KM, or running a 10 miler with the best Mentor ever, and still being fat. I definitely have to work on this healthy human thing one more time. Look at my 2018 running stats:

Compare them to my 2019 stats:

Look how much better I did! Yay, me! Yes, I’m still fat, but I did lose 20 pounds and managed to only gain one pound in November and December – no small feat, between a trip to Jamaica, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Garmin gave me this badge today:

I am stoked that I have finished the year strongly. I tell my babies all the time that even if we have a rough start, we can have a strong ending and that counts for a whole lot. I love that Garmin has marked this badge as repeatable, for Lord willing, I will have another strong finish. The tricky bit, as you can tell from 2 years of training logs, is the middle. I want to approach 2020 fearlessly – unafraid to set new goals, but perhaps more importantly, unafraid to RESET old goals.

Happy New Year! One more time.

Front Row Seat

Yaya’s funeral was today.

I know. That was fast, right?

A timeline:

April 9 – discovery of tumors in lungs, pancreas, and liver after complaint of pain in sides.

April 12 – PET scan to determine if tumors are benign or cancerous.

April 15 – return to PCP who confirms she has cancer.

April 22 – meeting with oncologist who says the average life expectancy is 3 to 4 months, but he has seen as long as 1 year and as short as 2 weeks.

May 6 – last breath taken.

I have never experienced anything like this, and while there have been many nights with little sleep, I have seen God working in many beautiful ways. She was lucid the entire time. She only complained of nausea 2 days before she died and we solved that with stool softener, as opposed to the excruciating, debilitating pain that often comes with cancer. I didn’t anticipate that I would spend my birthday writing an obituary, but I wouldn’t have it any other way – it was truly a pleasure to ensure that she was recognized properly. Moreover, when I needed love the most, people in my life were already primed to give it to me because it was my birthday. God spared her by not allowing her to suffer and spared me the additional sorrow of having to share the day of her death with the day of my birth.

We spent her last weekend making sure all of her needs were met, summoning hospice nurses when needed. On Friday, Yaya had said to her regular nurse, “See you Monday – if I am still here.” She insisted that Pete not leave my brother-in-law alone because she felt she was going to die soon. I went back home and brought enough things for us to stay for the weekend. I will never forget the angel of a nurse that God sent both on Saturday and Sunday, who warned us that her death was imminent. Yaya was ready. She had spent the previous weekend giving us her things. She had told me she was tired and that we were going to be okay.

Pete and I each had one of her hands as her breathing slowed to a full stop at 4:10 AM. She was peacefully in her bed, just as she had wished. She knew we loved her and we knew she loved us. I stared in disbelief, as I had been in and out of her presence all week, checking for the rise and fall of her chest as she appeared to sleep. She still looked like she was only sleeping, but now she had achieved full healing.

I knew church today would be strange. I have had many family members die, but this is the closest I have been to the deceased – both for her death and in terms of relation. I always think of Gerard Manley Hopkins Spring and Fall to a Young Child at funerals – with each passing day, and indeed with each passing, my own is closer. In the busy-ness of life, it is easy to forget that we are mortal and one day will take our last breath. I hope not only to honor my mother-in-law’s life, but her death as well.

I will always cherish this ring she gave me.