Legacy

“What have I done with my life?”

As someone who has struggled with the chronic condition of imposter syndrome for the entirety of her adult life, I ask myself this fairly often. Though I’ve yet to find a cure, I manage my symptoms by – well – working. Bills are a bother, but I’d rather unfurl myself from a ball and work than live uncomfortably. However, there are some occurrences that cause major flare-ups, and this one is big.

My piano teacher died.

I couldn’t think of a more poetic way to learn of the news. It was my college bestie’s 40th birthday, and I was driving home from visiting her in the Florida panhandle. As I stopped to get gas, I checked my email. My first piano teacher was informing me of the memorial service for my second piano teacher. I wrote back right away, saying I would help in any way I could. I continued on Interstate 10, thinking of the four years I spent in college as a piano performance major at THE Florida State University that would not have happened without either of my teachers. At the next stop, I checked my email once more. This time, I was asked if I was willing to play. Ah yes, how much time did I spend being stressed about a performance in this area of the state? I’ve been playing at funerals/memorials for my family, but this call, frankly, was different. I called my first piano teacher through tears, saying that I didn’t know, wondering if I was worthy for such a task. He reassured me that worthiness was not an issue, but not to feel obligated, given the time constraint and heavily charged emotions. I asked him for a few days to think about it, and he graciously said yes. I called the friend I had just hugged a few hours earlier and talked it through – what would I regret more? I probably make most of my tough decisions by asking that question, and I knew that if I chose not to honor her at her memorial by playing, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Coupled with the fact that the first piece we worked on together was one based on a funeral poem? Sometimes God whispers to us, other times, He shouts. This was a shout.

Her obituary doesn’t come close to capturing the essence of the amazing woman with whom I was so privileged to study. She was a BFD, my favorite humble diva. Now she’s gone, and I’m left wondering what I have done thus far. It does not feel correct to call her a colleague, even though we technically taught piano at the same time (her career wrapping up as mine started). Yes, I’m a music teacher, but so what? Am I any good? Who is better because I was in their lives? I know God is good, because in the days after my learning of her death, He sent me people to help reassure me I’m not a complete waste of space – a student saw me at the mall and ran to hug me excitedly; I saw a parent at a football game who bought lunch for my husband and me as a way of saying thank you for my help over the years. Well – that’s two!

In terms of my schedule, her memorial couldn’t have come at a more ideal time. Of course, the time off I had to practice was also time for me to sink into the abyss. What kind of pianist am I? I don’t practice. What kind of teacher am I? I don’t have private students right now. What have I done with everything that I’ve been given? It didn’t matter – I know if I didn’t play the hell out of that piece, I wouldn’t honor her the way she deserved. All I can do is my best, even if that isn’t very good. She got me to a Superior rating on Rachmaninoff’s Elegie Op. 3 No. 1 as a high school sophomore, and dammit if I wasn’t going to show I earned it. I followed her directions – practiced in different rhythms, hands alone, sections. I played for two of my pianist friends, whom I knew would be supportive but give excellent feedback. I thought about how many wonderful people I’ve met because of the path she helped me walk, from the friends I made in college and graduate school to professional colleagues I cherish.

When I arrived at the recital hall, I met her cousin, who asked if I would introduce myself prior to playing. I said I would say my name but that was about it because if I spoke before playing, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep it together. She insisted – but I ignored her 🙂 As gentle a person as she was, I was confident my teacher would not have wanted my emotions to interfere with the business of performing. Upon entering the stage, I simply said my name, said I was once called Joanie, and proceeded to play. It wasn’t perfect, but it never is. I know I played well, but I wish I remembered it. I was so prepared for the business of playing that whatever emotional detachment I needed to do it is still there. I then gave my thoughts on her place in my life.

One thing with which I am struggling is the final years of her life, as I hadn’t spoken with her for a long time. She was in an assisted living facility, and I had tried once or twice to meet with her virtually, but the strange circumstances of her moving there made it difficult. Whoever was in charge of her estate – God will take care of them. I hope she knows how much I loved and admired her. It was helpful to see her other students at the memorial, each of whom told me that she spoke highly of me to them. Most meaningfully, I learned that she had a picture of me in her room where she lived. It was displayed on a table with other keepsakes. When my first piano teacher told me I could have it, I immediately put it in my purse.

I am not sure what kind of legacy I will leave, but I know who helped make it. No pressure!

Finishing Well

New Year’s Eve is never going to be the same for me – it was the day my Grandma died last year.

I called my Mom this morning at 9:34 AM – a year ago today, she had called me then to let me know Grandma wasn’t looking great. It was terribly shocking, despite her being 100 years old. I miss going to her house and giving her hugs after school. I hope she knows how much I miss her.

All year long, I’ve thought about how I want to be like her. I’ve been reflecting upon how I’ve had this drive to accomplish so much and make the most of my education and training and her death makes me think – eh. Will I ever be the woman my grandmother was? She raised nine children with my grandfather, all of whom who live “better” (in the sense of material things) than she did. I always joked with my mother that Grandma would outlive us all, since she was so committed to eating well and taking vitamins and supplements. “Joan,” she would say. “I saw it on the world wide web – I want to try this.” We lost Grandpa in 2003, and though she missed Jamaica terribly, she always made the most of every day. You could NOT go into her house without hearing about Jesus. Grandma was unapologetic for better or worse, and frankly, it was usually better. How many people can say they both lived well and died well? Typically people are either eager to die, for an end to pain or loneliness, or scared because they don’t know what is coming next. Not my badass Grandma, who managed to find the balance of understanding that living is Christ and dying is gain – the embodiment of Philippians 1. She was prepared for it all.

How can I be like that?

I’ve been plugged into the Orthodox church lately and wonder every day if I should take the plunge and get chrismated. It’s peak Grandma to be at church – how can anyone possibly do all that she did without profound faith? If I get chrismated, am I being less like Grandma because she was Baptist? Does it matter? In this moment, I am growing in a way I have not in a while. I stopped going to my Baptist church because when the pastor I greatly respected left, he was replaced by a pastor who wrote in a blog (since taken down, of course) that a Christian could justify a vote for Trump in 2016 but not Clinton. I simply do not feel safe in white evangelical spaces any longer. I could look for a Missionary Baptist or an AME church, but it seems silly not to look for a home in the faith of my husband and stepdaughters. The priest who married us at the Orthodox church says I have to do it just for me – if I didn’t have any Orthodox family, would I still want to become Orthodox? Am I forsaking my family’s culture if I do that? What will help me MOST be like Grandma? Does it matter which church I am in as long as I am growing?

I suppose I should be most scared of forsaking Christ. I don’t see any risk of that in the Orthodox church, theologically speaking. I want to live well AND finish well, just like Grandma. 2021 had a lot of ups and downs, but I am at peace despite the turmoil. I don’t know what 2022 will bring, but my mission statement is simple: serve God and have a good time. I have hope because of Christ. Hopefully it will be a long time before I’m in Granny’s arms again, but that’s where I wanna be!

Grandma came from Jamaica to help take care of Baby J ❤

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

She Ran Her Best, and I Can, Too.

I’ve never been more excited to vote than I was to vote for Elizabeth Warren.
If you know me, this may not seem like much. I am what people in politics call a “supervoter,” in that since I pre-registered to vote when I was 17, I have NEVER missed an election. I even voted in the 2008 Florida presidential primary, when my vote literally did not count because apparently Florida violated the rules by moving the primary. I have been fascinated by the process since the Supreme Court decided the election in 2000. My mother once told me I was talking in my sleep about Bush tax cuts as a high schooler.
However.
There has never been a candidate that has moved me in such a personal, literal way. When E Dubs took out Bloomberg in that first debate, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I have been struggling with knee pain ever since I took on the Clearwater Causeway on January 28 and I thought to myself, “Dammit, if Warren G can take on a billionaire, I can handle a few miles!” I have never felt so inspired by someone to whom I have zero personal connection. Her plans. Her wisdom. Her wit. Her determination.
I have admired Senator Warren since the creation of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. Her work marks the first time that I have seen the national political process make a difference in my every day life. When she entered the presidential race, I knew I would have to give her careful consideration. Everyone likes to pretend that their political decisions are 100% rational, but here’s the thing about me and Liz – my heart AND my brain believe she has more to give America than anyone else running right now.
Nobody can tell me God isn’t real – I got my campaign t-shirt in the mail today and I’m wearing it as I sip my rum and cola and type. I love that I voted for a woman whom I believe will continue to fight for me, even if it looks different than I had hoped. I love that I voted for someone who was the best candidate, without paying attention to worthless polls. I love that I voted for a genuine, human being – one who is perfectly imperfect. I love that I voted for another teacher!! If only she had a plan for me submitting my lesson plans on time…
I have been mad as hell as I’ve watched the corporate media erase her from the narrative. I am confident that if she were Edgar Warren with the same credentials, she would have the nomination LOCKED. UP. RIGHT. NOW. I wish I could blame my ups and downs with running on misogyny and the corporate media. MSNBC or Fox doesn’t want me to foam roll and stretch to avoid injury, amirite? I know she wants me to check my cart at Amazon.com because I added her book in both hardback and paperback and she would want me to just choose one because that’s prudent. But dammit I know Elizabeth Warren hopes I wrap up this post really quickly so I can go to bed, dream big, and fight hard another day. Believing in her helps me believe in myself. What greater gift can a person give another?
I stan a legend. I will NEVER regret voting for her and I am thankful for the opportunity. I made my voice heard and I will continue to do so. I will vote for the Democratic nominee, but I stan only one. This is my race day shirt for the rest of the year. I hope Liz and I have a lot of races ahead to run – and win. ❤


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.

In The Beginning Was The Word.

*looks up*

Forgive me, Lord, if I end up blaspheming in this post. I’m thinking really hard about what I write here. If I’m wrong about anything, please show me. Thanks for inspiring others to invent delete and backspace.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning. 3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. 4 In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome[a] it.

Beginnings are a big deal. Not that you can’t have a great ending without a great beginning, but oh man, getting the beginning right often makes things that much easier. It is my duty as a Christian to constantly keep the Life-giver at the forefront of my thoughts. As 2019 has started, I am already finding myself overwhelmed and defeated, although I shared in my last post that I have no objective reason to feel this way. The thing about life is that you can have a great day but then you go to sleep, knowing that you have to set yourself up to have another great day. If tomorrow itself is not guaranteed, surely a great tomorrow is far from certain.

So what can I do to not throw in the towel on January 14? Resist.

I’ve chosen resist as my word of the year because I have found that when I choose not to resist, it is when I get into trouble. I must resist –

• the temptation to overeat.
• believing that progress is always linear.
• comparing myself to others.
• allowing the evil one to steal my joy.
• minimizing my accomplishments.
• not prioritizing my time.

I can only make one good decision at a time. When I pray the Lord’s prayer, I ask for my daily bread – not weekly, not yearly. While I can plan for the future, I cannot know what it holds. I want to honor God with my body. I want to serve others with my gifts, even though I feel so much of the time that I don’t have very much to offer. He can use anyone, even lil Joanie, to accomplish His will, and I definitely don’t want to be in the way.

This week, I have 16 miles on the calendar. It has been well over a year since I have run 16 miles in one week and I am terrified. I wasn’t too pleased with how slow my long run was on Saturday, but I am choosing to remind myself that practice for the big day isn’t always going to be pleasurable. I imagine that it’s quite normal for a workout to feel like WORK. It’s not even trying to pretend to be something else.

God is my light. I must resist succumbing to the darkness that has already been conquered. The war is won.

Photo by Artem Saranin on Pexels.com

Four More Years!

Happy Raceaversary to me, from me! 

That’s right. I’m the one (via God’s grace, naturalmente) who is the cause for the celebration! I have been running for FOUR years, like the consummate politician! So, since I’m the one who decides every day whether I am a runner, I shall outline here why I believe I should continue to support my racing and thus my overall well-being. 

1. There are fewer more glorious feelings than crossing a finish line. 

It doesn’t matter if I see a finish line and feel relief or triumph. I have never been disappointed when I reach it, even if I think I could have had a better day on the course. Every one means that I started something, committed to it, and saw it to fruition. 

2. I know how I can improve. 

While I am not at my peak of fitness currently, I know there is hope for me to become a better runner than I ever have been. I may not be a beginner, but I pray that I have just seen the beginning of my running career. I can learn to be both more disciplined in some areas and more forgiving in others. Let’s be real – there’s nothing else that motivates me to be physically healthy. 

3. It has made me a more open person. 

I have run (rimshot!) into people who have changed my life. Granted, I knew The Mentor before I started running, but I likely wouldn’t have started without her. I’ve gotten to know countless amazing people, like Blonde Oprah and 3M. Because of running, I am open to meeting more people and both learning from them and giving to them. 

Every step I take in a race is a gift from God. May He grant me at least another 4 more years! A vote for running is a vote for Joanie! 

I don’t think I’ve seen a truer race sign.

The Setup

3 days from now, I’m going to be a wife. Pretty big stuff. Adonis’s presence in my life has been a wonderful thing in more ways than I feel like counting right now. One of the things I’ve been reminded of since becoming engaged is just how much love I have in my life – from family, friends, and colleagues. I always have understood that I have been blessed with a lot of love but it seems to be coming out of the woodwork. I’m unsure whether people are behaving differently because these are just the things people do for future wives or perhaps I am simply noticing more things because Adonis has enabled me to be more receptive to love. I have a feeling it is a combination of the two. 

The love and wisdom I have received from  my friends is something I hope I will keep close to me as life continues. However, I have noticed a trending sentiment that disturbs me –

It’s all about you. It’s your day. 

I find the second part of the thought a bit less troubling in a certain context – ensuring that my voice is heard and my wishes expressed amongst a family of REALLY strong personalities can be challenging. I do believe it’s “my day” when it comes to things that don’t matter in the long run, like food and music. The wedding trappings. 

All about me, though? My protest, in part, is because I like celebrating myself. If today is all about me, does that mean other days can’t be about me? I get to a March 12, 2016 and from then on it’s about anyone and everyone else? That’s a bummer. I simply refuse to peak on my wedding day. It’s gonna be big and it may be the best day of my life thus far, but if it goes wedding day —> mortgage —> get fat —> kids —> death AND I don’t get to be a star anymore? I ain’t signed nothin yet! 

The above-mentioned trajectory minus the fat, however, is something that I embrace. I would never have been in a place to embrace it if it weren’t for everyone else. Beginning with my parents on the first day of my life, to my music teachers, to my friends and relatives, and eventually my students – my life has been touched by so many amazing people that have helped me to take my bravest step yet. I wouldn’t be Lady J without them. 

It does make me happy to celebrate our wedding. For sure. I will never forget sitting at my bachelorette party amongst 30 women – how could I have the audacity to say that anything is all about me? There was so much love at that table. If anything, I am pleased that I’ve provided an excuse for people to come out of their holes and love each other. I wish that life weren’t so busy that it has to take life-changing events to get people to show up sometimes. I am thankful that I have my friends, but I am also thankful that my friends have each other. 

I do not want to be setup to believe that anything can be just about me. That can’t be a good recipe for being a good wife, daughter, or friend. I sincerely hope I have been a loving bride-to-be, not consumed by all that is happening. Though it will look different, I believe I have been blessed with the type of friends who will be excited, present, and loving on March 13 and after, just like I will be for them. 

  

Just put tape on it

  
I missed a workout tonight, and I’m only sorry I missed it because I have to make it up tomorrow. It turns out if I want to run faster, I have to run faster. As much as I’d like to run from the facts (heh), there are people in my life who will not let me. 

I wish I wanted to do all my training. In fact, lately, I find myself not wanting to do much, training only because I know I must. I don’t even find the wedding dress business to be sufficient motivation. Why can’t I be more like 3M (pictured above), who has a solution – a way of mending or taping any problem – for everything? Even when she b*****s it’s oozing with potential and positivity! She knows it’s going to be hard and she is still excited about it. Many can be envious of her speed, including me, but if I could take anything of hers it would be her enthusiasm. Is there an enthusiasm workshop somewhere? Gah. I hear Blonde Oprah’s high-pitched voice but I can’t make out what it’s saying.

I don’t just want to train and get better! I want to like it! 

Shoutout Series: Four Foot Fabulous

  
I was trying to come up with what picture would be ideal for this shoutout. She’s like Wonder Woman in every way, but she’s short. I googled “Short Wonder Woman,” and this is what they gave me. 

Four Foot Fabulous is on her way to completing her first Ironman at this very moment. I could stop writing right now, right? What more do you really need to say about someone who has the will to overcome – well, everything, really. The Ironwoman of the moment (Lord willing! Minus a few hours or so) happens to be bringing her forth her zeal for life in this particular way. 

FFF (N.B. –  also the musical notation for very, very loud, which is fitting) makes my heart happy. She’s a brilliant risk-taker who does anything she sets her mind to. Her big heart can usually be found on her sleeve, she has occasionally lamented, but I think this is my favorite thing about her. Nobody keeps it realer than Four Foot Fabulous. She allows herself to express her ups and downs very honestly and, in my opinion, this puts her in the best position to motivate others, which she does frequently. 

I told FFF yesterday that it really is a privilege to call her friend. She has a pretty big fan club, indeed. I look up (down?) to her so much that I wonder why she would keep me in the loop. Don’t get it twisted, y’all. Heart of gold nonwithstanding, FFF is simply too F for riff-raff. This woman makes you feel as good as you are just by being herself. What could be more fabulous than that? 

Go get your finish line and well-deserved title, my dear FFF. Don’t forget Lil Ole Lady J! 

PS: FFF, Imma put you on blast right here because I’m not classy like you. You told me you expected to be running Mile 17 of your marathon around 10 PM and as of right now you’re ahead of schedule. That’s very inconsiderate. Love you anyway!