I’m Not Always Right, But I’m Never Wrong

I stand by this.

By *this,* I mean my decision to start and maintain this blog, as infrequently as I may post. 10 years after my first post, it is more true than ever that I have to be intentional about remembering my wins. Apparently, ‘What Have You Done for Me Lately‘ is how I view myself. It seems like I don’t have ‘Control‘ over my negative unkind ‘Nasty’ thoughts.

Anyhow, it’s never a bad time to reflect upon how I came to live in a ‘Rhythm Nation’.

Why Did I Start Music Lessons? How Did You Choose an Instrument?

One of my mother’s graduate school professors commented on my lithe fingers as a Baby J. They enrolled me in piano lessons when I was 4, and I am told that I got through 3 years of music study before I realized that I had not asked to do it. I guess I was having a good time. 🙂 I am not one to wish I was a child again, but I rather like that this was chosen for me – having confidence in your parents’ discernment is a big deal. The rest has always been up to me, which, again, I rather like.

Who Encouraged You Along the Way? How?

My parents deserve the biggest shout out for not just logistics and finance, but cheerleading. Not just at recitals, but during my daily practice. Successful daily practice enabled the recitals that my extended family, friends, and teachers attended. I cannot think about my music study without thinking about all of the love in my life. It amazes me that people took time out of their day to listen to a child play the piano.

What Experiences Were the Most Impactful?

Dude. Piano Camp. My parents dropped me off at the Indiana University School of Music Piano Academy in 2000 and 3 weeks later, I was a different pianist. It was like a revival – I could not get enough piano and piano literature when I returned home.

I must say that I both live and die by the applause. Losing competitions stick with me more than any that I won – how did it matter that I was talented if others performed better, even in a moment? It’s not as though my parents ever cheered me less, so I can’t say I felt pressure in that sense. That being said, the fact that I didn’t win 100% of the time didn’t make piano study any less wonderful, even if I thought less of my ability to play in relation to others. Thinking about it now, I cannot recall any time I ever thought to myself, “I’m going to practice more so I can win!” Winning was playing the piano well and earning the praise of my piano teachers.

How Has Music Changed Your Life?

I can’t read that question without laughing. It might be easier to share the areas of my life it has not impacted. Music is always there for me – whether I need to dance, sing, cry, play. She is faithful, even when I am not. Having the skill to curate musical experiences for children is incredible. Just this week, I had a child in class have a meltdown when asked to go on the risers – just to sing in class as we often do from our chairs with no additional audience. After class, he ran to me and hugged me, expressing how scared he was to sing. I told him he could come back during another period and try again. I’m tearing up as I recall how he trusted me to be brave enough to sing the music he clearly enjoyed in front of others. I get to help people take chances and discover how amazing music is.

How Did You Decide to Become a Teacher?

The short answer is that I love being a student, and it is impossible to teach (well) without learning. I type this and shake my head at myself, because I regularly lament that I do not know more than I do, even though somehow I understood years ago that I would need get to keep learning if I chose this career path. I would be remiss not to mention that I want to ensure that my students have positive experiences – while the vast majority of my experience as a piano student was positive, it wasn’t until I had a negative one that I thought about teaching. I often think about Coco Gauff’s US Open postgame speech about how her haters thought they were pouring water on her fire when they were really adding gas to it. I never want to put water on anyone’s (healthy) fire. May God forgive me for any time as a teacher I have provided insufficient fuel.

What Do You Want to Carry Forward from Your Story?

I want to let go of my feelings of inadequacy. I was telling my cousin just the other day that I don’t feel like I will have accomplished anything unless I am able to help other professionals, not only students. I know this isn’t true, but – ugh. I want to be a winner. I don’t have to beat anyone per se, but I would like to feel like other teaching professionals respect and can learn from my work. I wonder if I would feel this way had I not attained so much education, but it is what it is. “Woe is me, I am credentialed.” I could just ‘Scream.’

What Do You Want to Leave Behind?

I want people to feel better about themselves while working with me because I helped them be their best selves. I want to leave behind a good time, and I want people to know that I have the keys (I really didn’t do that one on purpose) to a good time.

One more for the road – I want to take people on a musical ‘Escapade.’

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

Seriously. Now. What.

I. Seriously

We’re all gonna die.

I wonder how I would be handling my midlife crisis if I were not Christian. Perhaps if I were of another faith, or no faith at all, I wouldn’t think about death quite so much. Our Guy literally conquers death. I mean, there’s no fun plot twist of the resurrection without the bad part, amirite? I find the thought of my own earthly life’s end much less upsetting than that of others. In FACT – I think it’s possible that the idea of others’ passing is a larger part of my decision making than my own, but that may be because I am still relatively young. I’m embarrassed to admit how often it crosses my mind that each time I talk to an older person I love, it’s closer to the last conversation I’m having than the first. One less time I get to tell someone I love them. Am I doing enough for those around me while I can?

Dark stuff, I know.

II. Now.

Am I doing the right thing with what I have? NOW? Now is all I have. I might not wake up to write another post. Last March I wrote of this plan to persevere on my fitness journey. You want to know how that story ended? Shortly before my April race, I caused a (fairly minor) car accident, more inconvenience than injury. Thankfully, the inconvenience didn’t prevent me from running better in April than I had in March, but I certainly didn’t spend more than a day or two doing any of the strength training I wanted to. The end of the school year came, I went to Greece for two and a half weeks where I completed exactly ONE workout, I walked the Peachtree 10K with Mommy in July, I ran/walked the Ovarian Cancer 5k in September, then I decided I wanted to keep going. Apparently, strength training once every 6 months is not quite enough. Shin splints. Damn. Which brings us to NOW – I purchased an indoor bike so I have some non-impact work as I did my PT – which I actually did until Christmas! Christ is born, Joanie celebrates by doing nothing. How’s that for taking advantage of the present? Should I even write down what my goal is, since I think there’s a fair chance I just will end up writing about how I blew it 9 months from now? Assuming I don’t die, of course.

III. What.

Clearly, life goes more smoothly when I am physically healthy, so not having a fitness routine is not a viable option. The death of Dr. Kuehl-White has prompted me to reconsider where piano fits into my life. Music teaching still pays the bills, but I don’t have any private piano students right now – for the first time since 2012! – which I’ve found to be a relief. Of the many spectacular things about her, the one that brings me the most comfort at the moment is that she made it incredibly clear exactly what she wanted her legacy to be. She had given me one of the sets of pieces she edited (a signed copy, naturally), and I ordered four more of them. Outside of the many deaths that I’ve experienced the last few years, I haven’t played the piano much at all, and now my teacher is motivating me from the other side. THAT is a legacy, y’all. Am I naive for being surprised that I want to play the piano, given that I have an advanced degree in it and make a living teaching music? Am I “just” emotional right now and as I adjust to this new grief, life will go back to normal and I will let my desire to play subside? Is that okay? What is right?

Evidently, I’m not the first person to struggle with these feelings.

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!

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

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.

(P)Re-Epiphany: Race Report

I’ve fallen, and I’m conflicted as to whether or not to get up.

I groaned as I woke up yesterday to check the weather. Cold, cold, cold. I personally do not care to be outside when it dips below 55 in Florida, and it definitely was in the 40s. On the way to the race, I asked myself – why do I bother registering for January races? It feels this way damn near every. year. What is my compulsion?

My mood did not improve upon my arrival at the race site. I saw several people I know, and quite well, but they either didn’t recognize me or chose to ignore me. Sometimes, as a black woman, I feel like a chameleon – a change to my hair and I am a totally different person. Perhaps I simply have a forgettable face, or both! Anyhow, this introvert didn’t feel like talking anyway. I saw a student and his family and I turned the other direction and went back to my car to stay warm.

My word, January 1 was filled with such hope and here I am, the 5th, fallen from my glory. My shiny new Garmin glimmers on my wrist and I feel unworthy of the tool in which I’ve invested. It’s the same old body! Same old weakness, same imperfection, same doubts, but now with Spotify and Bluetooth. I worked to set up my playlist, which I named for my mood.

Sigh. Why am I here?

I exited my car about 5 minutes prior to the race start. I will admit that my music made me dance and smile, as sour as I had been feeling. Like running, it is primal; moreover, it also elicits my feelings of inadequacy, but the only performance ahead of me was this 3.1 miles, so I’m gonna jam. I hear someone shout go and I walk toward the start line, without the hope that I had had just 4 days prior.

I knew that I was capable of running the race in its entirety, but I did not know how fast I would be. I told myself I would just run comfortably. A couple – each with a stroller! – passed me, and I sighed once more. Those babies are winning in every way, I thought to myself – they don’t have student loans! My twisted sense of humor made me smile as I ran.

My watch beeped as I passed the first mile marker. Under 12 minutes?! Whose legs are these? Can I maintain this? I enjoyed my music as I took each step, thankful for what seemed to be a steady pace. This race was in a very familiar area, which – I cannot say I find positive. I know exactly what it feels like to drive on these roads and because I do so fairly often, it made me very impatient to finish the race. By the time the final turn came, I no longer regretted having registered – but I’m not doing this one again!

There was so much food at the finish line but I still just wanted to get the hell out of there. Why does it still feel like a divine revelation that I enjoy completing races, even when I start the day reluctantly? Why am I so hard-headed that it still surprises me a bit when God brings me to another finish line? What will it take for me to feel like I just want to run and not run and hide?

Anyone who is among the living has hope—even a live dog is better off than a dead lion! Ecclesiastes 9:4 (NIV)

You hear that, y’all? I am better than a dead lion! Apparently, there’s hope for me, even when I am down in the dumps…

S-M-R-T Ass! Race Report

The morning was cool and beautiful at 6:45 as Adonis and I left the house for the race. It was a nice change from the week, which had been rainy and/or cold. We found parking close by the race site and strolled through adorable Safety Harbor as we looked for packet pickup. It was nice being there early enough before the race not to have to rush and to have time to explore, with much love to my perpetually late parents. 🙂

3M was running the 10K, so we went to the finish line to cheer her on. She reported it being hot and I hoped foolishly that I wouldn’t feel the same way, although my race didn’t start for another 40 minutes.

I went to the bathroom for a 2nd time since arriving – I’m terribly paranoid about needing to go during a race, especially a shorter distance one. I even have a policy to stop drinking about 30 minutes prior. Since the race was in a public park, we had the option of *gasp* indoor plumbing! Amazing! That 15 minute wait in line was totally worth it. I took the time in line to finalize my race playlist. 33 minutes and change.

Adonis and 3M walked with me to the start line. As I found an appropriate place to corral myself, it dawned on me that I had neglected to warm up. I groaned to myself and hoped I would still have a good race. As the horn sounded, I wrapped up my obligatory tears and sniffles at the start of races and started toward the timing mat. I started my Garmin and my music and off I went.

I felt incredibly determined and focused with my first steps. I was well-rested and feeling confident. Quite frankly, I felt like a badass. Then I felt silly for feeling like a badass with my moderate to slow ass pace. “Who am I to feel like a bad ass in the dead ass center of the pack?” Sigh. I laughed inwardly at my ridiculous self-talk – I was already breathing too heavily to do anything but smile outwardly. How else am I supposed to feel as I am running? There’s no pace threshold at which I should be allowed to feel confident – I have been training regularly and I deserve to feel good RIGHT. NOW, just before making my first turn.

The first mile went by more quickly than I expected. As I passed the mile marker and my watch went off, fewer than 11 minutes had gone by. I pumped my fist and pointed one finger up, my way of thanking God for each mile and asking humbly to carry my legs through the remainder. I saw a sign that read “You are NOT almost there.” I was feeling good enough to laugh until I saw that there was a looooong incline ahead. Not cool – and I don’t just mean how 3M told me it was not cool (she was right, by the way). I grimaced and just pushed forward. I regretted not stopping at the first water stop and hoped there would be one at the top, but alas, it did not come until much later. The incline marked the turn around and I tried to motivate myself by reminding myself I would have a sweet downhill in a little while.

Meanwhile, in my pocket, my amazing playlist was thrown off by the fact that I had forgotten to lock the screen on my phone, so I was now hearing my songs go back and forth and finally one just stuck on repeat. I had planned it so meticulously and it was failing, but I thought to myself, “at least it’s a long one. I hear this about 2 and a half more times and then I’m done.” My 2nd mile took me more than 11 minutes, but I was still on track for my 33 and change despite my having lost my playlist to help me track. I felt slow and tired and I was now at the point I reach every race – why am I doing this, again? I got a reprieve at a water stop and walked for a brief moment. I took the time to reorient my thinking into something positive and told myself I would start running again on the one – it’s totally normal to plan intervals based on downbeats, amirite – and did it.

I dug for a final gear that I could not seem to find. That incline and the weather had pushed me and I realized I was doing my best. Nothing left to do but just go to the finish, and thankfully, it was near. I glanced at the timing clock and I knew I couldn’t slow down if I wanted 33 and change not to become 34 and change. I saw 3M at the chute but I couldn’t shout out because I was damn near out of gas. Adonis saw me and reached out his hand and I managed to high five him. I high fived another stranger as I gave my last effort to the finish.

Boom. 33:43. Down from 35:27 four weeks ago. Goal met. I am S-M-R-T. ❤

 

‘Επαιξα και εχω νίκησα. Recital Report, Part II

I played and I have won. Heh.

I was expecting to go first because I am – let’s just say, new, but I was wrong. I was second, hah! There was a quartet who played twice in the program so I was the first soloist. I still think I was practically right 😉

I walked onto the stage and adjusted the bench. I thought about putting down the music stand but I didn’t feel like messing with it, so I left it up though I played from memory. I started with my first chord and felt relieved that the piano felt decent. No other instrumentalist has to gamble the way we do! I felt my feet shaking as I was pedaling, but I just took deep breaths and did my best to tell the story. I moved my body to the music I was making and it felt very natural.

On Bended Knees is a slower piece, and I have found over the years that those types of slower tempo pieces are my favorite to play. I felt the same way when I performed in 2014 and I can report confidently that there is no change! While I may not have to worry about my fingers running away or getting tripped up, I do I have to work to stay in the moment mentally – not letting myself think too far ahead. Enjoying every melodic and harmonic moment was key. Key. Heh!

There had been a part as the middle of the piece comes to an end where I had been having some memory trouble, and it happens to be one of my favorite moments of the piece. I had thinking that I wanted this moment to be absolutely perfect as I played, and guess what. It was! I smiled as I relished the chord before continuing. I wanted Burleigh’s lush harmonies to fill the room and I couldn’t have done better. The piece was coming to a climax when I heard a child cry out. “Shut that kid up!” I thought to myself. “This is my time!” The kid was shut up, and I was able to reach the pianissimo ending without interruption 🙂

I got up and was met with a thankful audience. I bowed and returned my seat, where I was able to enjoy the rest of the concert and relax. I am in a group of some talented teachers! It was nice to meet musicians and exchange compliments and respect. It makes me want to play more and more! I hope I make it happen!

Concert Black: Recital Report, Part I

I am playing in a recital today!

It is the first time I have played publicly since my recital four and a half years ago.  The local association of piano teachers of which I am a part organizes a recital for teachers each year and a few months ago I was feeling brave and so I did a dumb thing – I registered 🙂 On an emotional scale where 10 is “Whee, I can’t wait to play for everyone!” and 1 is “I want to hide under the covers with Bear,” I am registering at a respectable 6. I am currently under the dryer at my hairstylist and after I get my nails and waxing done, perhaps I could peak at an 8.

This recital has special meaning for me because it is the first time I will be performing a piano piece by an African-American composer, which sounds insane coming from a grown ass African-American pianist, but here we are. And thank God for that. I am playing On Bended Knees, the 5th piece of 6 from a set called From the Southland by H.T. Burleigh (1866-1949). I was supposed to play 2 of the 6 but – life. I didn’t practice enough to feel sufficiently confident playing it. I am looking forward to practicing more to put the whole set together with other amazing works by these often overlooked composers.

I must confess – I was bitter when I got the reminder email from the concert organizers.

Attire: Concert Black.

Like I said, I’m grown! How are you going to tell me what to wear? We are all piano teachers who regularly enter their students in recitals and who likely have grown up doing this very thing themselves. I can only surmise that they didn’t want the new one *me* looking flashy as hell. Maybe they know me without knowing me, because I would have found something really bright to wear. I’m feeling bold and proud and I love when my outfits match. But let’s be real – what’s bolder and prouder than a black pianist playing black music in a room whose ethnic composition is likely to mirror the Republican National Convention?

I am not sure if many in the room will recognize the Negro Spiritual upon which On Bended Knees is based, but I believe it is a melody that evocative of all of the pain of my people as well as the hope that has been carried and passed on. Everyone has experienced pain and hope, and it is my hope that I will be able to express these feelings successfully today. When I think about how the closest I will be to slavery is my student loan debt, and of the privilege I have to share black history on stage today, I feel incredibly thankful. It won’t be perfect, especially since note perfect is not how I roll, but I am in the perfect position to imperfectly tell our story.

Concert Black. All day, every day.