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!

‘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.

 

Permission Granted

Every Triathlete Ever: OMG, it’s so hard; this is so much work. I’m miserable right now. You should totally do this. It’s great.

Um, what?

I can’t be the only person who has noticed this. When E.T.E. is asked why I should, like, totally do this (this being sign up for X or Y race), typically the response involves his or her addiction to racing. “I just love it, Joan.” Of course, having chosen to do it more than once, I’ve experienced the thoughtfulness of E.T.E. as I panic and question my decision. However, not one of them warned me of what would happen after my first half-ironman.

The afterglow.

Don’t misunderstand. Any fool could reason that life after a big event would feel calmer. I knew my training load would be lighter, despite having two races left in my season. Time in the pool and on the road feels easier now that I’ve experienced what I can accomplish when I put my mind to it. What I was NOT expecting was to be a more forgiving person in the classroom.

I realize that things probably should feel different for me this year, in that I’m no longer quite a rookie at work. I am noticing drastic changes for the better. The way I talk to my students is different. I am much more calm in general, and it takes a lot more for me to become upset by anything that happens at work, really. I had thought that I was already judicious with choosing my battles, but now I am seeing that some situations aren’t even battles. When a student is flipping out about playing a. stupid. note, I handle it much more sensitively.

I must admit that I feel more than a little foolish about this change. I am an experienced musician and have no shortage of empathy for my students as they deal with performance anxiety. Why, then, have I been such a (relative) bitch to them in years previous? I believe the reason is twofold:

1. I have had the opportunity to see their growth despite my imperfection.

One of the many reasons I love being a specialist is that I am privileged to work with my students for several years. There are times I have looked through and executed my lesson plans and thought to myself – shit. Did I teach anyone anything? Now I am able to see students who used to look at me like I have two heads use musical terms with ease and play confidently. Children who once were completely unenthused about playing by themselves eagerly raise their hand to show me what they can do. While I don’t take all the credit, I think it’s fair for me to take some when what they do is pretty solid. They quote things that I have said that make it seem like they have paid attention to me throughout the years despite all the errors I’ve made along the way.

2. I have had the opportunity to see my growth despite my imperfection.

From the department of the bleeding obvious – I’ve always been imperfect. I’ve always made progress nonetheless. However, I have been a musician for so long that the process has often taken place without my being aware of it. The difference between the person who starts something at 4 and the one who starts something at 27 is stark. Only a complete dumbass My head would have to be buried under the sand for me not to be aware of the risks I’ve taken in the last 22 months; I’ve signed more “if you die it’s your own damn fault” waivers than I can count.

It took me 7:35:58 to finish 70.3 miles. Were there things that could have gone better? Of course. Did I do my absolute best? Totes. Are most people faster than I am? Am I black? I know I have a lot of room to grow, not because I’m black and therefore inherently meant to participate in endurance sports but because I know my best can get better. I’m giving myself permission to enjoy where I am right now, despite all of my flaws.

How gracious of me to allow myself to be human, whether I’m in the classroom, on the race course, or anywhere else. I’m welcome.

Trust me; I’m a Pianist – The Final Countdown

In two days, I’ll be packing up the car with my gear, Red Rocket, and the first and greatest cheer crew I’ve ever had – my parents – to go to Augusta for my first half-iron distance triathlon. For those of you sane enough not to know what that entails, I get to swim 1.2 miles in a river, ride 56 miles on a bike, then run 13.1 miles. This is going to take me all. day.

It’s taken countless hours and a disturbing percentage of my salary to get to this point. And I’m pretty stoked about it. Which is weird.

“But Lady J,” you start. “Why would it be weird for you to look forward to something you chose to do?”

Excellent question.

This is triathlon number five. I was BEYOND terrified for triathlons 1-3. #4 was a bit better and I distinctly remember feeling odd that I didn’t feel terrified. Probably because I wrote it down. Number 5? I’m not saying I think it’s going to go perfectly, but I think I’m gonna have a damn good time. From the get go, baby.

I’ve maintained that piano performance and triathlon are totes the same. The preparation. The nerves. The ridiculousness of the task at hand. Imma be real with y’all – while I might not literally fear for my life when I’m on stage as I may have in the water or on the bike course, swimming, biking, and running seem like much more reasonable requests to make of someone than asking her to memorize thousands of notes in a specific order to be played at a specific time in a specific way. That being said, as I’ve prepared for both types of events, the problems I’ve encountered don’t lie in my body. My arms, legs, feet – fingers – work just fine, praise God. It’s about putting the hours in to allay the fears that I am not good enough or that I don’t deserve a place on the stage or on the course.

Less than 100 hours remain between Augusta and me. Coachie and pretty much everyone else on earth are saying that this is the time that jacks with people the most. Questioning if you’ve sufficiently trained. Intimidated by people you’ve never met with more experience, strength, speed, or all three. I think I’m calmer now than I’ve ever been in my whole life. What’s gonna happen is gonna happen, man. Don’t get it twisted – I’m not saying that I won’t be nervous on Sunday. I just know that it’s my time. My time to show myself what I’m made of. My time to put myself to the test. My time to celebrate the physical health with which I’ve been blessed. However it ends, it will be my time to decide how to move forward to continue growth.

I’ve been getting ready for this all my life.

Sooooo…why did YOUUUUU clap? Recital Report, Part III

Among the many things for which I am thankful is a well-functioning frontal lobe. It keeps me from asking stupid ass questions such as the one posed in the title. However, as I was giving (getting?) hugs after my performance, people seemed to be answering this question though I did not ask it.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I bloody hate logistics. I CAN be an organized person, but because of my tendency toward perfectionism I usually shut down and wait until the absolute last minute to execute plans. One of the things I put off was deciding whom to invite. Of course, there were the people whom I knew love Lady J; por ejemplo, Mom and Dad had invested, say, $6920572047204 into my piano lessons. They’ll probably come check it out. Then there are the friends who are there to listen to me meltdown about the latest problems with my dead guy friends. Those were easy.

I’d like to say if I were performing popular music, inviting people would have been more of a no-brainer. Alas, I am an overthinker anyhow and likely would have operated with similar hesitancy. My program went a lil sumthin like dis:

People like what they know. Perhaps most could pick Beethoven (his likeness, not his music) out of a lineup, but the others? I didn’t want people to be bored. I settled on inviting people whom I figured would be amused to see me doing something that they don’t normally see. How often do non-musicians attend piano recitals of people to whom they did not give birth? People do things for the sake of novelty, right?

I reach the end of the recital. I get the claps. I wouldn’t expect anything less because applause is just good manners. People hand out standing ovations like I hand out candy to bribe my students to behave. Whatever keeps society running more smoothly, right? Most of the feedback fell into one of two categories:

1. You played some of my favorite pieces.

Of course. Moonlight Sonata and Clair de Lune. I picked my program with no regard to the wishes of my audience, so I suppose I was fortunate. “While I wasn’t surprised that this was said, I was surprised to learn that people were thankful that I played something familiar. I totally hadn’t thought how that would affect how my recital was received. I, too, am ‘guilty’ of preferring what I know. “It was really
cool to hear Clair de Lune performed live!” That made me smile. I got to bring people closer to something they already knew.

2. Cool. Weird, but cool.

“Man. You were really saying something up there. I don’t know what it was! But you sure said it.”

I’m pretty sure that’s the best review I’ve ever gotten. Thanks, Uncle. It spoke to the fact that many people don’t choose to listen to Classical instrumental music. Words give us cues. I REALLY take for granted that sometimes it’s easy to feel lost without that guide. If your ear isn’t ready, Mozart can sound like Schoenberg. And that’s a DAMN shame. I was pleased that people were able to enjoy the program without having a map, so to speak.

I’ve written previously about why I think people really clap for a performance. Lady J’s got some ovaries on her. I am the most at peace I’ve ever been about a performance. I am excited to prepare another recital. While I am a competent pianist, I don’t think that’s my greatest strength. I think it’s – well, this. I’m VERY mortal and I put it out there. Usually unapologetically. Truth? I can’t stand my people. Classical musicians, I mean. We make triathletes seem gentle and humble, and that is no small feat. I had to think twice about blogging about my recital because throughout school it felt like showing weakness was not allowed. Ever. Dammit, I’ve got feelings. I believe I reach people by sharing them. We play the greatest music in the world. Let’s not make it less accessible by being jerks because we put the time in.

In Him, I am strong. Rar. 😎

Of course it was a PR. Piano. Recital. Recital Report, Part II

If you could be inside my head while I play, I’m pretty sure you’d think I could add comedienne to my resume. Take a peek.

The Chopin

I can't help thinking about how frightened I was before the swim at St. Anthony’s. This Ballade was the swim. If I survived it, I win everything. Hell, I could go home. I get through the opening 4 bars. Yay. This sounds nice. Onto page 2 – the first page where fun things like to happen. Oh! That didn’t suck! Yay. Soon after, I missed my first note. My next thought surprised me. “Thank God that’s out of the way!” I didn’t have perfection hanging over my head anymore. I actually felt more relaxed. I think seeing myself keep going without missing a beat helped my confidence. Pages 5-8 were THE pages where I’d had my traditional freak outs. Then I just had this moment:

You know what? This m***** f***** Chopin is lucky someone is around to play his s*** damn near 200 years later.

Turning point. I started to smile – dance, even. While those pages weren’t flawless, I believe they were effective. I didn’t allow anything to keep me from moving forward musically or emotionally. Aaaaaaand I did a good job on my favorite part – the stretto at the end! Holy crap, it’s over already. A Flat chord! Hoo-ah!

Out. Water. New mood.

The Beethoven

I. Child. This was a good time. I closed my eyes and just followed the melody. Lol, I was one note away from perfect. “Dammit!” Here was where I really started to take notice of what was going on. “OMG, I’m, like totally making music right now. It’s filling the room. And people are listening. This is awesome!” I reached the end of the first movement and prayed no one would clap before I started

II. the second movement. No. One. Did. Hahahaha my heads up about not clapping when in doubt WORKED! I’m a champ. Okay, I’m a focused champ. I’m a champ in a different mood. We were somber, now we’re dancing. Move that body guuuuuuurl! Hey, it’s working! This sounds good. Oh, helloooooo mistake I haven’t made in months! Good to see you too; let’s play something Beethovenish until I make it to the next part. Made it. Don’t stop dancing! Just like that, it was time for

III. the last movement. *gulp* My presto has had a tendency to be TOO agitato, know what I’m sayin’? I’ve had to make real effort to not start too fast. If I think it’s just right, it’s definitely too fast. I had had a plan in place to check the secondhand on my watch in order to help with a starting tempo. I checked it. Then I remembered my secondhand broke A LONG TIME AGO. My left hand looked great though! Sigh.

Lord, have mercy.

I started. Okay, this is manageable. Left hand – Do. Not. Rush. Keep holding it back! Okay, this isn’t perfect but it’s – going. And not sucking. I’ll take it. Let’s make some music. I think I had some good moments in here but this piece was the least fun for me. Totally my b. I shouldn’t have allowed the blips to get in the way. But baby wants that coda. The coda is my jam, y’all. Aaaaaaand – I’ll take it, lol. Done!

Out. Water. New mood.

The Debussy

THIS. I reminded myself to breathe. I just – I opened up, man. I laid it on ’em. If I could find the place where I could learn to be that open with all my pieces – sigh. Perhaps in the next 25 years. Real talk? It’s a good thing I didn’t play it any better. I would have gotten draws thrown at me. There were children in the audience.

Out. Water. New mood. OMG this is almost done. Go make it happen.

The Brahms

Brahms and I have a special relationship. That’s not a euphemism. This girl loves her some Brahms. Plus, we share a birthday! I chose to end with this piece for a reason – it’s one of my favorite Favorite FAVORITE! I began to play. WOMP. CRASH. I didn’t even make it through the first two measures, LOL! Whatever my fingers did, my brain could not process and autocorrect. I stopped and smiled.

“JK,” I said aloud. The audience laughed.

I shook my head and started again. I am SO FREAKING PROUD OF MYSELF that I did not let that stop me from playing the hell out of that piece. I put it behind me and focused on one thing at a time. I got to the best parts and made them sing. I had a few more blips, but nothing to agonize or JK about.

Boom. The moment for which I’ve been waiting months. I’d fantasized about what it would feel like to get to the last page and freaking nail it. After all of the work and the drama of the piece. The program. The preparation.
I lingered on the final octave as long as I could before it was obscene.

It felt awesome. God is awesome.

Answer: Everything that kills me makes me feel alive. Recital Report, Part I

Question: Why the hell am I here again?

I asked myself this as I pulled up to my performance venue after a hectic morning. I had anticipated feeling panicked, but at about two hours before show time I just wanted a nap. Music is cool, but naps are better, right? Alas, I would feel guilty drinking later if I didn’t play first. Onward!

I met with the owner and worked out some final details. A local university student was there with her professor, checking out pianos. “Fantastic,” I thought. “People who know what they are doing. I bet that feels good.” I tried to shut everything out and settle myself.

Dress? Check. Playing shoes? Check. Diva shoes for the after party? Check. Confidence? Uh. This face stared back at me in the mirror:

Oh, dear. Maybe we can get some confidence from upgrading that face. My makeup application took me 5 whole minutes. That’s 10x longer than normal. You know this must be a BFD. Next came the dress, pearls, and shoes. I giggled. “I’m cute. Still tired, but cute.” I checked my watch. 45 minutes to go. By now, the others had cleared out of the hall and I could warm up.

I adjusted the bench how I like it and started playing through my favorite (read: most terrifying) sections of each piece slowly. Heh. “This Steinway D shole is purty!” Soon after I had begun, one of my cousins popped her head in. Polite pianistzilla that I am, I gave her a hug and asked if she would wait outside for me until 1:45. She was cool. “Hey, could you keep others out for me too?” “Sure!” she says.

I start playing again. I hear another person. “Gah!” Oh yay, it’s 3M! Happy to see her, I ask her to go away, too. 🙂 My mom and aunt then came in (cousin you are REALLY sucking at this) and my mother tried to attack me. “Ermahgerd lemme see how beautiful you are!” Thankfully, my aunt shuffled her away. I got about 2 more minutes in before I went to go hide and check myself out one last time.

I had wanted to minimize my contact with people before I went on the stage. However, as there was only one bathroom, it became a bit of a reunion area. “I’m so excited!” “Are you ready?” “Good luck!” Everyone please SHUT. UP. I smiled and hugged, of course, and in retrospect, that is probably what I needed. I managed to hide, eat a Bonk Breaker (hey, endurance is endurance) and await 2 PM. I checked my watch. 1:53. As I sat in a room by myself, I repeated the command from Philippians 4:6 to be anxious for nothing. I thanked God for my family and for music and the opportunity to bring them together today. “Uh. What are you gonna do if when you make a mistake?” I asked myself. “Keep going. No big deal,” I replied. Keep breathing. Have fun. Think happy thoughts. Did Jesus really die on a cross for me to whine about Chopin? No, probs. Chill out.

I came out at 2 and told owner dude I was ready. I turned my head and saw my Dad TOTALLY not in the performance hall. “Waaaaaaaaiiiiit!” I asked him to wait 5 more minutes. I wrangled my father, who was giving directions to a turned around family member. Real talk? When my huge family of Caribbean descent is involved, starting an event 5 minutes late is like starting an hour early. I couldn’t be mad.

No, seriously. I couldn’t be mad. I had a job to do. They are clapping for me!

Separation Anxiety: On Winding Down

Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about something low-stress, like dropping your kid off at day care for the first time or saying farewell to your military spouse before s(he) deploys. This is SERIOUS. As my recital approaches, I am finding that I have had to spend more time away from the piano than I would like. I had planned for this, as this is not my first rodeo, but it is unsettling nonetheless.

Incidentally, today was also my rest day for my triathlon training. No playing. No biking. No swimming. No running. Um. What else is there? Aside from descend into self-sabotaging, paralyzing thoughts of what could go wrong. Hah! I didn’t do that either, actually. I suppose I must be maturing because I feel very matter-of-fact about my performance. I know I cannot cram any more details into my head. It is what it is.

So why is this pulling away so uncomfortable?

I think it is the waiting. I wish I could fast forward to 4 PM on Saturday when I should be having my first glass of champagne. Before that, I have to welcome family into town, ensure that I sleep and eat well, finish printing programs, get dat recital day pedi, and wait backstage without losing my mind and keeping my heart rate down for about 30 minutes until show time.

Moreover, the approach of any event is the time in which friends and family are in my face like so:

I know they mean well, and because people aren’t usually comfortable with anything less than a sunny disposition, I try to reply as such:

I don’t feel like I will know I’m ready until I sit at the piano on recital day and play E flat with my RH 2. Or maybe I’ll know when I play the final B octave with lefty.

What I do know is that this – the discomfort, the waiting – this is how real women are made.

Breath of Life

You heard it here first: I’m a big punk. I am prone to worry. It often manifests itself physically with headaches, stomach pains, twitching. Even though I know and believe the following:

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. (‭Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6-7‬ NKJV)

I remind myself of this, see it work, and forget EVERY TIME I need to apply it. Within moments, even.

Flashback – January 12, 2014. My second triathlon. HITS Naples, baby. I had heard the half and full athletes had a gorgeous swim on Saturday. The sprint and Olympic distance races were on Sunday. I had had a few swim lessons with Coachie and was excited to take my new knowledge for a spin. Hahahahaha OR NOT! The water was so choppy that I ended up having to take a break. That was after I had decided not to return to shore in a panic after the race had started. So. Much. Water. Everywhere. I breaststroked that bad boy, man. I was bargaining with God – “just get me through this and I’ll change!” Yeahhhh I’m still working on that too, hah. 🙂 When I made it to the shore, I was like Sweet Brown, y’all. I RAN FOR MY LIFE.

Heh. I suppose the both of us were craving what we thought to be safe air. Quite frankly, I think bronchitis is less paralyzing than the fear I dealt with that day. In my panic, I forgot that indeed, I had plenty of air. Not only did I have air, but I had time to breathe it. My next triathlon swim went much more smoothly, thankfully. All I can do in the water is breathe and move forward as efficiently as I can without compromising my breath.

Ah. If only if I had been able to internalize the business about breathing sooner. No worries, Coachie. In terms of words of wisdom, I’ve been ignoring (usually unintentionally) people a long time.
You’re in fantastic company with my piano teachers. They’ve been trying to remind me to breathe my whole life. What has happened to me in the water plagued me first at the keyboard. Instead of “OMG so much water! So many people,” it’s “OMG so many notes! So many people!” I question whether I really know what I’m doing, regardless of my preparation. “Should I really be here? Have I earned this?” At least triathlons have lifeguards! If I have a memory slip during a performance I am SOL, man.

But when I remember to breathe…

It fills my lungs and my music with life. I start to enjoy what I’m doing. I’m able to focus on the present. There may be a big ass wave in the B section, but there’s nothing I can do about it until I complete the A section. Why not try make the most of every moment?

My triathlon swims since January have been FAR from perfect. That didn’t stop me from having a great time and crossing each finish line with a huge smile on my face! I want my recital to be don’t expect my recital to be perfect, but I pray that The Lord will help me fill my music with life.

Tee hee. I screamed “I’M NOT DEAD!” at the end of St. Anthony’s. You better believe I’ll be thinking it when my recital is over!