Emerson and Tiny Matters

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Every so often I have a small fit of anxiety. I don't recognize it until I am fully into the moment! It is triggered by something very small and insignificant...like disorganized boxes, unfinished jobs on the to-do list, or a computer issue. Whatever the trigger is - it isn't the problem really...the problem is always something else. I should know. I find and correct problems for a living!

You see, as a musician, we become adept at finding the problems, from the most major mistakes to the very tiniest of issues, in order to make an attempt at expressing that which is impossible to describe with words. We pick things apart, we put them back together, we slow it down, we change it out, and we experiment in expression. But in seeking out the minutia, I wonder if I fail to celebrate the technical or musical issues we have conquered - do I forget to actually revel in any success? I seem to live in this strange world of dissatisfaction, always seeking the next performance, that level of perfection that eludes me. That might be an accurate description of many of us, musician or not.

Today's anxiety is drawn from the well of another life change. A new job, a new town, a new home also means leaving my current job, current town, current home, and most importantly my friends. It probably also comes with the territory of completing the massive document of a dissertation. The euphoria has worn off and the shiny, bright words I placed so carefully on the page have now settled into a comfortable hum in the back of my brain. And I realize that I have a sense of impatient dissatisfaction with not having anything ready to submit to a journal, or a research study set and ready to go. And by ready, I mean by tomorrow. I feel rather adrift and unfocused, excited about the future, but apprehensive as well. And I wonder if this is the result of the process I have just completed, or the years of musical training, begging me to dissect what I have just done and examine the pieces to be sure to approach the next performance with more something, even as I have no idea what that is.

I know that I am not alone when I suffer apprehension about new situations...will they like me? Will they accept me? And when I consider a new teaching situation I worry...will I be effective? Will I be able to reach my students and help them achieve their dreams? And when I place words on a page in the future, I am now on my own, without my "support team" in the next hallway...what if what I write isn't acceptable to the profession? What if I don't really have all that much to say? (My siblings are now laughing hysterically, but perhaps those who didn't endure my incessant adolescent chatter will relate.)

Perhaps Emerson is right. What lies within us is not the minutia to tear apart, but is the work of writing a symphony. The daily work of confronting our doubts, insecurities, or fears, helps build that courage muscle to place those technical passages of life into rhythmic order, and allow our the melody of our lives to sing more beautifully from within. All this practicing with critiquing what is behind us and thinking about what is before us actually provides the practice room for creating what is within us. And maybe, just maybe, I am built more like Beethoven, writing a symphony in a painstaking manner, rather than a Mozart, whose symphonies seemed to flow from another realm. I rather like thinking of myself as a late bloomer, one who has had the opportunity to write a few lovely little ditties for herself before finding her own symphony to write. And even if I am the only one who recognizes the harmonies, a little dissonance only makes for a wonderful resolution!

Rather than fighting these feelings, I am going to try to embrace them. What a gift the last four years have been! It is simply time to put that to use, and celebrate the changes within that have inspired me to continue on my path. I can take the time to center myself, figure out what I am truly feeling. Quiet the critical voice and listen more closely to the symphony I am creating inside.

Letting go of perfection

Boy, isn't that a hard thing to do? Let go of perfection. Admit we are flawed to the core, to ourselves, to others, and to accept the flaws in those we love and those we don't particularly care for. Maybe that is the problem with society right now. Not only are we afraid to admit we aren't perfect, we are afraid to admit that we are wrong.

[Except me of course. I haven't been wrong since 1982, and that was only once. KIDDING!!]

I was thinking today about teachers and politicians. Those in the public eye, whose words and deeds are honored and reviled in the same breath. And I wonder - is it possible to live comfortably in knowing no matter what you do, you will be imperfect? That someone, somewhere will hate you for what you believe, say, do and insist that you are wrong even when your intentions are pure?

I am reminded of my first year teaching. A little boy in 7th grade wanted to play in the concert but told me his dad would not let him attend. Of course, I called the dad. It never occurred to me that a father would not want his child to participate. That phone call was a disaster, and the man told me he didn't believe in music that didn't have words. Now, that can make your head spin right there! What do you mean, you don't believe in music without words? Like you don't believe in the tooth fairy? Like it doesn't exist or you don't want it to exist? Anyway, since I hadn't encountered that before, I was stumped. I had no answer to that. On top of that, his dad said the concert interrupted the chores. That wasn't acceptable in his family.

So I went to my principal. The child would fail if he didn't attend the concert, and the mother had signed the grading policy at the beginning of the year. The principal said he knew the old "S.O.B." (his words seriously) and he called him. They got into a cussing match and the man said he had tried to call the governor and when he got through, the governor would have my job! Needless to say, that didn't actually happen. He probably never got to the governor and the governor never rescinded my contract. But it didn't feel great at 22 to be questioned. However, it taught me something about working with many different kinds of people. I didn't punish that child for his absence. It wasn't his choice, and it broke my heart and his that he couldn't be there. I hope he learned to believe in music without words through my kindness.

All that to say, I thought I would be the perfect teacher. I could make everyone believe, think as I think, see the world the way I see it. You know, perfection! Unfortunately, that caused a lot of pain for me. The way I see the world is imperfect, just as I am. My interactions are flawed, even as I attempt to always do the right thing. And in trying to do the right thing, what the right thing actually is comes into question...and so it goes. And today, even more so than that crisp, fall day in 1979, much of what is said and done is pointing fingers, and blowing things out of proportion, rather than fact-gathering and figuring out a solution. Which brings me to politicians.

Seems to me politicians are somewhat trapped, not unlike teachers. The system doesn't allow for independence of thought, of expression of ideas, of trusting someone's competence. Teachers suffer from that greatly. Our professional opinion matters little - society questions our competence to have a professional opinion, much as we blast one party or another, as if all of "those" people think alike. If we just get rid of the "bad" politicians...just get rid of "bad" teachers, the system will work. But what if the problem isn't who is "bad" or wrong or right? What if the problem is a failure to let go of what we think is our own perfection in thought?

Was I wrong to think the child should attend the concert? Was I wrong not to punish him by the rules when his father wouldn't let him come? Was the father wrong to think school was for the daylight hours until it was time to get chores done at home? Or is this a matter of needing to understand a perspective? I wish I remembered the child's name and how he is today. I would love to ask him what he remembers of all of that.

By holding ourselves and others to impossible standards we miss out on perhaps what is the most compelling parts of life. And we miss out on seeing the world in new ways. But always, think through what we say and share thoughtfully, with as much care as we can muster. And even if we don't agree, even when we can't agree, even when we agree to disagree. And love the flaws that make us unique.

Letting go of perfection and always having to be right feels really good.