March 27. A few weeks ago, I fully expected to be in typical springtime madness by this point, trying keep my head above water and hanging on for dear life in the midst of performing chamber music, preparing for juries, doing final rehearsals with the choir, and delivering presentations. Instead, I'm currently sipping coffee while still in my pajamas all because a microscopic particle was destined to make it around the world in 80 days. No juries. No rehearsals. No performances. And in the span of a week, I watched my first year of grad school come to an abrupt, albeit necessary, halt. At least I have more time to practice now, right? Nope. The music building is locked down, and with that, the only keyboard I will be using for the time being is the one I'm typing on right now...
I figured this time of my life would be memorable - starting grad school, moving out of the US, and seeing more of the world - but I didn't imagine a pandemic would mark the halfway point of my Master's degree... My friends know that I love to tell stories, so this time period will certainly provide plenty of content for my novel. I don't think anything will cap having the fire department show up at my house last week (hosted a bonfire with my housemates, and we didn't realize open flames were illegal... Oops!), but it seems like this situation yields more and more bizarre tales - stay tuned for more entertainment! Reminiscing on all these great memories, I'm humbled to think about how I was truly fulfilling a dream when I chose to move to Vancouver. I told myself growing up that sometime in my twenties, I would move to a city where there was lots to do and plenty of opportunity to enjoy the outdoors - well, Vancouver is that and more. Although I'm technically not yet finished with my coursework for this year, this virus has given me the chance to process a lot of what exactly this M.Mus degree has meant for me so far. So here are some social-distancing-induced reflections/thoughts/updates:
Everything felt new: Of course! I'm at a new school, living in a new city, and venturing into a new country... but there was also more to it. I went into my rehearsals, lessons, and coachings, and it felt like there was nothing I jumped into with familiarity - my practicing felt foreign, my performances weren't confident. It seemed like even the things I thought I knew how to do were no longer in my grasp. I found myself surrounded by new teachers, new colleagues, and with all of that, new backgrounds and perspectives. At first, I found the constant novelty to be exhilarating. I was surrounded by new kinds of beauty, and living in a diverse environment I'd never experienced before. But then, things kept feeling new... There was so much newness to tackle, and it became less exhilarating and more exhausting. I had to change some things in order to accommodate this "new normal," and it was a struggle (it still is in many respects). I had to remind myself frequently that it was okay to be tired and that if I was feeling "plastic," it was probably time for a break.
You've got a friend: [I found myself singing Carole King as I reflected on the incredible friendships that have found me.] I am both blessed and cursed to have called many places "home." It really does feel like some part of you gets left behind after moving away from a place you've known as home. I never imagined that at this point in my life, I would have such incredible people in my life from all over the world. After graduating from Ohio last spring, it seemed impossible to just carry on and say, "see ya later" to all these special people, but then I moved to a new place, made new friends and wondered, "how can someone mean so much to me in less than a year's time?" Throughout all of it, I feel overwhelmed, and this virus has been a great excuse to reconnect with these amazing people and remember how grateful I should be for all these friends.
Slowly: I'm usually the kind of person who learns/catches-on pretty quickly. I was used to inhaling music during undergrad because there wasn't much time until the next competition, jury, recital, etc. This year forced me to be patient. I didn't win any competitions, receive any awards, or present at any conferences, and I didn't get through all of the music I would have liked, but this "cooking time" was necessary. I needed to sit and wrestle with things a while; I needed to untangle some deficits in my technique; and as hard as it was to feel idle, I had to accept that some things take time.
This too shall pass: I was having to confront this "hard to swallow pill" even before the virus, so there have been plenty of chances for me to learn from this cliché. I had plenty of moments this year where I wanted to just run into oncoming traffic, slam my head inside a car door, eat glass (you get the idea)... After a few days or weeks, though, I always found that [insert stressful situation] wasn't a big deal. Things settled. Life goes on. I came to realize that a life centered around music can be both intoxicating and toxic - music is powerful and profound, but spending so much time immersed in it can leave us tying our self-worth to our art. I am a musician, but my performance does not define me as a person. It sounds dramatic, but I guarantee any serious musician (or artist in general) wrestles with these conflicts of identity/esteem. It's these trying times in particular that I find the mountains to be so necessary. When I look out from any majestic peak, I can't help but feel humbled - realizing just how small my worries are in the vastness of the breathtaking view.
So, I keep in mind that whether in 3 weeks or 6 months, this too shall pass. In many ways, this worldwide shutdown has yielded plenty of positive outcomes in my life - having the time to climb mountains and go running, feeling less wired when I go to bed and more rested when I wake up, getting to reconnect (virtually) with friends from all over. Yes, the store is out of toilet paper, and it's easy to get bored, but I have professors, friends, and family who care about me, I am able to catch up on some reading, and I realize how important these things are to me that have been taken away. Hopefully I'll cherish these a little bit more when they're back in my life. I'm sure this is a time I'll not soon forget, and throughout these moments, I hope the world better recognizes how essential art is. So, my friends, please stay positive, hold on to what you love, and support one another.
Peace and health to all,
Joseph
Comentários