Fearless

Lately the noise in my head has been so loud that I can hardly sit still (yes, even more so than usual). This happens especially when it's inconvenient (when I'm attempting to sleep, for instance). Sometimes my thoughts fly by so fast that I barely know what they were before they're gone. It's like being in a beehive, where every thing's zipping around me in a pattern that I don't understand, and all the buzzing is so deafening I can't pick one bee out from her sister. I've been searching for things to quiet this ruckus. One thing I've found that works is making music with my good friend Darcy. Darcy is the name I came up with for my bass when my bass students decided their instruments needed names and personalities (possibly my favorite bass to work with was Marshmallow. Gotta love kids. ).

Playing bass can be one of the most pleasurable and calming things I know how to do. Here I make an important distinction between two radically different concepts; playing bass for enjoyment, and practicing bass because it is necessary to improve. Playing for pleasure feels like taking a long toe-curling-hot bath, with extra scented bubbles (apple cider is my favorite, then peppermint), candles, and a frivolous feminine novel. It's a sensual, empowering experience that pulls the unraveling tendrils and offshoots of whatever I am feeling, and pulls back into my skin. I can get lost in perfecting a single phrase, and forget my body and room focusing on the undulating strokes of my bow, trying to smooth edges and seal cracks. I use to get that feeling all the time, and get drunk with it, and lose hours that I never saw pass.

The feeling now disappears instantly the moment I bring it into focus for a goal that comes from outside of me. This is extremely frustrating and inconvenient, because at the moment I need most to practice, the motivation becomes that much harder to summon up. Playing to make something better is joy. Practicing to make a better audition or impression is tedious and frustrating. When I cannot summon up the lazy pleasure of playing, I bring a store of guilt out for a motivator. Guilt can make me a better bassist, but not a happy one. I think the key to becoming a calmer, more confident person (who is more pleasant to be around and doesn't snap act childish) is to make these outward goals into my inward goals. If I can find some way to get that feeling when I'm going through the necessary motions, I could be obscenely happy.

I don't think I can blame all of my current agitation on my continuing failure to bring my orchestral audition excerpts to where I want them, however. Usually when I feel like this, it's due to something more simple and obvious. Perhaps the fact that I'm about to leave my childhood home and assume full responsibility for myself as an adult has something to do with it? I'd be crazy not to be a little jumpy about that. I've often heard that misery loves company. I'm not miserable, of course, don't get me wrong! I was only going to acknowledge that perhaps being scared s*%&less also wants company. That is why it is fortunate that every freshmen I meet will be going through exactly the same thing. While I will never admit, in person, to these new friends the weakness of being frightened, I am more than willing to bond over our mutual fear.

Fear. I said it. I. am. afraid. I now must say something irreverent and saucy to cover...

Anyway, let's end this ridiculously long post with something that looks forward, something to smile at. Something like

Hope.

I've decided that it's good for me to write down my thoughts in this (semi)organized way. It forces me to put them in order and hold them in one place. Usually when I decide something is "good for me" it's something unpleasant or inconvenient, such as monitoring my protein or sleeping regularly. I think this new habit of journaling for an audience, which at first seemed like a pointless, contradictory and even arrogant waste of precious time, may prove to be an enjoyable, much needed catharsis.