I watched the class trickle in around me. Everybody was represented. The sorority girl with her Nike shorts and fleece North Face jacket. The frat boy with his boots, flamboyantly colored Polo button up, and camouflage cap. The nerdy Asian with his cutoff gloves, spiked black hair, and black military cap pulled over his eyes. The band nerds who still wear their high school band shirts. The hipster art girl with her over-sized flannel shirt and bandana-bound hair. The music major snob who's only taking the class to look smart. The asshole who sits in the back and judges everyone as they walk in. It was a diverse group of eccentric anybodies all crammed into a small concert hall and lead by a too cool professor with bed head and cargo pants. It was the kind of group you could just disappear in.
And I felt right at home, even though nobody else seemed interested in the class. But it's so stupid that such strong feelings can precipitate from just one song. Sixty seconds of piano from a Thelonious Monk tune and suddenly I'm squirming in my seat, struggling not to tap my shoes or snap my fingers.
That's stupid, right?
This surgery and this class are making me want to get back into music. There is a desperate stir deep inside of me. And I'm starting to really regret all these college choices. The whole "I love geology and want to be a doctor" thing. Because I don't. It's something I've been trying to convince myself but it's not working anymore. It's the things people tell me, the things I do, the things I feel.
And I feel like I'm wasting myself, I think.
Music used to be something I was really passionate about. And I'm really not anymore. I'm not passionate about it and it really gets to me. And then I hear things from my parents--stories about people following their passions and finding success and happiness--or, "You just need to find something you're really passionate about."
I want it all back. I want the early morning practices, the late night practices, the weekend practices. I want the sheet music and expensive reeds and the panicked last minute rehearsing. I want the sight reading and the confidence that comes with years of experience on one instrument. I want to feel the reeds buzzing on my lips and I want to hear the pads thunk down with every finger twitch and I want to rub the strap burn out of my neck after the concert. I want the freedom to play whatever I want with the security of knowing it will always sound good because it will always be right.
I just want to be a musician again. I'm tired of telling everybody I'm a scientist. I just want to feel things and do them instead of thinking them.
I've been listening to this song a lot these last couple of days. It's supposed to be about a guy dealing with the ghosts of an old relationship, but it's really about my relationship with music because everything I find in my life is actually about me. It's frustrating. I feel lost, I guess.
when out of the doorway the tentacle stretch
of a song that i know
and the world moves in slow-mo
straight to my head like
the first cigarette of the day
but image on image like beads on a rosary
pulled through my head as the music takes hold
and the sickener hits, i can work till i break
but i love the bones of you
that i will never escape.
It's just a phase, I suppose.
And I felt right at home, even though nobody else seemed interested in the class. But it's so stupid that such strong feelings can precipitate from just one song. Sixty seconds of piano from a Thelonious Monk tune and suddenly I'm squirming in my seat, struggling not to tap my shoes or snap my fingers.
That's stupid, right?
This surgery and this class are making me want to get back into music. There is a desperate stir deep inside of me. And I'm starting to really regret all these college choices. The whole "I love geology and want to be a doctor" thing. Because I don't. It's something I've been trying to convince myself but it's not working anymore. It's the things people tell me, the things I do, the things I feel.
And I feel like I'm wasting myself, I think.
Music used to be something I was really passionate about. And I'm really not anymore. I'm not passionate about it and it really gets to me. And then I hear things from my parents--stories about people following their passions and finding success and happiness--or, "You just need to find something you're really passionate about."
I want it all back. I want the early morning practices, the late night practices, the weekend practices. I want the sheet music and expensive reeds and the panicked last minute rehearsing. I want the sight reading and the confidence that comes with years of experience on one instrument. I want to feel the reeds buzzing on my lips and I want to hear the pads thunk down with every finger twitch and I want to rub the strap burn out of my neck after the concert. I want the freedom to play whatever I want with the security of knowing it will always sound good because it will always be right.
I just want to be a musician again. I'm tired of telling everybody I'm a scientist. I just want to feel things and do them instead of thinking them.
I've been listening to this song a lot these last couple of days. It's supposed to be about a guy dealing with the ghosts of an old relationship, but it's really about my relationship with music because everything I find in my life is actually about me. It's frustrating. I feel lost, I guess.
when out of the doorway the tentacle stretch
of a song that i know
and the world moves in slow-mo
straight to my head like
the first cigarette of the day
but image on image like beads on a rosarypulled through my head as the music takes hold
and the sickener hits, i can work till i break
but i love the bones of youthat i will never escape.
It's just a phase, I suppose.
Comments
However, don't be too quick to bail on your other passions, even if they've faded sometimes. True love has its ups and downs. You can be a musician and a scientist. It's all about finding balance, letting your loves balance each other out.