Alone Time

I spent this afternoon alone and thoroughly enjoyed it (no offense CM and MT). I had the house to myself, so I decided to make a pizza from scratch and watch the New World Symphony webcast of Petrouchka (that orchestra roocks, btw, but I can't decide if I like Petrouchka).

I had actually been thinking about what it is to spend time alone a lot lately, and have been meaning to post about it ever since I found myself at a night club all by myself on Wednesday night. The thing was, I was supposed to meet up with a friend to go dancing, but when I got there he was there only to tell me that he had to leave. And I had invited another friend so I felt obligated to stick around in case she showed up. So next thing I knew, I was ordering myself a drink at my own table, withstanding the sort of strange looks coming from every direction.

At first I was quite self-conscious. I wished I had thought to wear some make up. I wished I had brought my cell phone so I could just text the friend and know at exactly what time she would show up. But as the minutes passed I started to actually feel confident, and it became painstakingly obvious that nobody really cared anyway (which is always the case, often times we just talk ourselves into thinking otherwise, no?!). I actually used to go dancing by myself a lot in the States, but of course, that was in a place where "going dancing" meant showing up to a place and actually being asked to dance all night. Here "going dancing" is more like going somewhere where it's dark and the music is really loud, shuffling around with the friends you showed up with, and maybe maybe maybe meeting one other person who probably won't be a good dancer anyway. But I used to get a really big kick out of showing up to a club by myself, dancing with a bunch of people, and then leaving by myself. It was like a reminder that the activity itself was really fulfilling to me, and I could partake in it in a sort of solitude amidst the socializing.

It seems to be that spending time with yourself and only yourself is not really accepted, or at least not often done, here. I never see people having coffee alone, eating alone, hardly even walking down the street alone. Perhaps in a culture which is much less high-paced it's not so common- there's always time to meet up with someone rather than just stopping for a quick bite on the way to the next thing.

But my alone time is really important to me. Maybe it's because I'm an only child so I grew up spending a lot of time by myself and I find it comforting. Maybe it's because I'm a musician so I've gotten used to being by myself for hours on end in the practice room. Maybe it's because I'm a very social person, but then I need to balance things out.

Up until 6 months ago, I had lived by myself for about 2 years. I didn't really want to do that anymore after a while here. It had gotten a bit tedious, especially here with all my new-found free time. So now I've got some pretty cool roommates, I really enjoy the company of the majority of my co-workers, and the last few months have brought a wave of new-and-not-in-the-orchestra friends as well. My social life is actually quite active here, and I'm not complaining. But I do think I am missing out on some of my previous usual alone time habits that gave me some peace of mind. Reading in coffee shops, going to concerts, even driving around in my car, singing along to whatever I chose and just being with my own thoughts.

I'm reminded of an occasion where a friend of mine had plans to go to the beach the next day and he said, "I'd really like to invite you, but I think I just need the day alone, even though I'd also really like to spend it with you." And that made sense to me.

So what is it that we really take away from spending time with Yours Truly? When I was in the disco, I felt like I found a new way to enjoy that scene, through observation. Instead of being in the middle of the whole thing, I could watch it from the outside and get a new perspective. To be honest, I found the whole thing pretty absurd. And it's good to get that some of the things you enjoy doing are pretty absurd.

I think when I'm alone I find a new kind of appreciation for things. It's a calming, pleasant sort of appreciation for just the experience of life. It's the knowledge that what's around me in itself is valuable, and no one else has to know about it. Like this afternoon I found chopping vegetables surprisingly satisfying. And that's refreshing.

I'm learning little by little that the people around me mean more to me than I used to admit. But I still maintain that ultimately, all we have is the relationship we have with ourselves. And that shows up in all of our other relationships as well. So it's important to nurture it, to give it attention, to make it a priority.

And then there's the other sort of appreciation you get when you can really share life experience with another, and it is enhanced by that sharing. And I've been having some moments of that as well, to be assured.

So it could be that, like so many other things, it's really about finding a balance. I've swung a little far to the social side in the last year, and I think it's time to get some more me-time in, withstand the strange looks and unjustified feelings of self-consciousness, and see what I discover.

Only 3:13 pm and I feel like I've learned a lot of stuff today.

1) It is NOT a good idea to go out dancing until 4 in the morning when you have to work with children at 10 am the next day and make a recording at noon.

2) I can, however, survive the said situation.

3) Kids of ages 5 and 7 learn another language best through music, hands down. Show a bunch of pictures of fruits and repeat the names over and over? Nothing. Give it a melody (I like to eat, eat, eat apples and bananas, I like to eat eat eat (insert fruit shown on flashcard here)) and they are all over it in no time.

4) Always have change for a taxi.

5) How a particular event goes depends almost entirely on forethought.

6) You cannot get a good take of a Mozart concerto in a room with a tinny piano and no air conditioning in this place in April. Absolutely impossible.

7) Half step, whole step, half step is a cool lick on a dominant-seven chord in a jazz tune.

8) There is actually such a thing as a heat so intense that you cannot sleep, breathe or think.

OK, that last one was an exaggeration, but I need to attempt to describe the climate to those of you who haven't a clue.

Orquesta Filarmónica del Patrimonio Mundial

Remember that period where I was complaining a lot a few weeks ago? This is what I was participating in. Let the understanding begin.

Moving on Up

Well, we're finally all settled in at our new house. This is my fourth place of residence in this city (already?!?) and I can definitely see each place has been an improvement. And I'm completely enamored with this one. (See pictures) It's colorful, cool, quiet, spacious, and distinct. My favorite things are the dining room floor (tiles with grapes on them), the tamarind tree outside my door (see picture at left), and the convenient store across the street.

Something happens to me whenever I move into a new house. First, I get obsessed about organizing it; I can't practice, eat, or do anything really at all, until it's all arranged. Then, at the beginning, I become a total perfectionist- wanting everything to be clean and flawless. I feel the
mentality spill over into my life too. It's refreshing because I feel like I'm starting anew (and this time I'm going to do it all the right way), but it's also entirely delusional.

In fact, I've always felt this pendulum within myself, sometimes swinging wider than others. On one side is the calm, collected, boring, predictable, organized, clean person that does everything well, without rushing or cramming. On the other side is the slightly crazy, more creative, spontaneous, fast-paced person that never really finishes projects and is always too busy to do her best. I never feel like I really

have a balance, I'm always on one side or the other. One side feels artistic and alive but overwhelmed and stressed out. The other feels a bit dull, but calm and satisfied and on top of my stuff.

Perhaps there's nothing wrong with this. Perhaps we are all a bit manic-depressive. Perhaps it's even healthy. Perhaps it's the waning and waxing of the moon.

Whatever it is, I will attest that I think it's evening out as I grow older. In fact, I feel productive and organized and fun and spontaneous at the same time more often than not down here. Now if I could only figure out how to be all that, and get back into an intense practice routine that will soon become necessary...

More about that, the future, that is, later. For now, the present is pretty great. Beautiful house, beautiful weather, good friends, today I had a good rehearsal with my accompanist and spent some time with a pretty cool (ok, really fantastic) guy, it's Friday, and MT is making fish tacos and we're going to crack open a bottle of white wine...ahhh...

Friday the 13th: An Excuse to Write About Beliefs

CM, my roomie, never believed in Friday the 13th before. Now he says he does.

It's true, it's pretty bad luck to have a flat tire on your car, a broken pedal on your bike, a cancellation of plans to change houses, and a frozen computer screen all in one day. But does this really change what we believe?

I don't know if I believe in things like Friday the 13th. Based on today, I would say no way, as it's been a really great day (so far...). In fact, I don't know what I believe in in general. I've been thinking about my beliefs a lot in the past week, month, season, and I think it's about time I put some of my thoughts down on virtual paper. This is more an exercise in personal exploration, but perhaps it will contribute something to readers too.

I don't know if I believe in God; I don't know if I believe in astrology; I don't know if I believe in ghosts. Of course all of this matters not because I don't believe in them, but because I think I might believe in them and I'm just not certain.

Anne Lamott says, in her Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith, a book I recently read that really got me thinking, "...the opposite of faith isn't doubt, it's certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until the light returns. Faith also means reaching deeply within, for the sense one was born with..."

For much of high school and college I would respond to the infamous question, "What religion are you?" with "Agnostic." I always explained, "Religion doesn't seem that important to me right now, although I imagine it will be later." I don't know why that explanation made sense, but it did at the time. I had no desire to attend church, I never thought much about spirituality, and I was OK with that, and a pretty happy person besides.

Growing up, I had a variety of role models in this area. My grandparents on both sides were traditionally Christian, thought not fanatic. My mother has always been quite spiritual, but not so into organized religion. My father has always been pretty interested in the intellectual side of it all, suggesting reading The Bible, interested in mythology and history, of which religion is definitely a part, but not so strict on the faith aspect. I've had friends all across the gamut- evangelical to actually anti-religion. Although I'll admit I'm generally more comfortable with those on the "a" side (agnostic, atheist, anti), I also have a tremendous respect for those with faith. I feel almost an envy for them, in fact.

So, for many years, I've been agnostic, leaning atheist. But now I feel myself changing...leaning more towards believing, or at least having a desire to believe. And as I open myself to this, I'm discovering what I think I would call God, if God has a presence in this world as we currently know it. And so I present this idea with an absolute humility, cluelessness, and decent dose of skepticism.

I think he/she presents him/herself in different ways for different people, but always is manifested as this extreme joy. For me, this shows up in self-expression (music, words, art), in uninhibited happiness and silliness (parties and dancing) , in beauty (sunrises, rainstorms, oceans, mountains, people, smiles), in the coming together of people (falling in love, finding new friends, sharing experiences). If there is God in anything, it is in those things.

So, what do I have faith in? Can I say I have faith in God yet? No. Am I considering it? I guess. And if it's true, that doubt isn't the opposite of faith, but certainty is, what can I say I have faith in, given doubt can be a part of it? I have faith in music. In my family. In myself. In laughter. In sunrises. Come to think of it, I have faith in a lot of the things I listed as what I would call a presence of God in the world. Does this equal a faith in God? I suppose it might.

As I read over this, I'm wondering why I decided to go out on a limb and write this post. Maybe this one was better intended for the journal. But this is like a journal that writes back, sometimes. Or maybe it starts dialogues. Or gets people thinking. Or just puts it out there. Whatever it is, I guess I deemed it worthy, so there you have it.

Something to Write Home About

Now that I've lived here just over 13 months, the "adventure-factor" of my re-location project has worn off a bit.

Well, a lot. I laughed pretty hard when I was in NYC a few months ago, and my friend's roommate, upon hearing that I live in Mexico, asked me what my life was likethere. I started to explain that my work schedule was light, and I don't need a car, and it's really hot, things that for me seem important about my way of life down here. He proceeded to say, "No, no, like the way of life. Don't you eat huevos rancheros every morning and converse with the señoras?" I had to laugh. My life here is different, but not that different. And I like it that way. I like being able to go to the market and buy the best mango you can imagine for 40 cents, but also being able to go to Home Depot if it's absolutely necessary. OK, I've never actually been to Home Depot, but it's nice to know it's there. My point is that I still have my normal life here, I mean it's really not that different. What, with wireless internet, it's more advanced than I was in WI. But, the potential for exoticism is much higher.

I'm rambling. Let me get back to the point.

So the adventure-factor has worn off, but it appeared again two days ago, when I called a new found friend, R, (who's not in the orchestra, yeah!) to see if he wanted to go get a drink or something, and he responded, "I'm in Izamal, do you want to come?" I was a bit taken aback at his quick invitation, since we've just recently met (I don't even know is last name to give him proper initial status on my blog!) but instead of going on the defense, I decided to "go with the flow," as they say. The next day after my rehearsal, I found myself on a second class bus to Izamal, a lovely colonial town about 6o km east of here. It's one of my favorite places on the peninsula, and I was excited to see it again.

R is an archaeologist, and he was working on a new site just outside of Izamal, the remnants of some Mayan ruins and colonial architecture from the early Spanish settlers. A far too frequent occurence, when the Spanish arrived they used stones from the already constructed, sacred Mayan pyramids to build their own churches and altars. This results in a striking architectural juxtaposition- a blatant symbol of the relations, and conflicts, between the two cultures that in many ways still exist today.

When I arrived in Izamal, I sat in the plaza for a while, waiting for R to get off work and give me a call. It's called "The Yellow City" because the whole town is painted this subdued shade of yellow, from the huge convent in the middle of town to all the businesses and houses on the side streets. Everything yellow. It has quite an effect. There are two attractive plazas in town, on either sides of this amazingly large convent, where again you can clearly see how the convent was built right on top of the base of a pyramid.

A beat up, government-owned truck pulled up after a bit, and R jumped out, with his torn up jeans, big floppy hat, filthy from head to toe, with a gleam in his eye from doing what he really is passionate about. He was bouncing off the walls: "We go to eat and then we go the site!" Honestly, I had had no idea what to expect, I didn't even realize he was going to take me to where he was working when I agreed to make the visit, but I loved the idea. I was just along for the ride.

We piled in the cab of the truck, me squeezed between R and his boss, "Sledge Hammer" (that's seriously his nick name). We grabbed some food and then headed down a less known road into what seemed to me as the middle of nowhere. We turned onto a path I wouldn't have even noticed if I had been on my own and continued quite a ways into the jungle-like brush. Finally we arrived at the site, that looked only slightly more developed than the terrain we had covered to get there. They have just begun excavating, so it really was still quite authentic, the ruins as they exist today, virtually untouched.

"The Sledge" has got to be one of the more knowledgeable men I have ever met. He took me through every area of the site, explaining the history, the traditions, the excavating process, the cultural connotations, the challenges. He could tell me where there was grave site based on the shape of rocks, he showed me a piece of ancient flute he had come across, he shared the legends, Mayan and Catholic, and he explained the process of his own work. I was basically enthralled, and felt quite privileged to see this still off-limits site, at the beginning of the project. My favorite part was the colonial walls, built by the Spanish out of the pyramid stones, now overgrown with massive tree roots which over time have become a part of the wall. Although little by little destroying the wall, they are also now the only thing keeping it erect. Indigenous culture, "civilized" culture, nature, all tangled up together.

The last part of the tour meant climbing up a pyramid, which just looked like a hill it was so covered. Actually, did you know there are no hills in this area? The land itself is so entirely flat, anything that you think is a hill is actually pyramid ruins.

Eventually we headed back to town. I enjoyed the ride back, lodged between these two guys whose worlds are so completely foreign to me. That's one stereotype of Mexicans confirmed, in my view, to be true. They are so open and inviting, that even in a situation in which you are so terribly out of place, you can somehow feel comfortable. So I sat there and took in their talk of politics, food, family, and religion, not saying much, but just enjoying the change of pace.

When we got back into town we took a rest in the house they stay in while doing these projects, it's a little house right next to one of the main pyramids of Izamal (there are at least 4 major reconstructed pyramids in the town). Before returning, we just needed to make one stop so "Sledge" could fill up his water tanks. When we stopped, he introduced R as the Mexican archaeologist he is, and then me, as an American archaeologist specializing in something or other visiting to complement her research. I bit my tongue and laughed extensively inside. Who knows why he said that, but it was pretty funny.

The evening consisted of horchata, tacos al pastor, and a chance presentation of folk dances from all over Mexico that was happening that night. There in the plaza, surrounded by yellow buildings, the evening breeze finally coming through, watching the dancers in their brilliant costumes, filled with an energy that comes from that very rhythmic style of dance, I felt lucky to have this part of the world be a memory I'll always have.

The day had worn me out, so we turned in a bit early (for Mexican standards). They had an extra hammock, so I crashed in the back room. Unfortunately, I was too exhausted to take advantage of being inside the locked-at-night gate of the pyramid. We could have climbed it at night and gotten the nocturnal view, but I could barely stand up, much less consider the prospect of climbing multiple stairs.

The last part of the journey is worth mentioning as well. As I had to work at 8:30 the next morning, I took a 6 am combi (a mini van, direct ride) into the city, to arrive on time. When I went up to the ticket booth at 5:50, before the sun had come up, I realized that naturally, the route existed to bus in laborers from the country, essentially, into the city to work for the day. So I boarded the bus sticking out like a tall, white, female sore thumb, and just took a deep breath and accepted it. It's amazing that after all this time abroad, I still feel incredibly self conscious in those situations. Those guys must have been thinking, "What in the world is this gringa doing?" But I feel asleep quickly, and next thing I knew, I was back.

I'm pretty sure that for most of my life thus far, if that opportunity had arised, I would have had a bunch of excuses and not gone. When really, the only thing, is that I was out of my comfort zone for about 18 hours straight. And that's a long time, in fact, I think that's why I was so exhausted at the end of it. But it left me with two invaluable things: an intense pleasure at getting back into my comfort zone, and a comfort zone that's a little bit bigger in the end.

I've never been one for routines, in fact it's perhaps sort of a downfall, having chosen a profession that may depend on them (I'm referring to practicing, mostly). But this experience reminded me why- when we get into patterns, we becoming a bit numb, as if we aren't even really here. And when all of the sudden we are jolted out of them, it's like we wake up into what is this life- things are brighter, more flavorful, more vibrant. And that's what I'm looking for.

So maybe I can keep the adventure factor up. Actually, I had another silly experience involving recording a Bach cello suite in a rock band studio, and an evening of driving around in a car that hardly ran with no license plates, so I guess I'm doing just fine.

This One Takes The Biscuit

This is a phrase my co-worker JD likes to use a lot. In case you're unfamiliar, continue reading.

Between two years of YOA, a year playing here, and all the other things that seem to come up, I've had some pretty ridiculous gig experiences. But this one really takes the biscuit.

We arrived at some complex that reminded me of a high school football game around 6 pm yesterday evening. We were supposed to do a "sound check" and then wait around about 3 hours before playing the state anthem of this place.

After having a full free day at an all-inclusive hotel, no one was exactly in a state to play any sort of note on their instrument, but we all knew that ASN (director) wouldn't really notice the difference anyway. We ran through three of the silliest pieces every actually bothered to be orchestrated, and then settled in for our wait.

That was going to be interminable enough, but what actually ended up happening was much worse. At about 9:00 it started to drizzle, 9:15 it was definitely raining, and at 9:30 the winds had picked up and it was really starting to pour. It seemed that at one exact moment all the musicians, who were killing time in various clumps spread out around the complex, realized they did not feel comfortable leaving their instruments on a teetery-temporary-stage under a nearby tarp. We all simultaneously rushed the stage to snag our instruments and get back to somewhat substantial shelter and found ourselves in a bit of a traffic jam.

As we fought through microphone cords, percussion equipment, and heavy rain being blown from all directions, it became apparent that the tarp above was completely full of water, and about to break from the weight.

Chaos ensued. That's sort of a cliche, but it's the only thing I can think to write that really describes the experience.

People started yelling "Move to that side, this thing is going to break." As if on cue, at that moment, the wind hit the other tarp just right and it came unhooked, blowing up with a big woosh and starting whipping around. That really helped the chaos ensuing, what with the sound effects and all. Over made-up singers tried to rush down stairs in their too-high-heels, bassists frantically packed up their instruments, and everyone wondered where the tubist was, why he hadn't bothered to put his instrument in its case, if he was coming back any time soon, and whose responsibility it was in the meantime to get his instrument out of the almost-hurricane.

We finally got to shelter, more or less, and heard through the grape vine that we wouldn't actually be performing after all. Lovely.

I forgot to mention that during all this locura the mayor of the city was giving his annual address, quite a formal affair. Amps were buzzing and audiences were getting soaked, but he didn't skip a beat, just continued in the monotonous, and just every once in awhile animated, tone that seems to be the norm for these things.

After more running through the rain and waiting in the rain, the buses finally arrived to take us back to our all-inclusive, incredibly nice resort on the Caribbean. A big buffet, a bottle of red wine, a good chat with some great old and new friends, and some strolling on the coast quickly made get over the bad mood the whole thing had put me in, but oh man.

Oh, and I almost forgot. The icing on the cake came on the bus ride home. The contractor for the gig had stayed behind to continue his vacation once he got us on our buses. About an hour into the bus ride, the bus driver informed us that he had been instructed to take the "Libre" route, which stops in every pueblo and takes about 7 hours, as opposed to the "Cuota" route, which is a free way that takes about 5 hours. The contractor hadn't given the three buses the toll money. After working with this guy the past month, I'm almost certain that was an intentional move to make out with 5o extra bucks. When the bus driver explained the predicament, and offered us the option of each chipping in a bit to take the Cuota and get back home 2 hours earlier, my friend RG put it best: "Just one question. Are you kidding???"

I'm happy to say the Patrimnio is over, and I've survived. And it seems that maybe the best things can come out of the worst things after all...more on that later, perhaps.