...could I live this way.
The lifestyle I took on when I quit a few weeks ago (has it only been a few weeks? Seems like a lifetime...) is far from typical. Come to think of it, it's quite bizarre. Introducing myself is strange...when people ask me where I live, I have to stumble around, and ultimately say, "I DON'T KNOW." THAT is bizarre.
That's right, I'm home-less (and rent-less!) and trusting in the world and people I haven't met yet to get me through. So far, it's working.
But when I consider it closely, I think I realized the real reason I could take the risks I've chosen to take...I live in Mexico. Not only does that mean real chances for decent horn players pretty much wherever you go, but it means a level of generosity of which before I was sub-consciously aware, and now am fully astounded by.
Hospitality in this country is at another level...not only are Mexican people so incredibly open with their homes, their cars, their time, and their cooking, but it seems that foreigners living in Mexico take on these characteristics as well. I don't know what I would do without them! (And there's this guy in South Dakota that was pretty darn hospitable as well...)
So far on this journey I've crashed in the houses of four different friends, new and old, and had offers from about eight others along the way. I've had people drive a total of hours out of their way to pick me up or drop me off. I've had people cook for me, lend me towels, let me use their washer and dryer, take me to the grocery store, and tolerate my long tones in their presence. All of that, and they somehow leave me feeling not like an intruder, but quite the opposite, like they are happy to do so. There is a sincerity to it all that I find quite touching.
I even had someone offer me a place to stay for the entire month of December. "Really, it's no problem."
?!?!
The coolest thing about receiving generosity such as this, is that it makes me want to give. Not to "return the favor" necessarily (I've long since overcome the very American impulse to break even with favors) but to pass it on. I'm envisioning a house of my own some day, with a guest room that's always occupied. Helping out friends of friends, broke college students, freelancing musicians (!) or whatever comes up. Having open doors and cooking good breakfasts for practically strangers and just knowing they appreciate it as much as I do right now.
I have no idea what lies in my future, near or far, but I hope I can work in some of that along the way.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
It’s An Absolutely Miniscule World After All
All right, enough is enough.
When in August I was drinking a beer with a new acquaintance in Oaxaca, and we discovered that we had a non-musician friend in common, and that, oh my gosh, I was sitting across from the oboist I had sent an email to 4 years ago inquiring about orchestras in Mexico!, that was a pretty crazy coincidence.
And when I got back to work, and my colleague JD informed me that he had a met a violinist on Isla Holbox who had met me that same night of the first coincidence in Oaxaca, that was a complicated chain of contacts.
And when I went to Xalapa take lessons with a great teacher I had met in Oaxaca, and our morning lesson was interrupted by this kid, and I turned around, and it was an old friend from YOA who I hadn’t seen in three years, and that same friend turned out to be the son of the teacher I was taking the lessons from, that was an unbelievable happenstance.
And when this same son took me with him to meet the conductor of his orchestra, as he’s looking for a horn player, and as we were waiting in his office the personnel manager of the orchestra turned around and said, “Oh my goodness! Claire!” because he was also an old friend from YOA, that was an unexpected bonus.
And last Monday in the Mexico City airport, while I was stressing out about the person who’s house I was supposed to stay at not answering his phone, when I ran into a friend on his way to play in Yucatan, and we had a coffee and then he delivered all these things I had to get to Yucatan for me, that was a lucky break.
But this, this is the last straw. I just ran into LC, former concertmaster and very good friend of mine in Yucatan. HE LIVES IN SPAIN. I was waiting to board a plane to Mazatlan at gate 24. His flight came in from Venezuela at the exact same gate, he was on his way home. This is a guy who is super busy, always flying from interesting engagement to lucrative gig, rarely has time to answer emails, and I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see him again. And I ran into him in the airport!!! We got to catch up for a good 15 minutes, which is more than I ever thought I’d get to see him in the next who-knows-how-many-years. It’s been a year since we’ve seen each other, and it will probably be another 5, except with the way the world has been for me lately, maybe I lower that to only one more year after all.
Seriously, what is going on here?? Is somebody messing with me? Am I the protagonist in something like The Truman Show? Is the world shrinking? Are my shakras aligned? My moons in Saturn? Does anyone have an explanation?
The only disadvantage to this very exciting pattern of chance-meetings is that I’m afraid I’m starting to get used to it. Take it for granted. As if every time I walk into an airport or a music school I will expect to stumble across an old friend or maybe even the very person I had been meaning to call.
But the way life is going lately, anything is possible.
When in August I was drinking a beer with a new acquaintance in Oaxaca, and we discovered that we had a non-musician friend in common, and that, oh my gosh, I was sitting across from the oboist I had sent an email to 4 years ago inquiring about orchestras in Mexico!, that was a pretty crazy coincidence.
And when I got back to work, and my colleague JD informed me that he had a met a violinist on Isla Holbox who had met me that same night of the first coincidence in Oaxaca, that was a complicated chain of contacts.
And when I went to Xalapa take lessons with a great teacher I had met in Oaxaca, and our morning lesson was interrupted by this kid, and I turned around, and it was an old friend from YOA who I hadn’t seen in three years, and that same friend turned out to be the son of the teacher I was taking the lessons from, that was an unbelievable happenstance.
And when this same son took me with him to meet the conductor of his orchestra, as he’s looking for a horn player, and as we were waiting in his office the personnel manager of the orchestra turned around and said, “Oh my goodness! Claire!” because he was also an old friend from YOA, that was an unexpected bonus.
And last Monday in the Mexico City airport, while I was stressing out about the person who’s house I was supposed to stay at not answering his phone, when I ran into a friend on his way to play in Yucatan, and we had a coffee and then he delivered all these things I had to get to Yucatan for me, that was a lucky break.
But this, this is the last straw. I just ran into LC, former concertmaster and very good friend of mine in Yucatan. HE LIVES IN SPAIN. I was waiting to board a plane to Mazatlan at gate 24. His flight came in from Venezuela at the exact same gate, he was on his way home. This is a guy who is super busy, always flying from interesting engagement to lucrative gig, rarely has time to answer emails, and I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see him again. And I ran into him in the airport!!! We got to catch up for a good 15 minutes, which is more than I ever thought I’d get to see him in the next who-knows-how-many-years. It’s been a year since we’ve seen each other, and it will probably be another 5, except with the way the world has been for me lately, maybe I lower that to only one more year after all.
Seriously, what is going on here?? Is somebody messing with me? Am I the protagonist in something like The Truman Show? Is the world shrinking? Are my shakras aligned? My moons in Saturn? Does anyone have an explanation?
The only disadvantage to this very exciting pattern of chance-meetings is that I’m afraid I’m starting to get used to it. Take it for granted. As if every time I walk into an airport or a music school I will expect to stumble across an old friend or maybe even the very person I had been meaning to call.
But the way life is going lately, anything is possible.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Engaged and Expecting
Calm down, I haven’t fallen for a young Acapulcan and decided to finally settle down (although there are many attractive guys in this particular orchestra…),
But if I fooled any of you for a second, that title was worth it.
I have, however, been thinking a lot about the power of engagement and the power of expectations.
Engaged:
I’ve had a number of experiences in the last few months in which I “should have” been nervous. Difficult works performed in rooms full of talented, possibly judgmental, colleagues. In some of these instances I have been incredibly nervous. In others, hardly at all. The difference? In the latter, I have been so fully engaged in the music, that I haven’t had it in me to be nervous. Those experiences have been really sensational. Francaix Quintet with a really fantastic Wind Quintet at Madeline Island Chamber Music Camp. Mozart’s Gran Partita at Instrumenta de Oaxaca. Beethoven’s Third Symphony with the South Dakota Symphony. And my first rehearsal playing principal horn in a long time here.
When I’m really involved in what’s happening in the music, in what I am creating, in how I want to speak the music, there is no room for nerves. It’s like DH used to always say, “You simply can’t perform and evaluate at the same time.” And when you are not evaluating, you are not nervous. And when you are really performing, your whole mind and body are fully engaged in that act, nothing more.
That’s what makes auditioning difficult, because you are not surrounded by other musical influences (such as melody, sometimes) to keep you engaged. But, when it really comes down to it, it’s up to only me to be engaged musically. And I can do that whether I’m playing a whole note in my house or a solo with the best orchestra in the world.
That’s what I’m committing to expect of myself.
Expectations:
I’ve been reminded this week about the power of expectations. I arrived in Acapulco Tuesday night, expecting a really bad hotel room, since the reputation of this orchestra is not the best. Sure enough, it was away from the water, slightly run down, and the elevator didn’t work. I finally got to my room, desperate to get the horn on my face for a little bit of time that day, to find a steaming hot space, and no AC in sight. Lovely.
I threw open the door to the balcony (it’s not as glamorous as it sounds) and stood with one foot out the door (a good metaphor for my week here) and did some long tones. Sweating like a gring with a fever (turns out I actually was coming down wth something). Lip slurs. Worse. Breathing exercises. How could this room not have AC?!?! I put the horn down, switched on some lights, and looked around the room. Oh wait, there’s the knob that says fan, with your choice of degree. Click=air. Good.
It just goes to show- my expectations were so low that I didn’t even find the AC for a good half hour, when I needed it most.
My expectations of the orchestra were low too, and in this case that was powerfully helpful. Because the orchestra really isn’t so bad. But that’s still a good attitude to have when you are playing principal-that you are better than everyone around you, even though it’s not true at all. It’s all just a mind game.
So this week has been a pleasant surprise- air conditioning and a decent orchestra. Excellent.
I accepted the job, to start in December. But the conductor informed me that he couldn’t wait just 5 weeks for me to arrive. That seems strange to me, considering they offered me the job, and as far as I know, they don’t have anyone on the “waiting list.” But perhaps that is the playing-principal-mind-game going to my head.
I’m not expecting this to be the last conversation we have about this.
I also wasn’t expecting to arrive in Acapulco with a horribly sore throat, causing me to spend my three days here sleeping/watching TV in my hotel room. But it’s been good for me- I’ve caught up on my rest, and the re-runs of Gilmore Girls, Heartland, Smallville and The OC have reminded me why I gave up watching TV 7 years ago.
Except for ER, I still love ER.
Expect an update soon…more engagements to come!
But if I fooled any of you for a second, that title was worth it.
I have, however, been thinking a lot about the power of engagement and the power of expectations.
Engaged:
I’ve had a number of experiences in the last few months in which I “should have” been nervous. Difficult works performed in rooms full of talented, possibly judgmental, colleagues. In some of these instances I have been incredibly nervous. In others, hardly at all. The difference? In the latter, I have been so fully engaged in the music, that I haven’t had it in me to be nervous. Those experiences have been really sensational. Francaix Quintet with a really fantastic Wind Quintet at Madeline Island Chamber Music Camp. Mozart’s Gran Partita at Instrumenta de Oaxaca. Beethoven’s Third Symphony with the South Dakota Symphony. And my first rehearsal playing principal horn in a long time here.
When I’m really involved in what’s happening in the music, in what I am creating, in how I want to speak the music, there is no room for nerves. It’s like DH used to always say, “You simply can’t perform and evaluate at the same time.” And when you are not evaluating, you are not nervous. And when you are really performing, your whole mind and body are fully engaged in that act, nothing more.
That’s what makes auditioning difficult, because you are not surrounded by other musical influences (such as melody, sometimes) to keep you engaged. But, when it really comes down to it, it’s up to only me to be engaged musically. And I can do that whether I’m playing a whole note in my house or a solo with the best orchestra in the world.
That’s what I’m committing to expect of myself.
Expectations:
I’ve been reminded this week about the power of expectations. I arrived in Acapulco Tuesday night, expecting a really bad hotel room, since the reputation of this orchestra is not the best. Sure enough, it was away from the water, slightly run down, and the elevator didn’t work. I finally got to my room, desperate to get the horn on my face for a little bit of time that day, to find a steaming hot space, and no AC in sight. Lovely.
I threw open the door to the balcony (it’s not as glamorous as it sounds) and stood with one foot out the door (a good metaphor for my week here) and did some long tones. Sweating like a gring with a fever (turns out I actually was coming down wth something). Lip slurs. Worse. Breathing exercises. How could this room not have AC?!?! I put the horn down, switched on some lights, and looked around the room. Oh wait, there’s the knob that says fan, with your choice of degree. Click=air. Good.
It just goes to show- my expectations were so low that I didn’t even find the AC for a good half hour, when I needed it most.
My expectations of the orchestra were low too, and in this case that was powerfully helpful. Because the orchestra really isn’t so bad. But that’s still a good attitude to have when you are playing principal-that you are better than everyone around you, even though it’s not true at all. It’s all just a mind game.
So this week has been a pleasant surprise- air conditioning and a decent orchestra. Excellent.
I accepted the job, to start in December. But the conductor informed me that he couldn’t wait just 5 weeks for me to arrive. That seems strange to me, considering they offered me the job, and as far as I know, they don’t have anyone on the “waiting list.” But perhaps that is the playing-principal-mind-game going to my head.
I’m not expecting this to be the last conversation we have about this.
I also wasn’t expecting to arrive in Acapulco with a horribly sore throat, causing me to spend my three days here sleeping/watching TV in my hotel room. But it’s been good for me- I’ve caught up on my rest, and the re-runs of Gilmore Girls, Heartland, Smallville and The OC have reminded me why I gave up watching TV 7 years ago.
Except for ER, I still love ER.
Expect an update soon…more engagements to come!
Monday, October 08, 2007
Exactly 140 Pounds
Did you know a bathrobe weighs 2 pounds? Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets- 1.5. The music I deemed essential to bring with me for the next month, plus all Norway grant application materials-9 pounds. Scores to Beethoven’s Symphonies 4-6 and Complete Piano Concertos- 5 pounds. This purse I bought in Chiapas- 2.5.
I was trying extremely hard last night to make one of my suitcases under 50 pounds. I felt I left sooo many things out of it. I knew one of them would be overweight, but I really thought the one would come in under 50. I get to the airport this morning…
…64 pounds.
So much for that.
I proceeded to transfer as many things from the 64-pound-er to the other suitcase, in order to only have to pay the overweight fee for one of the bags. The Continental agent was kind enough to let me keep the suitcase on the scale, so I could see when it reached exactly 50 pounds (hence knowing the exact weights of some of my favorite items). It wasn’t that difficult, really.
Then, when I put the other suitcase up on the scale…92 pounds. Oofta.
“Oh…este…the limit is 70 pounds.” “What? You didn’t tell me that. Lovely.”
I proceeded to transfer all the things I had just transferred back into the other suitcase, using quitting my job as justification for coughing up the double excess baggage fees.
What I don’t understand is why they even make suitcases that you can fit more than 50 pounds worth of stuff in. It’s infuriating! Deceptive! Cruel.
My mind started to run.
“How in the world am I going to shave off 14 pounds for the month ahead?? I could put some music in my horn case, which I carry with me. I was planning on leaving one pair of jeans at home, and wearing the other one when I travel. The Neruda is going to have to stay at home, even though I usually take it everywhere, since you never know when it might come in handy. I guess I could leave the purse too. But I’m also going to acquire Norwegian textbooks, a coffee mug, and who knows what else. I don’t think it adds up.
The items facing the most competition are clogs vs. running shoes, Maxime Alphonse vs. Kopprasch, and black skirt vs. black pants. As I learned this morning, every little bit counts.
Maybe I could find a lighter suitcase…?”
Despite the inner monologue, I had not completely forgotten the math skills I acquired in high school. 50+20=70 (I could only transfer 20 pounds.) 92-20=72 (The ultimate weight of the other suitcase.) 72 > 70 (One item simply had to go.)
I threw away the bathrobe. I don't know why I ever brought that stupid thing to the Yucatan in the first place.
I was trying extremely hard last night to make one of my suitcases under 50 pounds. I felt I left sooo many things out of it. I knew one of them would be overweight, but I really thought the one would come in under 50. I get to the airport this morning…
…64 pounds.
So much for that.
I proceeded to transfer as many things from the 64-pound-er to the other suitcase, in order to only have to pay the overweight fee for one of the bags. The Continental agent was kind enough to let me keep the suitcase on the scale, so I could see when it reached exactly 50 pounds (hence knowing the exact weights of some of my favorite items). It wasn’t that difficult, really.
Then, when I put the other suitcase up on the scale…92 pounds. Oofta.
“Oh…este…the limit is 70 pounds.” “What? You didn’t tell me that. Lovely.”
I proceeded to transfer all the things I had just transferred back into the other suitcase, using quitting my job as justification for coughing up the double excess baggage fees.
What I don’t understand is why they even make suitcases that you can fit more than 50 pounds worth of stuff in. It’s infuriating! Deceptive! Cruel.
My mind started to run.
“How in the world am I going to shave off 14 pounds for the month ahead?? I could put some music in my horn case, which I carry with me. I was planning on leaving one pair of jeans at home, and wearing the other one when I travel. The Neruda is going to have to stay at home, even though I usually take it everywhere, since you never know when it might come in handy. I guess I could leave the purse too. But I’m also going to acquire Norwegian textbooks, a coffee mug, and who knows what else. I don’t think it adds up.
The items facing the most competition are clogs vs. running shoes, Maxime Alphonse vs. Kopprasch, and black skirt vs. black pants. As I learned this morning, every little bit counts.
Maybe I could find a lighter suitcase…?”
Despite the inner monologue, I had not completely forgotten the math skills I acquired in high school. 50+20=70 (I could only transfer 20 pounds.) 92-20=72 (The ultimate weight of the other suitcase.) 72 > 70 (One item simply had to go.)
I threw away the bathrobe. I don't know why I ever brought that stupid thing to the Yucatan in the first place.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Compromiso
It's always bothered me immensely that "commitment" and "compromise" are the same word in Spanish.
I'm just beginning to understand the connection.
com·mit·ment
[kuh-mit-muhnt] –noun
It's fascinating, really, the order of definitions you get when you look up commitment. It bears a striking resemblance to my experience of being committed to my old job. My feelings for this thing went from sincere interest and excitement about making it my number one priority to feeling like it was pulling my arms behind my back and holding me in place while I was trying to take steps forward.
I'm honestly not sure if this has more to do with the situation or me. I could very well be diagnosed as "non-committal." There would be evidence available. It could also be that it's hard to commit to something that doesn't commit to you. That it's hard to make something your top priority when you feel like you and your colleagues and your values rank about #170 on their list of 200 priorities.
I don't think I'll ever know exactly what it was.
Fortunately, I'm moving on to a new realm of the commitment question...
I'm entering the world of freelancing in Mexico, which I'm finding to be surprisingly easy and hard to organize at the same time. For example, I got offered a gig playing extra for a performance of Mahler's First Symphony. Read that sentence again, literally. A performance. No rehearsals. I can't make the rehearsals, but I can make the performance. And they said that's not a problem. That's easy.
I also have a gig with a group that is willing to fly me from and to my "home" two times, two weeks apart, but is not willing to buy me a plane ticket which gets me there a few weeks early, making it possible for me to play a gig with another orchestra, because they're the "competition." Nor will they buy me a plane ticket and let me change it on my own. That's hard. Well, actually, that's just annoying. But annoying is hard.
The point is that through this process of trying to organize my freelancing life for the next two months, I am having to make commitments, and ask for commitments, and I'm realizing that they are nothing but compromises. OMG, I just saw the word "promise" in compromise for the first time. It's all starting to make sense. If I commit to something, I have to "make some concessions" in order to reach that common ground of settlement. So do they. So that's commitment- promising to compromise in order to honor the agreement.
But then there's that pesky definition #3.
Did I compromise myself by breaking my commitment? Was I forced to compromise myself in order to keep a commitment? Was I committed to compromising? Did I promise to commit?
I am far too exhausted to keep this straight at the moment. I fear that my mind (and thus, my blog) will be filled with many questions in the next months. I hope that the answers are soon to follow. I look forward to the process.
I'm just beginning to understand the connection.
com·mit·ment
[kuh-mit-muhnt] –noun | 1. | the act of committing. |
| 2. | the state of being committed. |
| 3. | the act of committing, pledging, or engaging oneself. |
| 4. | a pledge or promise; obligation: We have made a commitment to pay our bills on time. |
| 5. | engagement; involvement: They have a sincere commitment to religion. |
| 6. | perpetration or commission, as of a crime. |
| 7. | consignment, as to prison. |
| 8. | confinement to a mental institution or hospital: The psychiatrist recommended commitment. |
| 9. | an order, as by a court or judge, confining a person to a mental institution or hospital. |
| 10. | Law. a written order of a court directing that someone be confined in prison; mittimus. |
It's fascinating, really, the order of definitions you get when you look up commitment. It bears a striking resemblance to my experience of being committed to my old job. My feelings for this thing went from sincere interest and excitement about making it my number one priority to feeling like it was pulling my arms behind my back and holding me in place while I was trying to take steps forward.
I'm honestly not sure if this has more to do with the situation or me. I could very well be diagnosed as "non-committal." There would be evidence available. It could also be that it's hard to commit to something that doesn't commit to you. That it's hard to make something your top priority when you feel like you and your colleagues and your values rank about #170 on their list of 200 priorities.
I don't think I'll ever know exactly what it was.
Fortunately, I'm moving on to a new realm of the commitment question...
com·pro·mise (kŏm'prə-mīz') n.
|
I also have a gig with a group that is willing to fly me from and to my "home" two times, two weeks apart, but is not willing to buy me a plane ticket which gets me there a few weeks early, making it possible for me to play a gig with another orchestra, because they're the "competition." Nor will they buy me a plane ticket and let me change it on my own. That's hard. Well, actually, that's just annoying. But annoying is hard.
The point is that through this process of trying to organize my freelancing life for the next two months, I am having to make commitments, and ask for commitments, and I'm realizing that they are nothing but compromises. OMG, I just saw the word "promise" in compromise for the first time. It's all starting to make sense. If I commit to something, I have to "make some concessions" in order to reach that common ground of settlement. So do they. So that's commitment- promising to compromise in order to honor the agreement.
But then there's that pesky definition #3.
Did I compromise myself by breaking my commitment? Was I forced to compromise myself in order to keep a commitment? Was I committed to compromising? Did I promise to commit?
I am far too exhausted to keep this straight at the moment. I fear that my mind (and thus, my blog) will be filled with many questions in the next months. I hope that the answers are soon to follow. I look forward to the process.
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