7:00 AM. I roll into the music building parking lot (lucky
for me, there is no competition for parking spots at this early hour). I
unload my three bags (one for my lunch, one for my teaching materials, and one
for my 6 binders of music) and trudge into the building. There is a bit of
fumbling and muttering as I attempt...for the 40th time...to remember which of
the 9 keys on my ring opens the recital hall door. Lights on. Piano
cover off. Lid up. Good morning to Big Bertha (our 9-ft concert grand).
Bench adjusted. Metronome and pencil ready. Binders unloaded.
Coffee cup within an arm's reach.
Ready.
Set.
Play.
I begin with choir music. I am playing for 2 choirs this
year, at two different universities. Most of their music will be
sung a cappella - but there are a couple of pieces with some
hefty piano solos. I work them slowly, at first, saying fingerings aloud
to myself, isolating one hand at a time, listening and repeating until the
voicing is just right. I make the same mistake three times in a row. The coffee must not be kicking in yet. I pause to take another swig.
By 8 AM, I have moved on to my four (soon-to-be five) binders of
solo music for my 75 singers. I start with the music I will be playing in
lessons tomorrow and flip through the binder, making a mental note of which
ones I need to look at more in depth. Played that one. Sightreadable. Sightreadable. Played that one. Played that one in a
different key - probably should go through it once. Sightreadable.
Played that one. Oh, new one.
Out comes the metronome (Wilfred Jr.). I find a ridiculously
slow speed and have a go at it, pausing every now and then to mark fingerings
or add accidentals. I trod along, attempting to sing the vocal line as I
work through my own part. It's slow going, but I'm in no rush.
This is my time.
This is my home.
This is my sanctuary.
The first few weeks of school were crazy. I stayed afloat,
and managed to arrive at each class, lesson and rehearsal at least
mostly-prepared. But I knew I was floating. I knew I wasn't fully
present, fully grounded. And it took me a few weeks to discern what the real
root of my unsettledness was:
I have not worked hard enough to guard this time, this sacred
space.
A few more minutes in my bed...and 7:00 becomes 7:30, and 7:30,
8:00. Lesson planning and photocopying that should have been done the day
before is put off until the hour before my first class....and 10:00 becomes 9:30, and 9:30, 9:00. Before I
know it, 3 hours has become 1 hour...or has even disappeared completely.
But this time is precious, necessary. My body relaxes as my fingers find their way across the familiar black and white terrain. My mind is drawn into focus as I tune out the to-do list for the remainder of the day - and I work to concentrate all my energy on this moment, this song, this chord. My soul sighs as I soak in the energy of the empty hall, inhaling the quiet, exhaling each phrase.
10:00 AM. Binders, pencil and metronome returned to their
homes. Lid down. Piano cover on. Lights off. I emerge from my
solitude and head upstairs to prep for my 10:25 class. I haven't even
made it to the office, before I am stopped by a student with a question on the
homework assignment. Reality sets in, the chaos ensues, and I begin my
day of multi-tasking.
But my center is lower than it was when I first fumbled for my
keys this morning. I can feel my feet on the ground. I'm breathing
a little more slowly and deeply, and my shoulders are a bit more relaxed.
I memorize the sensation, in an attempt to prolong it and perhaps even
make it permanent.
Wishful thinking? Probably. I know the tension will
creep back in. I know my center will begin to rise, as the day progresses.
And at some point, I will most likely realize that my feet are no longer
touching the ground.
But tomorrow at 7:00 AM, I will start afresh. And after I have tried, for the 41st time, to remember which key opens the door, I will step, once more, into that sacred space.
For three hours, I will have the luxury of focusing on just one thing.
For three hours, I will breathe, lower my center, release the tension in my shoulders and the song in my heart.
For three hours, it will be me and Bertha and Wilfred and my
coffee mug.
Photo Credit: Chinwe Edeani www.photosbychinwe.tumblr.com
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