yes

My phone rang this morning.
And I didn't want to answer it.

I was 1.5 hours into a 7-hour practice day. I have several binders of music to learn. And with 10 practice days left before it all has to be performable, things are just a wee bit stressful.

But, then again, I survived 75 voice finals last week...without the aid of coffee, wine, or really, any amount of practicing...and with the help of 2 bottles of cough syrup, 2 cartons of grapefruit juice and and far too many cough drops.   So, anything is possible, right?

Still, I didn't want to answer the phone.

Somebody probably needs an accompanist, and I don't want it to be me.  I was up late last night, and I've been playing a lot lately, and I'm still trying to get healthy, and I'm attempting to be ready to move out of my apartment next week, and I have to bake a birthday cake for a friend, and I would just like to be home for an evening....and.....a million other things...

So, obviously, I answered the phone.

It was a voice teacher friend of mine. Her student had won a special award at the music festival that took place here this week (Thomas Hampson established the award in honor of his former teacher). And, he had been selected to perform at the honors concert.  Tonight.  And, his accompanist was unavailable.

Usually, I say no to these things.
I don't like doing things last minute.
I have enough music on my plate right now.

But it was a piece I knew and could probably play in my sleep.
And I live five minutes from the theater.
And I do happen to be free this evening.
And, most of all, this kid deserves to sing.  He deserves the chance to tell his story.  He deserves to be celebrated.  He deserves the chance to share his gift.

So, obviously, I said yes.
And, obviously, I'm glad I did.

Because I got to empower someone tonight.  I got to give him the gift of possibility.  And he took it and ran with it.

Sure, if I hadn't said yes, someone else might have played.  So maybe he still would have gotten a chance to sing and tell his story and share his gift and be celebrated.

But I got to be a part of the story-telling.
I got to be a part of the celebration.
I got to enable him to shine.
I got to help him share his gift.
I got to receive some of the blessing.


My phone rang this morning.
And I'm glad it did.

the white belt

The Sabbath is setting on this, my final Sabbath before the school year begins. The lanterns around my living room are lit, and I am finishing off a glass of wine as I close this day, this season, of rest.

I was on campus briefly this weekend and felt the nervous energy of freshmen and their parents as they moved their life’s possessions into their tiny dorm rooms. I know that energy well; I was one of them, once. I know the intensity of the schedule – the orientation events, the placement exams, the ensemble auditions, the dorm initiation activities. It will be a whirlwind few days, and then on Wednesday, thirty-five students will stumble into my classroom – excited, nervous, terrified, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, hoarse from the yell-off and Mock Rock, loving life more than ever before, wondering if this is really for them.

Truth be told, I am not ready for them. Sure, my syllabus is posted, but I was smart enough to write “SUBJECT TO CHANGE” at the top. How you are supposed to plan the activities and readings and assignments for EVERY SINGLE DAY of class before you have even seen the whites of their eyes is still completely beyond me. So it has been submitted to the powers that be – but there are still lessons to plan, lectures to write, exams to create. 

There are certain things I must cover this semester – concepts they must learn, skills they must acquire, knowledge they will be held accountable for. So I have planned and planned. I have sat and stared at the calendar, wondering how it’s possible to fit so much into a mere 14 weeks. How many days can we afford to spend on seventh chords or non-harmonic tones? I have grown dizzy as I have tried to figure out the best order for introducing various concepts. Lord knows I’m still torn on whether or not to explore minor scales before our discussion of the circle of fifths. I have spent hours wondering how much I will be able to fit into one hour of class time. Will we be able to cover all four triad qualities AND discuss the qualities of triads built on the various scale degrees?

With all this planning and preparation, it would be easy for me to begin this year with the mindset that I am here to teach my students something.

But the truth is: I am here to learn. I am here to learn their names and their faces. I am here to uncover their abilities, their strengths, their weaknesses. I am here to listen to their stories, their dreams, their passions.

As I sip my wine this evening, I turn, as I have often done at important moments in my musical development, to what I have come to refer to as my “musical Bible” - a book called “Zen Guitar” by Philip Toshio Sudo. My copy has been well-loved; its pages are browning, the cover is wrinkled, and there are hundreds of underlined phrases, sentences, paragraphs and notes in the margins.

This particular evening, I find myself flipping to the chapter on wearing the white belt, the color worn by a beginner. As he works and learns, his belt gradually dirties and eventually turns to black – the color worn by a master. But he does not stop there; he continues to work, and as he does, the belt fades and eventually returns to white. It is a never-ending cycle. It is not about “arriving” at a destination – but is instead about being faithful to the process.

My choir director in college used to refer to us as “wearers of the white belt” – those who have, as Sudo describes, chosen to “set aside all knowledge and preconceptions and open [their minds] to learning as though for the first time.”  Wearers of the white belt come with empty cups, ready to learn and receive.

We've all known the people who’ve come in with all the answers. We see them coming, a mile away, and we start heading in the opposite direction. We’ve also been those people. We’ve come in with everything figured out, ready to teach the class or flaunt our vast wisdom and experience. And oh, the things we’ve missed. The lessons we haven’t learned. The nuggets of wisdom we let slip through the cracks.

Sudo says it well: “The moment you think you know everything there is to know, you will have lost the way. The beginner’s mind is the mind of wisdom.”

It’s true – I do have things to teach, wisdom to offer, experiences to share. But I also have much to learn, new perspectives to discover, fresh insights to gain.

On Wednesday, 35 students will stumble into my classroom.

On Wednesday, 35 teachers will stumble into my classroom.

So tonight I don my white belt.

Tonight I empty my cup.

I am ready to learn.

Photo Credit: Chinwe Edeani www.photosbychinwe.tumblr.com