Moxy vs. Cockiness?

In my lesson on Saturday, Carol told me, after politely shredding me, that I had lost a bit of my confidence, or my "moxy."  Hmm...I wonder why????  My guess is that I am a little distraught at my current lack of abilities, or lack of preparation, or general lack.  How can we as performers balance a very self-critical interior with a confident performing presence?  How can we as people be both confident and self-affirming without being huge cocky asses?  This is my current dilemma.

How can one be confident and yet be able to accurately judge one's playing?  How can I balance self-criticism with confidence in the moment?  I really have no idea, honestly.  I feel like I'm actually pretty good at being confident while performing, but apparently, that hasn't been working out for me as of late.  How can we, as performers, be confident, but include the audience in our experience, while not being artificial or sycophantic?  Nothing is worse than a performer who is extremely egotistical in his performance (Yuri Bashmet?), especially when there's not much substance underneath.  I'm on a search though, to see how I can combine the substance and positive intentions of my playing with something that is confident and containing "pizzazz" (whatever that is).  

The recent lack of success here at the esteemed (ahem) ESM has attacked my sense of confidence and moxy, and has made me question myself and my abilities in a harsher way than usual.  Each day, each hour, I vacillate between feeling excitement and my playing and enthusiasm for the future, with despair and disgruntlement.  It's quite awful, honestly.  To never feel confident in myself is harsh enough, especially when I'm not even playing.  I used to be unhappy with classical music as a medium, but now I'm ok with it, and instead I have doubts in myself, in the aesthetics I value, and I fear that I am missing some really obvious thing in music in my string of failures.  I know I need to get back to the way I was, even if it may have been ignorant or misguided in its enthusiasm.  Right now, I'm weighing down the self-criticism side of the seesaw, rather than maintaining a balance between the confidence and the criticism. Hopefully, something will sit down on the other side soon.

Who am I?: Musings on "natural" deodorant and toothpaste and identity.

Who am I? - It's a question rife with material to feed a good therapy session for many a year. How can I (or you!) define ourselves when we have no constant personality which is unchanging? The way I am today is not how I am tomorrow, who I am today may not be who I am next Wednesday at Noon (hopefully I'll play more in tune by then). One of the challenges of this whole sucky injury process is that I've had to toss out my identities one by one, as my injury has impeded my ability at said activity. In Buddhist tradition, you are usually taught of "no-self" in that you are part of all things, and that the body and mind are just temporary trappings of this lifetime. It's ultimately the connection of you and me to all things; the idea that all things are truly interconnected. But really, in day to day life, how is that lofty ideal applicable? I haven't figured that out yet.

I am blonde, have wobbly bits, freckles on my hands, short toes, pencil lead in my right knee, etc. But I am not any of those things. Those are all changing states dependent on the body, the corporeal shell that houses other evanescent things. I used to think that I: played in tune, was strong, never got hurt, was a yogini, etc. Except I've had to can these labels, and reexamine who or what I am. Each day, I am relearning how to play the viola, so I definitely DO NOT play in tune, nor do I have an amazing left hand, since it currently still sucks, so that identity is gone. I'm obviously not as strong as I thought, since I suffered a knee injury, low back injury, tendonitis, and foot pain, all in the last 365 days. I never had notable pains before last year. I haven't done the yoga thing much, due to the paw. Most of the identities that I clung to are gone. I don't have an identity right now, or at least not one that's consistent. One day, I think I sound horrible, the next, someone compliments me on something, and wants to take a lesson with me. One day, m

y knee is feeling good, the next day, not so much. Everything is constantly changing: my body, my mind, my abilities or lack thereof, my behavior, and I have nothing to cling to. Without my vestiges of pride, I have had to absorb myself in the playing of others, helping others to improve, while slowly developing mine. I have had to sacrifice these identities to become something else, someone who allows each day, each emotion, each hurdle, to unfold as it will, and not to let it get in the way. Everything follows its own laws, and control freaks like me cannot control everything anymore. We never could.

In other news, I am on the search for a natural deodorant that leaves me feeling approachable. I am currently on the prowl, because I have conflicting feelings about the whole antiperspirant/deodorant thing. On one hand, antiperspirant is great for sports, hot days, performing, etc, when we all get shweaty. However, there are some questionable ingredients in antiperspirant, like aluminum and other goodies, which may cause cancer. (like everything!) But natural deodorant is a good idea in principle, except I feel like I have to reapply it every 5 hours if I want people to talk to me ever again. Maybe I'm a sweaty person. I don't know. The same is true for toothpaste. I know there is less junk in Tom's Toothpaste, but my teeth just don't feel as clean! Maybe it's the lack of baking soda or something, but my toothpaste just hasn't been cutting it. I want my teeth to feel sparkling clean and delicious, and frankly, they feel pretty weak after a scrubbing with Tom's. How can I save the planet, buy things that aren't going to cause cancer, and still have halfway decent breath and not reek? These are the issues I grapple with when I'm not bemoaning my intonation or identity.

Listening to: David Bowie. Because he's AWESOME.

Tupac-he's Dead: Adventures in Teaching

As of late, I have had some really entertaining adventures in teaching, and rather than whine about my injuries, as I have for the previous few blogs, I thought we'd mix it up a smidge.  I currently teach 6 special needs boys piano and drums, and I've had some really entertaining times.  But the real winner is my adult drum guy, or as my friends know him, the guy who tells me that Tupac is dead.  But let me backtrack.

My other students are all kids- between 7 and 13, and most of them have autism.  They have no physical boundaries...one minute they'll be really spacey and distant, the next, they'll be clammering to get in your lap.  (Or as my Friday student does, he seems to be going for my rack, which is always awkward since the mom sits in on the lesson.  "Leave Miss Kayleigh alone, Ricky!  Sit up straight and get out of her lap!")  But my adult drum guy is ghetto fabulous.  He's mid thirties, and had a severe car accident in his twenties which resulted in some serious brain damage, and he used to play drums and DJ.  Apparently, that's where I come in.  Aside from the point that I have *0* drum skills.  

Anyway, every week, we start the lesson by him giving me a tour of his room.  He points out every one of his CD's, and will tell me highly entertaining anecdotes.  Here's some examples:

"You know Jay-Z?  He's married.  He cusses, and I don't like that shit in my rap songs.  That's fucked up."  (Always makes me laugh)

"You know who this is?" "Tupac."  "Yep, he's dead.  Got shot."  Usually, he informs me of Tupac's death two or three times per lesson.  He does this to a lesser degree with the Norotious B.I.G.

"You know who this is?  It's Kobe Bryant.  He was fucking around and he's married.  That's rough shit."  

The thing that's also entertaining in all this is that he shows me the same stuff every week.  He has a video rack with about 10 videos, and shows me them every week.  The movies are: the Bodyguard ("a white man falls in love with a black woman.  He saves her."), Bad Boys II, Friday, Batman Forever, Independence Day, and some other movies with Xzibit and other rappers as action scenes.  ("Look at his tattoos.  You see those?  I have tattoos of Tweety and Taz.  Those hurt like hell.  And they were expensive.")  After he shows me the movies, he usually points out each of his posters, which are of rappers ("Tupac is Dead."), boxers, and sports stuff that I know nothing about.  Finally, if he's feeling bold, he'll show me each pair of shoes that he owns, which are usually Air Force Ones, Timberlands, and other shoes with serious street credibility.  And I, in my little Aldo flats, act like I get all of this stuff.  The irony, of course, is that I know enough about rap and shoes to save my ass from humiliation in this situation, even if I'm wearing a shirt from banana republic and a skirt from American Apparel, and look very wholesome.  Anyway, every week, the first 8 minutes or so are a demonstration of possessions, which is always entertaining at best.

After show and tell, we move to the drum kit.  Every week, I try to teach him basic rhythm patterns and beats, and eventually, after a few minutes, he'll say one of two things:

"This sounds like shit.  I sound terrible.  I used to play the drums.  This is no good." (To which his live-in aid or I will respond with praise and tell him to be patient.)

Or, my personal favorite: "Yuck.  Rap doesn't use these kinds of beats.  This ain't real."  (This usually happens if I've had him do a 6/8 pattern.  He doesn't like 6/8 or 3/4.  It doesn't happen in rap, apparently.)

After about 10 minutes of patterns, we'll then do his favorite thing, which is play rap music loudly, and try to find the beat and pattern of the piece.  We do this every week.  And it's actually kind of fun, except I discovered that rap doesn't have a plethora of rhythms.  But, it's fun and kind of ridiculous to me that I, a super white person, goes to teach this one guy who is not cognizant of my inherent whiteness, and talks to me like I have a vast knowledge of rap, air force ones, boxing, and basketball.  Every time I go, I feel absolutely ridiculous, for obvious reasons, but he's completely harmless and he doesn't really know what's going on.  The first time I went, I was terrified, because I felt so out of place, with my little dog purses and silver flats, but after the first few times, I realized that he had no idea what I was wearing, or that I had no concept of gangs, fighting, or silver plated teeth.  And that all he wanted was someone to listen to him, and share the rap music with, which I can do.

"Because Tupac is Dead...Did you know that?"

Currently listening to: Grizzly Bear, recordings of the song "little brother" and "knife".  I don't listen to Tupac...because he's dead.

It doesn't all suck! (unless you're being gnawed on by a vampire...)

Life doesn't all suck.  Perhaps my last post did not make that point clear.  My life isn't terrible.  Having an injury isn't ending my life prematurely, even if it did make me crabby and take daily naps. Since my last post, things have drastically improved for me, so there is hope, dear readers, that you too can recover from illness and injury.   Good things:

1) I started to get strength and endurance on Sunday, and have been able to practice almost 2.5 hours a day.  Way to go wrist!

2) I did Reiki level 1 training.  I have new superpowers.

3) I'm still going to do a jury, so my entire future is now in my hands, and I can do the rep I want after the jury.

So things are ok after all, although I did lose about 3 weeks of sanity in the end of March.   Anyway, here are the things I have learned so far:

1) Losing the ability to practice made me really want to practice and play and not take my skills for granted.  (Someone of the more religious perspective said to me that "God injured my tendons because I was getting cocky and proud, and I needed to reaffirm my love in Him to heal myself." I don't know about that...)  But, I do think that losing the ability has made me want to do music more than ever, and be grateful that I can do the music thing.

2) I practice better with a timer.  (I time 20-30 minute sessions now)

3) I learned how to mental practice and really study scores since I couldn't play.

4) I really enjoy teaching my peers and helping them out, which I did more during my injury, and I hope to continue doing.

5) I just learned some technical refinings that will prevent future injuries, so hopefully I'm golden now.

6) I'm more eager to work hard now.

and most importantly, 

I'm happier now.  I just have to keep at it and all will be fine.

Currently listening to: Grizzly Bear, the Islands, and Animal Collective

You Can't Always Get What You Want. (Nor do you get what you need!)

Ahem, so this week, on the Kayleigh show, we saw Kayleigh get stricken by flu, grumpiness, insomnia, congestion, and continue to battle wrist pain-on both sides of her wrist, this time!  And what for?  Hmm...she continued to worry about money (which inevitably makes her think about donating her plasma or her eggs), bemoan her inability to play for more than 20-30 minutes a day, and salivate over David Bowie (despite his uneven pupils).  She has convinced herself that this school year has been the worst ever (at least during college), and she disapproves of the lumpy state of her man legs.  It's been almost 4 weeks since she's been to a yoga class, and 3.5 since the injury.  And it sucks.  All of it.

      Perhaps I have been reading too many novels written by women.  This is rather PMS worthy and grumpy, but it certainly expresses the inner sentiments currently.  I hate being injured- I feel so weak and helpless, a role I don't take to well, and I feel lazy and worthless, since I can't practice at the level of everyone else.  I will have to admit defeat soon, and most likely cancel my jury, which makes me very frustrated, since I spent most of this year preparing for it, and I wanted to kick arse.  For every really good thing that has happened, either in my personal musical progress, something bad or almost worse has occurred.  (I play really well in a competition...a freshman wins and everyone is angry.)  I'm so sick and tired of everything falling apart!  My body, my appliances, my teapots...why can't everything just be ok?  For once?

      Because good things don't always happen to good people.  During my visit with the flu, I watched 6 movies in 2 days, resulting in the resurgence of my love for James McAvoy (of "Atonement" fame).  But, I digress.  Look at the movie "Becoming Jane."  While it is still a movie, it is true that Jane Austen, queen of all things amorous, never found her Mr. Darcy.  She who has inspired thousands of young women to be strong and courageous, to speak their minds...she never found the love of an equal that she strongly advocated.  She didn't have her happy ending.  Not only did this movie make me extremely sad, but it made me feel absolutely terrible for Jane, to have suffered so much by being female.  (It probably didn't help that I watched "Milk" earlier, which also made me cry.)  Deep inside my lacquered exterior, I do believe in my Mr. Darcy, and it hurts so much when things don't work out like so in life or in fiction.  I want to be a fierce violist, a good cook, a witty conversationalist, a confident women with good legs, and right now, I just feel like a pale shell of those things.  

The injury has certainly affected my mood and energy level- I spent the first two weeks napping every day, even though I slept 8-9 hours a night.  Even now, I'm a bit sleepy, despite my 8.5 hours of sleep last night.  I've been lethargic and antisocial- only leaving the apartment to drop off books at the library or go to the market.  I'm so tired of this way of life...what happened to my life before?  This is a relaxing life, but so meaningless and dull.  I'm a prisoner of my own house, and I don't like it.  

So no, you can't always get what you want.  And is this what I need?  I hope not.  It's hard to be optimistic sometimes, and today, I just can't do it.  Maybe tomorrow.

Listening to: the dears, the Islands, the new Decemberists album.