In the event of a fire. I packed a normal sized back-pack, the kind carried to school. I packed a change of clothes (actually, only underclothes, jeans, and socks), hat, scarf, gloves, a couple journals, a pen, ibuprofen, lipstick, lip balm, my passport, and a rosary that was given to me by my mother. I was charging my phone, and if time allowed, would've brought that. My work keys were in my jacket pocket. My tablet, if time allowed. A bar of soap, and a pair of reading glasses. And hopefully I would grab the jacket and my wallet on the way out. And that was pretty much it.
So, how do I let other things (not everything, obviously I would need more to live day to day, and joy is good, but aside from those) go, then?
Monday, March 5, 2018
Monday, February 26, 2018
Random thoughts
Nature is crazy. After a mild January, we have days of flurries. The whole kitchen sink of weather on Saturday morning, from entering into a snow globe to rain to hail to sun. And Sunday, warm enough to not wear gloves and to come back from the grocery store with my coat unbuttoned, the sun feeling warm. An hour later, as I left for class, a bit of hail falling in the neighborhood. Nothing Downtown, three hours later after class, the streets outside were damp from rain. Back near home, it looked like it had snowed hard, the cars covered. Someone later told me it had hailed from a while. This morning, our front porch was an ice rink.
A hummingbird keeps hovering outside my window, spying on me, and each time I look over, it speeds off. All the camellia flowers have dropped; perhaps it would like me to put a feeder out.
I think someone told me a secret.
While walking to the bathroom, I suddenly knew the purpose of my life (at least, for now.) That might sound implausible, but you know, I see no downside to pursuing it. (And because that sounds so grandiose, I tried to tone it down with qualifiers when I wrote it down. I originally thought it to myself as a joke, and then realized it was true. It's pretty mundane, actually.) It's not related to a specific "profession", and not quite as vague as "to love" or "to be kind" (which are a way of living, and worthy, but too vague, too broad, for me to find direction.) And I've been already doing it, it was just liberating to have the realization; so that was more of a tap on the shoulder revelation, rather than a thunder clap. At any rate, it's one less thing to be anxious about, so there's that.
Voice class is almost over. I haven't figured out how to get through the vocal issue I'm having, might actually need to go see a speech therapist, and keep working the exercises, might be something that takes a while to change. The class has been, however, super helpful for acting (it is an acting class, but not specifically only for actors): for breath, getting into your body, how to approach text, beat work (even if not specifically addressing that), vocal exercises, physical exercises, etc.
Had an insight last night while working on the text (RFK speech) I'm doing. She asked me to change pitch, and this has come up before, going to the higher pitch is psychologically difficult, to consciously choose to do it...we change pitch all the time without really giving it much thought. The choice feels vulnerable, exposed. This came up in the singing class, singing in an upper range. And it's a funny thing, because there's the "look I can sing this high note!" on the one hand, and "oh my god, everyone can hear me now that I have to sing this note alone I feel exposed (and found wanting?)" on the other. Two competing thoughts battling it out. It's vulnerable, because I still care, because it's out at my boundary. Also, there's the idea that's floating around that higher voices (and those possessing them) are weak. I wrote it down in a notebook somewhere, there's more to it.
Connection happens when our vulnerabilities meet; in the places we bleed.
 |
| A Little Bit of Everything, February 24/L Herlevi 2018 |
A hummingbird keeps hovering outside my window, spying on me, and each time I look over, it speeds off. All the camellia flowers have dropped; perhaps it would like me to put a feeder out.
I think someone told me a secret.
While walking to the bathroom, I suddenly knew the purpose of my life (at least, for now.) That might sound implausible, but you know, I see no downside to pursuing it. (And because that sounds so grandiose, I tried to tone it down with qualifiers when I wrote it down. I originally thought it to myself as a joke, and then realized it was true. It's pretty mundane, actually.) It's not related to a specific "profession", and not quite as vague as "to love" or "to be kind" (which are a way of living, and worthy, but too vague, too broad, for me to find direction.) And I've been already doing it, it was just liberating to have the realization; so that was more of a tap on the shoulder revelation, rather than a thunder clap. At any rate, it's one less thing to be anxious about, so there's that.
Voice class is almost over. I haven't figured out how to get through the vocal issue I'm having, might actually need to go see a speech therapist, and keep working the exercises, might be something that takes a while to change. The class has been, however, super helpful for acting (it is an acting class, but not specifically only for actors): for breath, getting into your body, how to approach text, beat work (even if not specifically addressing that), vocal exercises, physical exercises, etc.
Had an insight last night while working on the text (RFK speech) I'm doing. She asked me to change pitch, and this has come up before, going to the higher pitch is psychologically difficult, to consciously choose to do it...we change pitch all the time without really giving it much thought. The choice feels vulnerable, exposed. This came up in the singing class, singing in an upper range. And it's a funny thing, because there's the "look I can sing this high note!" on the one hand, and "oh my god, everyone can hear me now that I have to sing this note alone I feel exposed (and found wanting?)" on the other. Two competing thoughts battling it out. It's vulnerable, because I still care, because it's out at my boundary. Also, there's the idea that's floating around that higher voices (and those possessing them) are weak. I wrote it down in a notebook somewhere, there's more to it.
Connection happens when our vulnerabilities meet; in the places we bleed.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Finding the intangible to hold
Home from a long, difficult, and yet productive discussion. I realize I'm stonewalling because I feel I can't handle one more loss, so I've built a wall. And now I realize that I need to grieve. That there needs to be an outlet in the community for grief, maybe others also do not recognize the need. And then we need to rebuild the community, remember why we chose each other.
There is no permanence. The city is rapidly changing. People are leaving. New people are arriving. What can you hold onto? What's left in the changing landscape? How do you find compassion for yourself, for community, for others when all you feel anymore is loss?
And there will inevitably be loss, now or later. We make the choice or let time make the choice and learn to adjust either way. Are we the agents or the passive receivers, either way a choice is made. Status quo will not last, so what do we choose?
There is no permanence. The city is rapidly changing. People are leaving. New people are arriving. What can you hold onto? What's left in the changing landscape? How do you find compassion for yourself, for community, for others when all you feel anymore is loss?
And there will inevitably be loss, now or later. We make the choice or let time make the choice and learn to adjust either way. Are we the agents or the passive receivers, either way a choice is made. Status quo will not last, so what do we choose?
Something
First, ugh. Been having a lot of kitchen-sink-style dreams, basically, everything I've read or looked at or noticed showing up in some form. (A friend had one that I showed up in a couple of weeks ago, where I was trying to organize a parade...pre-news thing. I just showed up in his anxiety dream.) Anyway, just took a hard look at some pretty shitty aspects of my life. It sucks. What do I do about it? I'm not sure. So, that's "ugh."
Had to wear the boot again today, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, so might not be able to wear it tomorrow. I've been trying to avoid it, it makes me feel like I'm malingering, but the foot pain is killing me, and it was the only way I could walk out of the house, so I gave in. The pain kept me up most of the night. Feels like someone has driven a spike into the side of my arch. I imagine it could hurt worse, but I don't want to feel that. So, grateful I still have it, and am hobbling around again. It relieves a little of the pressure.
When I finally forced myself to get out of bed and stand this morning, the sun was just starting to rise. The blue part of the sky had a magnificent greenish cast to it, and because there were no clouds, where the sun hit, it was a pool of color. So beautiful. I walked outside and stood barefoot on the frost-covered porch to get a better view; cold, but I thought the ice might do some good for the pain.
Lent starts tomorrow. Thinking of trying to give up plastic, not sure how feasible that is, but I'll make the effort, at least be more aware of it. Also, to pay attention to how much I waste water, and to cut back. (Ash Wednesday is on Valentine's Day, and Easter is on April Fool's this year.)
Got some cool art stuff happening, and figured out what section of text I want to use for voice class, but have a lot of work/exploration to do with it. So, I'm excited about all of that.
(And someone informed me that my rabbit is back, but I haven't seen it. I did see a different one a couple of weeks ago, and two others-hanging out with two raccoons- in a patch of grass under a streetlamp back in December.)
We continue on when everything falls apart around us.
Had to wear the boot again today, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, so might not be able to wear it tomorrow. I've been trying to avoid it, it makes me feel like I'm malingering, but the foot pain is killing me, and it was the only way I could walk out of the house, so I gave in. The pain kept me up most of the night. Feels like someone has driven a spike into the side of my arch. I imagine it could hurt worse, but I don't want to feel that. So, grateful I still have it, and am hobbling around again. It relieves a little of the pressure.
When I finally forced myself to get out of bed and stand this morning, the sun was just starting to rise. The blue part of the sky had a magnificent greenish cast to it, and because there were no clouds, where the sun hit, it was a pool of color. So beautiful. I walked outside and stood barefoot on the frost-covered porch to get a better view; cold, but I thought the ice might do some good for the pain.
Lent starts tomorrow. Thinking of trying to give up plastic, not sure how feasible that is, but I'll make the effort, at least be more aware of it. Also, to pay attention to how much I waste water, and to cut back. (Ash Wednesday is on Valentine's Day, and Easter is on April Fool's this year.)
Got some cool art stuff happening, and figured out what section of text I want to use for voice class, but have a lot of work/exploration to do with it. So, I'm excited about all of that.
(And someone informed me that my rabbit is back, but I haven't seen it. I did see a different one a couple of weeks ago, and two others-hanging out with two raccoons- in a patch of grass under a streetlamp back in December.)
We continue on when everything falls apart around us.
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
Tuesday
Ah, was so bored mid-way through the day, that once the headache abated, I considered going into work. I ended up sleeping instead. Still in that disorienting no-where place. I don't think it's depression (though, I suppose it could be) more that it's just been January (my least favorite month), and gloomy, and I feel in-between, and lethargic.
Got up feeling like someone had beat my forearms with a metal pole on a cold day, it's fading now, but that's the arthritis. (I never find the right single adjective to describe pain to fill out the forms in the doctor's office. Would that be "sharp?" "dull?" I don't know. It is what it is. And it kinda' depends if I'm still or if I move or try to do anything, changes the quality and intensity.) I was testing potatoes, made a stew on Sunday, so that could be the reason.
The book is a good candidate for a discussion group. The whole idea of the nature of blindness. Why is there one person who can see? The anarchy in the asylum (among a minority, but they took control over everything), what happens when social order breaks down? (And what use were the stolen items or money in the asylum? Or what good was money when the financial systems had collapsed, infrastructure had failed, and anarchy ruled? The stolen goods burned along with everything else.) What fills in the vacuum? Something will, so do we do that consciously or do we let entropy win by our indecision? How does a democracy function? What keeps those who would be a good leader from stepping forward to fill the void? The person most qualified to lead held back initially, though she takes de facto leadership of her ward, and of the initial group of inhabitants to the asylum (the woman who lit the fire was in the initial group struck by blindness, but a later addition to the asylum.) In what ways do societies break down? And the different ways people cope to survive in that state. How people adapt to a new norm. Where does hope lie? How does it die? What does resignation look like? (Which makes me think of Existentialism.) What does it mean to be free? Why do we cling to the known hell once the doors have been opened and the guards have fled? What do we fear? What does it mean to live?
It's a good book. I have about 75 pages left.
Got up feeling like someone had beat my forearms with a metal pole on a cold day, it's fading now, but that's the arthritis. (I never find the right single adjective to describe pain to fill out the forms in the doctor's office. Would that be "sharp?" "dull?" I don't know. It is what it is. And it kinda' depends if I'm still or if I move or try to do anything, changes the quality and intensity.) I was testing potatoes, made a stew on Sunday, so that could be the reason.
The book is a good candidate for a discussion group. The whole idea of the nature of blindness. Why is there one person who can see? The anarchy in the asylum (among a minority, but they took control over everything), what happens when social order breaks down? (And what use were the stolen items or money in the asylum? Or what good was money when the financial systems had collapsed, infrastructure had failed, and anarchy ruled? The stolen goods burned along with everything else.) What fills in the vacuum? Something will, so do we do that consciously or do we let entropy win by our indecision? How does a democracy function? What keeps those who would be a good leader from stepping forward to fill the void? The person most qualified to lead held back initially, though she takes de facto leadership of her ward, and of the initial group of inhabitants to the asylum (the woman who lit the fire was in the initial group struck by blindness, but a later addition to the asylum.) In what ways do societies break down? And the different ways people cope to survive in that state. How people adapt to a new norm. Where does hope lie? How does it die? What does resignation look like? (Which makes me think of Existentialism.) What does it mean to be free? Why do we cling to the known hell once the doors have been opened and the guards have fled? What do we fear? What does it mean to live?
It's a good book. I have about 75 pages left.
Monday, February 5, 2018
Silent
Lethargy. Feeling motionless, not the boredom of before, inaction in a direction I want to move in; overwhelmed by the endless anxiety from the everyday, constant sense of loss, that as soon as I begin to process one, there are more piling up behind demanding notice until it is a white blur. A lack of permanence, an instability, an inexistence (of perception) of solid ground. The need before I'm ready, before there is enough information (or in some cases, any at all) to find a new place to stand.
Also, physically, a sense of not quite being well, but also, not quite being sick. As if my body can't decide, and so remains in stasis. Been fighting off something for over a week. Had two good days in the middle, but been scratchy and slightly achy for a few days now, no change in that. At least the headache has faded, for now. (And with it, some of the lethargy: I actually have the energy to write, and read part of a book earlier. An improvement from how I felt when I woke up.)
Took a sick day. Took an ibuprofen. Then got dressed and walked down the street to get a cup of coffee because sometimes both coffee and the walk help with the headaches. It was colder than I expected, wished for a couple of more layers of clothing. The coffee shop was warm. A homeless man sat three tables over with a Starbuck's cup and a jar of peanut butter, his belongings further over in the room. I was glad he had the warmth. We both sat there for a while, he stopped in front of me as he was leaving, said something imperceptible to me, we looked at one another, acknowledged one another, and then he shuffled out the door. I finished my chapter and left, as well.
Outside there was a smell of smoke, or rather a match just struck: focused, sulphur, burnt. Inside the house, too. I've been reading Jose Saramago's "Blindness" in which people suddenly become blind, their worlds becoming an instant milky whiteness, society falling into chaos. And in the chapter I had just finished, one of the women (of an initial group struck with blindness who had been dumped into an unused mental asylum, to keep the "contagion" contained) had just set the ward of thugs/rapists afire, burning them all (including herself in the process) to death, and setting the entire place aflame. Perhaps the smell of fire was in my head as I walked out.
The play fields of the nearby park have become one massive mud hole from all the rain, once green, now brown, covered in birds. Robins and starlings chirp and trill in the trees, and the constant traffic din from the freeway runs as a background noise. The streets nearby are empty of people and cars. Were it not for the laughter of a child at recess, I'd think the neighborhood had been deserted while I was busy reading a book.
Days pass and I've done very little. I lack the drive.
Also, physically, a sense of not quite being well, but also, not quite being sick. As if my body can't decide, and so remains in stasis. Been fighting off something for over a week. Had two good days in the middle, but been scratchy and slightly achy for a few days now, no change in that. At least the headache has faded, for now. (And with it, some of the lethargy: I actually have the energy to write, and read part of a book earlier. An improvement from how I felt when I woke up.)
Took a sick day. Took an ibuprofen. Then got dressed and walked down the street to get a cup of coffee because sometimes both coffee and the walk help with the headaches. It was colder than I expected, wished for a couple of more layers of clothing. The coffee shop was warm. A homeless man sat three tables over with a Starbuck's cup and a jar of peanut butter, his belongings further over in the room. I was glad he had the warmth. We both sat there for a while, he stopped in front of me as he was leaving, said something imperceptible to me, we looked at one another, acknowledged one another, and then he shuffled out the door. I finished my chapter and left, as well.
Outside there was a smell of smoke, or rather a match just struck: focused, sulphur, burnt. Inside the house, too. I've been reading Jose Saramago's "Blindness" in which people suddenly become blind, their worlds becoming an instant milky whiteness, society falling into chaos. And in the chapter I had just finished, one of the women (of an initial group struck with blindness who had been dumped into an unused mental asylum, to keep the "contagion" contained) had just set the ward of thugs/rapists afire, burning them all (including herself in the process) to death, and setting the entire place aflame. Perhaps the smell of fire was in my head as I walked out.
The play fields of the nearby park have become one massive mud hole from all the rain, once green, now brown, covered in birds. Robins and starlings chirp and trill in the trees, and the constant traffic din from the freeway runs as a background noise. The streets nearby are empty of people and cars. Were it not for the laughter of a child at recess, I'd think the neighborhood had been deserted while I was busy reading a book.
Days pass and I've done very little. I lack the drive.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
And then...
Wow, just received a text, offering support (institutional, as well as moral, i.e., they like the idea, think I should go ahead, as well as are giving the okay to go and do it, etc.) for a project I want to do. Now I need to figure out how to start, what I need, what are the right questions, etc.
Also, someone gave me their contact info regarding headshots, and a co-worker offered some advice (which now seems obvious) regarding a direction I hadn't even considered.
I can't figure out what's going on with the bank, they refunded the money, but they still need to do an investigation? I had a convoluted conversation with someone on the phone (because I had received two emails to call). I think we both left confused, though I don't blame him. He was nice about it, at any rate.
Guess, I've run out of excuses for "why not?" do things.
Spending my evening, now, researching, and brainstorming questions, people to contact for advice, and listening to an outstanding broadcast of "The Roadhouse" on KEXP. Seriously, so good.
Also, someone gave me their contact info regarding headshots, and a co-worker offered some advice (which now seems obvious) regarding a direction I hadn't even considered.
I can't figure out what's going on with the bank, they refunded the money, but they still need to do an investigation? I had a convoluted conversation with someone on the phone (because I had received two emails to call). I think we both left confused, though I don't blame him. He was nice about it, at any rate.
Guess, I've run out of excuses for "why not?" do things.
Spending my evening, now, researching, and brainstorming questions, people to contact for advice, and listening to an outstanding broadcast of "The Roadhouse" on KEXP. Seriously, so good.
Eh
I've got sugar cravings like crazy. Alcohol is definitely easier for me to let go of. Found some re-hydrated figs in the fridge at work I'd forgotten about, and ate a few of those (figs and water). Yesterday, found a packet of almond butter in my desk (unexpired), and ate that with a banana; kinda' made me feel a little sick after, which cured the sugar craving at any rate.
The good part of this, is that it saves me money. Had a low-balance alert from my bank yesterday morning. Thought that I must've spent more over the long weekend than I thought, but then decided to check my account to see where I'd done that. Well, no, wasn't extravagant spending, my bank paid a bill 2x, and emptied my checking account out in the process. I called to try to reverse one, but they wanted me to fill out paperwork to report a fraudulent transaction (which it wasn't, it was a double payment.) Then I decided to go into a branch to talk to someone. It got half-resolved, but was still told it was my fault (I've paid these the same way online for probably eight years without an issue, and this payment was no different than any before it.) The (minor) downside is that I'm broke, but the bills I have to pay immediately have been paid, and I think I have enough food to last for the next week, so I think I'm okay.
The bigger upside is that it was the kick in the butt I needed to extricate myself from that bank (I owe them money, and was staying with them to finish paying it off), so, I've started that process, which is good.
The other upside is that in the past, I would've freaked out and made myself sick over all this (having four dollars for the next week in my checking account), but I'm not. There's no (emotional) charge there. I'm thinking about it different (what can I do right now vs. "how am I going to get through the week, I'll starve to death" overreaction.) The desire for the b.s. and drama rises, but drops back down. Hoping this is a new way of being for me. (Been moving in this direction for the past year; at least that I can outwardly tell.)
The good part of this, is that it saves me money. Had a low-balance alert from my bank yesterday morning. Thought that I must've spent more over the long weekend than I thought, but then decided to check my account to see where I'd done that. Well, no, wasn't extravagant spending, my bank paid a bill 2x, and emptied my checking account out in the process. I called to try to reverse one, but they wanted me to fill out paperwork to report a fraudulent transaction (which it wasn't, it was a double payment.) Then I decided to go into a branch to talk to someone. It got half-resolved, but was still told it was my fault (I've paid these the same way online for probably eight years without an issue, and this payment was no different than any before it.) The (minor) downside is that I'm broke, but the bills I have to pay immediately have been paid, and I think I have enough food to last for the next week, so I think I'm okay.
The bigger upside is that it was the kick in the butt I needed to extricate myself from that bank (I owe them money, and was staying with them to finish paying it off), so, I've started that process, which is good.
The other upside is that in the past, I would've freaked out and made myself sick over all this (having four dollars for the next week in my checking account), but I'm not. There's no (emotional) charge there. I'm thinking about it different (what can I do right now vs. "how am I going to get through the week, I'll starve to death" overreaction.) The desire for the b.s. and drama rises, but drops back down. Hoping this is a new way of being for me. (Been moving in this direction for the past year; at least that I can outwardly tell.)
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Ennui.2
Ah, and now I'm bored out of my skull, again. Something's got to change, dream bigger? Dream, at all? Feeling unfulfilled, and yes, first world problems, blah, blah, blah, but out of survival mode, people work for something greater in their lives. There must be more to life than an endless series of lazy Sunday afternoons spent dozing (alone) while the radio plays pleasantly, repetitively, non-challenging background buzz. Don't say that I "Should focus on others and do for others...to feel better" been doing for others at the detriment of myself, little pieces of my flesh, pieces of my soul given away, majority of my life; putting out fires while letting my own dreams die, because I didn't know how to take care of myself in the midst of so much chaos, so, no, not the answer. (Though, obviously, there's a balance to be reached.) Done with the guilt, though, if I don't change something in my life, I'm going to lose my mind.
And I'm not an adrenaline junkie, so, it's not that; I just want something that feels fulfilling. So much passivity and ennui. (Repeat from May, I guess.) I haven't been out of my comfort zone enough in the past year, almost not at all. And for me, I think it's important to do that, so that element's been missing from my life.
2017 was a very passive year. A re-visitation of things I'd experienced previously, almost entirely; very little that was new. I think all of that brought up parts of my life and behavior and beliefs, thoughts, etc., that I needed to take a closer look at and see if they were actually my own, or some larger cultural, or societal idea that I'd absorbed over time. To pay attention to what was driving my life, and to decide what of that I wanted to keep, by my own choice. And that's all good, and I did a lot of that, and I let go of things that no longer served me (though, obviously, there's more. There's always more: the stripping away of the chains and muzzles we've allowed, or even put on ourselves. In acting, and in voice, it's removing the blocks to find your authenticity at the core.)
And I'm glad other people are making art/writing/dance/music/theatre/food, etc., but I've been almost 100% passively consuming theirs, and producing none of my own, which I need to do. There is no sense of balance for me, as of late.
Later.
I met with a friend after work, to talk. It was good to be heard. Good for someone to want to know me, to talk about things that matter. Also, somehow the oral history project I've been wanting to do (but had forgotten about) came up. Having someone to be accountable to might help me make it happen. That'll be a new project this year. Just have to figure out how to start.
And I'm not an adrenaline junkie, so, it's not that; I just want something that feels fulfilling. So much passivity and ennui. (Repeat from May, I guess.) I haven't been out of my comfort zone enough in the past year, almost not at all. And for me, I think it's important to do that, so that element's been missing from my life.
2017 was a very passive year. A re-visitation of things I'd experienced previously, almost entirely; very little that was new. I think all of that brought up parts of my life and behavior and beliefs, thoughts, etc., that I needed to take a closer look at and see if they were actually my own, or some larger cultural, or societal idea that I'd absorbed over time. To pay attention to what was driving my life, and to decide what of that I wanted to keep, by my own choice. And that's all good, and I did a lot of that, and I let go of things that no longer served me (though, obviously, there's more. There's always more: the stripping away of the chains and muzzles we've allowed, or even put on ourselves. In acting, and in voice, it's removing the blocks to find your authenticity at the core.)
And I'm glad other people are making art/writing/dance/music/theatre/food, etc., but I've been almost 100% passively consuming theirs, and producing none of my own, which I need to do. There is no sense of balance for me, as of late.
Later.
I met with a friend after work, to talk. It was good to be heard. Good for someone to want to know me, to talk about things that matter. Also, somehow the oral history project I've been wanting to do (but had forgotten about) came up. Having someone to be accountable to might help me make it happen. That'll be a new project this year. Just have to figure out how to start.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Later
Well, I missed the actual workshop (that was last night), but learned about the calls, traditionally, cows were herded by pre-teen/teen girls, disappeared with industrialization of farming, though, in Norway, there is now a requirement of outside grazing for cows for part of the year, so some people are learning the calls again. Peggy Larson did a presentation including calls and songs. I'm still intrigued with learning how to do it, but that'll be more of an effort on my part to seek out someone to teach me. (Sorta' thing you could strain your vocal folds/throat with if you tried to do it without proper warm-up, breathing, etc.)
The event I ended up at was more of a business meeting/dinner/fundraiser/program. A friend had said it was okay if I showed up, so I did, not knowing what it was. She just let me in, but I ended up donating the cover anyway, so it all washed out. I knew two people there, plus the accompanist came in and sat next to me, and I'd sung with her in the past (though, we hadn't ever spoken much), didn't know she was a jazz pianist.
It was an interesting evening, and oddly, the most comfortable I've been in a room in ages (not that I'm usually uncomfortable, but as if I'd always been a part of it and it was perfectly natural for me to be there, if that makes any sense.) Not sure what that was about, but I still feel that centeredness now that I'm back home. Hard to explain, but I'll take it.
The event I ended up at was more of a business meeting/dinner/fundraiser/program. A friend had said it was okay if I showed up, so I did, not knowing what it was. She just let me in, but I ended up donating the cover anyway, so it all washed out. I knew two people there, plus the accompanist came in and sat next to me, and I'd sung with her in the past (though, we hadn't ever spoken much), didn't know she was a jazz pianist.
It was an interesting evening, and oddly, the most comfortable I've been in a room in ages (not that I'm usually uncomfortable, but as if I'd always been a part of it and it was perfectly natural for me to be there, if that makes any sense.) Not sure what that was about, but I still feel that centeredness now that I'm back home. Hard to explain, but I'll take it.
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