Composing My Life

Hiatus

2012-01-19T09:29:00.003-06:00

I'm honored that you came looking for me here. While there's plenty to read in the archives, I've taken a little hiatus from the Composing My Life blog. This was primarily because I've started another writing project, over at The Divine Self. Essentially, I'm commenting on and rewriting the Bible. Not everyone's cup of tea, but there it is.

Musically, I'm doing a bit of accompanying in Fort Worth, and I'm also composing music for a video game in development. Take a look at this promo video to hear a bit of the music I've been creating for Miffed Kitty Press' Status Quo project.

That's not the only music I'm composing at the moment. I also have a large scale vocal work in process, and I've been creating some other purely electronic music, in what I would consider to be a contemplative style. I share that music occasionally with friends on Facebook and such, so feel free to connect with me there. And as always, you can hear recordings of some of my music at www.strengthfromshadows.com

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Creator

2011-09-21T19:02:00.000-05:00

I have a hard time relaxing. There is always something that I think I should be doing. I often feel guilty when I'm not doing something that could be construed as "productive" on some level. And there is never a time when the list of potentially productive things runs out. One friend told me that marathon runners don't train for a marathon all the time. Balanced training involves periods of activity and periods of inactivity. That made sense, until I started drawing lines of comparison.

Nothing in my life right now really looks like a marathon. I don't have an event for which I am aiming, I don't have a destination, an endpoint. I have several ongoing projects that are literally open-ended, on-my-own-schedule kind of affairs. I am creating various things, and I am in the enviable position of having a great deal of time to indulge those creative processes. But during the moments when I am not immersed in the creative process, I have a tendency to beat myself up a bit. I call it laziness, but it really isn't. I think part of me at some point in time got confused about the difference between busyness and meaningful activity.

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I said to a close friend, "I have a feeling that I was supposed to be more important."

My friend's reply was, "I've always had the impression that you didn't care what other people think, as long as you're happy with what you're doing."

It seemed like a kind of non sequitur, but I followed his meaning. If I don't care what other people think, then who am I expecting to be important to, aside from myself? Well, the truth of the matter is that I do care what other people think. I want to be connected to other people. I want what I do to have a positive impact. I just don't want to make decisions for my life based on what other people believe.

Over the course of a couple of days following that conversation, a few people unexpectedly sought my counsel about different issues in their lives. So, at least in some moments, I am important to some people. I felt flattered and honored in those moments, and yet it wasn't quite the answer part of me wanted. Part of me was defining "important" as "broadly impactful" or something along those lines. And I don't believe that defines my life right now. It's an issue of identity.

I've tried making meaningful contributions as a part of other organizations, places where I could have a broader impact because of an existing framework. Somehow, I've wound up not having the sort of impact I wanted. A lot of times it can be chalked up to personality clashes, but I also think that there is something more. I may be dead wrong here, but I think that many people have a difficult time visualizing what something new will be like until it's created. Once it's created, they don't have to visualize it, because it's right there in front of them. But a lot of energy gets spent trying to defend an idea to people who simply can't envision what it will look like. It's hard to have a positive impact on people who are afraid of what they can't imagine.

The direct end result for me is that people often do not see what I have to offer the way I would like them to, and I am unable to rely on participation in an organization as a means of identity. The organization does not provide a meaningful purpose for me. Honestly, I believe that some of my ideas could have profoundly positive transformative impact, but I don't enjoy the often exhausting battle of defending myself and my ideas to people who clearly are not open to those possibilities. It isn't worth it to me, no matter how "important" I think an idea could be. When I think about it in those terms, I don't really want to be "important" badly enough to define my life by the process of proving myself. But I do want a clearly-defined over-arching identity than what I've been allowing myself in the enviably nebulous existence I currently inhabit.

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I think one of the reasons I find it so easy to flagellate myself about perceived laziness is that I don't currently have an endpoint, a goal, a clear and overarching sense of purpose behind everything that I do. Individual projects may have goals and purposes, but they are nebulous or far into the future. What I have sought through my involvement in other organizations is something I can provide for myself.

In The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron talks about the Creator, and she encourages placing a lot of spiritual value on being both created and creator. I don't believe in an actual Creator per se, but the poetic example of the act of creation at the very beginning of the Bible has some very valuable tidbits. Actually, a lot of creation myths do. They always involve effort on the part of the creator(s), and there is always a process by which that creation takes shape.

I am a creator. It's what I do. I create music. I create sometimes coherent prose. I use my imagination well. On a certain level, I think everyone creates, but it isn't everyone's defining characteristic. That may not make me important to a lot of people. I'm alright with that, honestly. What I was couching as a desire for importance was actually a desire for someone else to provide a meaningful identity, and when I am honest about what matters to me, I can do that for myself. I have done that for myself.

So how does fully claiming my identity as a creator keep me from beating myself up in the times when I am not actively creating? That's where the creation myths come in handy. For example, in the biblical myth, God didn't create everything in one fell swoop. He just did a bit at a time, and then he stood back and acknowledged his work. And then, as many people have pointed out, he took time to rest. There are a lot of similar lessons in creation myths from all over the world, and they amount to four basic principles I'm going to be following:

(1) Know what you're creating. If you don't know what you're making, take a step back and figure that out first.

(2) Be wildly imaginative. Don't restrain yourself with imaginary judgments and limitations.

(3) Acknowledge what you've created, even mid-process. Recognize the value of your creation.

(4) Rest. Rest is not laziness. Rest is the time when you allow something within you to start creating the things you don't consciously know about yet.

So, I have had a tendency to want to have an identity handed to me, and I have wrestled with the idea of being important. I have justified or criticized my existence based on the amount of money I was making, the amount of things I had gotten accomplished, the number of ideas that actually took root somewhere, the number of performances of my music, and on and on. Even when I've realized how ludicrous some of those conclusions are, I have kept going back to them because they are easy judgments. Now I have one more bit of truth about me, one more turn around the spiral: I am a creator. I am defined by the fact that I create.

I know this was a long one. Hopefully it kept your interest. I started this blog because I wanted what I see and learn to be able to have a positive impact on other people's lives. On some level, I wanted to be important. I assumed that I was not the only person in the process of learning more and creating more in my life, and I still believe that to be the case. In spite of the value I have gotten from a weekly commitment to write down my thoughts, this will be my last entry for awhile. I may come back to this venue at some point, in which case it will be tweeted and Facebooked and whatever else technology makes possible for me. In the meantime, thank you for being along on this leg of the journey. I hope you have learned as much about yourself as you have about me, and that we will all continue along that path of learning for as far as it carries us.

Farewell for now,
Randy Partain, creator

The Joys and Frustrations of Electronic Music

2011-09-11T12:07:00.000-05:00

Even though I graduated with my doctorate in music composition a mere six years ago, the face of electronic music has changed dramatically. It's become a complex market of software and plug-ins and virtual instruments created from high-quality samples of almost any real-world sound you can imagine. "Kids" who are barely teenagers are composing artful remixes of popular songs, and professional orchestrators are creating virtual recordings of familiar classical pieces that are in some respects better than a live performance.
When I compose a piece of music for acoustic performers, I accept that not every note and articulation is going to be the same in every performance. Not only will different performers put their personality into interpreting a piece, but the same performers won't play a piece exactly the same every time. It's one of the things that makes live music interesting, actually. Hearing what a performer brings forth from a piece goes beyond the sterile and absolute ideal of what's on the printed page.

Purely electronic music is different. There are plenty of pieces (both art music and popular music) that combine the sounds of electronica with aspects of live performance. My first real exposure to it was Caution to the Winds (James Mobberly) for piano and tape, which I performed on my senior piano recital as an undergraduate. Since then, the entire "live performer with electronics" genre has grown by leaps and bounds, and it's one of the few areas in which cross-pollination between popular music and academic music makes the boundaries almost too blurry to identify in places. Some of these pieces incorporate the electronic aspects in such a way that a performer still has a great deal of freedom; a performance of the piece on one night might be completely different from the performance of a piece on the next. The work that I'm doing right now aims at creating a finished product, though: music to be heard, not performed.

James Mobberly's Caution to the Winds, as performed by Kristina Sandulova.

Like the music on a CD or one of those orchestrations of a famous symphony with "virtual" instruments, once a piece of purely electronic music is in recorded form, it becomes fixed. You always know when a particular swell will happen in the tune, because it's recorded and it isn't going to change. The notes and articulations will always be exactly the same from one listening to the next, although some people may claim that a recorded piece of music can still vary in the impact it has on them, based on their own emotions when they listen to it. I won't debate that. I'm concerned with the idea that once the piece is "finished", there is no altering it. There is no "next performance" to tweak or adjust or "get it right." There is the obdurate and unchanging sound of the piece, for better or worse, just as it was created.

This has a tremendously attractive side to it. I can hear what I have created immediately. When a piece is composed for live performers, there is really no guarantee that it will ever get performed, and in today's bizarre climate of neophilia there is very little chance that a piece will get performed twice. A performer has to take the music, rehearse it, make some interpretive decisions, and then create something that hopefully has some approximation to the idealized piece on the printed page. This process could take months. An electronic piece is immediately available for listening. I can actually physically hear the piece as I am working on it, and as soon as it's finished, I can send it to other people within minutes. On top of that, they will hear exactly the same music everything they listen. They may hear different things within the music, but the music itself will always be available and consistent.

As you might imagine, this changes the way I compose a piece. When I am writing for a live musician, I actually want some of their personality to enter into the sound of a piece. I might leave some things a little vague or explicitly improvisatory because I'm interested in giving that performer the space to create. When I'm working with electronic sounds, I'm not creating something that another person will infuse with their personality. I'm creating the finished product. It's up to me to get the sound of the piece exactly how I want it to be, and if there's something I don't like, I can't chalk it up to a performer's interpretation. In some ways, it's a bit daunting, and in other ways it's very satisfying. Getting a rhythm just right in a printed piece of music doesn't guarantee that every performer is going to play it just right. Getting a rhythm just right in a piece of electronica means that it will always and forever be exactly what I intended.

But it's much easier to get bogged down in minutiae. Sometimes, I feel like I am painting a face, but I get drawn into the details of the ear. And because of the technology, I can get very, very detailed about how the ear looks. I can fine tune exactly where a little mole is positioned, or how a tiny sliver of shadow falls within the curvature of cartilage. Then, I take a step back and remember that I have an entire face to paint, and what I've done to the ear has an impact on how the rest of the face appears. Besides, what viewer is really going to notice how perfectly positioned a tiny mole or shadow is? Does it really matter?

That last question gets tricky. Does it really matter in the grand scheme of life itself? Probably not. Does it really matter in the aesthetics of the piece? Maybe it does. Does it really matter to me? And there is the heart of it. What makes the whole endeavor worthwhile is how satisfied I am at the end of it. If getting a particular sound just right will increase my enjoyment of what I'm creating, it's worth it. Even if no one else notices, it's worth the time and effort. And if a detail isn't important to me--if it doesn't really enhance my enjoyment of the process or the final product--I can learn to let go of the minutiae and move on.

By the way, if you haven't already heard the first bit of electronic music I created for the Status Quo project, you can listen to it via the link below, just so you can hear where I'm setting the bar with my current efforts.

Status Quo

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1527746583/the-status-quo-project

Sometimes I Don't Want to Be Polite

2011-09-04T07:25:00.001-05:00

Relationships are fertile ground for realizations about how I undermine my own efforts. It’s easiest to learn from the close relationships with people I see all the time, but the observations apply to a much broader spectrum of connections: people to whom I’ve sent music, people with whom I want to partner on a project, people from whom I want to learn. I don’t always know what to do differently, but noticing that I am doing something to get in my own way is definitely the first step.

Here’s the deal: I am generally a polite person, a considerate person, a “nice” person. I am generally tolerant and accepting of people’s idiosyncrasies, and I’m not threatened by points of view that differ from mine. All that is genuine and real as a personal baseline. But sometimes it becomes an act. Sometimes, I don’t actually want to be considerate or tolerant. Sometimes I want to be more direct in what I say, even what I would consider harsh and impolite. And instead I just pretend to be tolerant and accepting and “nice.”

That only works for so long, though. Eventually, I get fed up with pretending and decide that I’m through tolerating someone, and I let out the directness and the impoliteness and the harshness I was holding back. Actually, this very thing has occurred a couple of times in the past couple of weeks. Both times, I was actually rewarded for it, in a way. The people to whom I was being direct and harsh and impolite didn’t cut off all contact, they didn’t compete with me to see who could be harshest, and they didn’t throw a guilt trip on me for being impolite. They heard me through what I thought was a challenging degree of directness, and I got to see a more unguarded side to these people than I am usually granted access. Not what I expected.

After a lot of thought on these situations, I have come to believe that I was rewarded with people being unguarded with me because I was being unguarded with them. The “nice” act, when it is pretending and not sincere, is protection. The directness and harshness is real in that moment--my genuine feelings and thoughts. By the time I let myself go there, I am so fed up with someone’s behavior that it doesn’t seem like I have anything to lose. I am invulnerable at that point. Why bother being polite if I no longer care what somebody thinks or does? Why bother being nice if I have all but written someone off?

Except that I haven’t. It’s all an illusion, a trick my mind has played on me. I’m just as vulnerable (or invulnerable) when I am pretending to be nice as when I am over-the-top harsh and direct. And I never actually stop caring about what these individuals think or feel. When I actually stop caring, it’s usually because I am utterly convinced that nothing I can say or do will have any impact whatsoever on the person in question. I’m not harsh or direct or impolite with those people, I just literally stop trying to be anything at all to them. When I let myself get direct and impolite and harsh, somewhere inside I still believe that there is something of value to the connection, even if I don’t admit that in the moment so I can feel safe in expressing what I really want to say. When I’m vulnerable, I have to just pretend to be nice, but when I reach invulnerability, I can say what I really want. Twisted.

So, it isn’t the sincere and genuine considerate and nice behavior I want to change, and it isn’t really the directness either. I want to be unguarded enough to have high-quality connections with people, and sometimes that involves being vulnerable and saying something that might seem harsh in my head. Being polite doesn’t always serve people. Or me. And letting perceived vulnerability stand in my way has other adverse effects on what I want, too. Sometimes I avoid doing things that could build connections and create the opportunities I want for my music and my life, and I hesitate to make those phone calls or write those emails because I don’t want to bother someone. I want to be polite. I want to be nice. Except that I don’t really want to be nice. What I want in those moments is safety. I don’t want to be vulnerable.

This isn’t the case all the time, but in those moments when I choose perceived safety over acting on my own behalf, the sacrifice is great. I want to be a better advocate for myself, for what I see and what I want. The evidence in front of me is that, at least in close relationships, people value what I actually have to say, even when I let myself reach a point of frustration before I say it. There are plenty of times when genuine politeness is appropriate, but I don’t think I’m putting myself at risk of losing that quality if I stop pretending. Maybe I can even start expressing things directly and authentically without harsh tones if I don’t wait until I am fed up with a situation. Maybe sometimes I just won’t be polite.

Recognizing Opportunity's Knock

2011-08-28T10:06:00.000-05:00

Frustrating as it is, it's a bit of a boon when there is too much to write about. Sometime soon I want to write about the differences between composing electronic music and composing for an actual ensemble of performers. There are also some other relational lessons I've been getting this week, and I think they could be of value to other people, too. First and foremost, though, I want to say something about how I got involved with the Status Quo project.

Right out of grad school, I took the first teaching position I was offered, as an adjunct professor making a salary that put me just above the poverty line. I absolutely loved being in the classroom, although there were some aspects of the environment outside the classroom that were less enjoyable. When I was offered about three times that salary for a full-time position at a church (based on years of experience and education level), I left that teaching position. At the time, the head of the music school promised that he would review my curriculum vitae and write a letter of recommendation that would get me hired "at the school of my choice." After a couple of reminders and gentle inquiries, I gave up on that.

Actually, the whole experience tarnished my impression of academia to the point that my interest in finding another teaching position has been lackluster, even though I have feedback from many students telling me that I did my job well. I also have very fond memories of the musicians I taught, but instead of focusing exclusively on finding another job in academia, I've spent time searching for other opportunities.

After a year of chasing after a few "career" ideas that were not all I had hoped for, I decided to get specific about what really matters most to me, so I would more easily recognize opportunities that would have real value to me. What I wound up with was not surprising. (1) I want to be acknowledged for the things that I do well, for the skills and attributes that set me apart. After being in unsatisfying situations where I am just a warm body doing the same kinds of tasks that anyone else could do, I know that I want to be using my specific abilities. I suppose another way of saying it is, I want to be seen for who I am. (2) I also want to be a part of something bigger than myself. This seems natural for a composer who writes music for other musicians to perform, but it bears articulating. Collaboration is energizing to me. (3) Whatever I'm doing, I want there to be a real potential to make a bit of money. This seemed shallow to me at first, but some source of money is necessary, whether it's a salary, a commission, ticket sales, or a grant. Hiring musicians, renting out venues, printing costs, software... everything comes with a price tag. I want my efforts to at least pay for themselves.

I soon learned that I needed to add another caveat: No church work. There are plenty of opportunities for me to work in the Christian market, but most of them would require that I pretend to be something that I'm not. I actually enjoy the sound of a lot of the music, and I enjoy being a part of other people's spiritual growth. Churches are hotbeds of politics and power-trips, however, and few of them would feel confident with a known atheist at the piano. So, (4) I won't pretend to be something I'm not.

So, when we moved to Fort Worth in January, my sights were honed in on doing things for which I am specifically skilled, in collaboration with other people, with a real potential to make money, where I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. Having that clearly in front of me usually keeps me from being distracted by the idea that I have to put aside what I love in order to do something I don't enjoy to "earn a living". It also helped me to see a very exciting project that I might not have considered if I wasn't as clear about what I was looking for. I was actually poking around online looking for other musicians in the Fort Worth area, when I came across an ad for programmers and graphic designers to work on a new video game. As I read the rather compelling ad, I thought, I wonder if they have someone doing music.

It took the initiative to write an email and the willingness to let someone hear my work. It felt like a bold move in a way, but there was really no risk in it at all. Now, I am composing music for a video game in development, obviously with a team of other people working on different aspects of the project. The project just went up on Kickstarter.com, which is a way for investors to contribute a small amount to get something off the ground in exchange for some very creative perks. So, more to come about why composing electronic music has some advantages over composing acoustic music, but for now, I'll leave you with the Status Quo project listing on Kickstarter and you can hear a little bit of what I've written for it.

Wozzeck: Alban Berg Teaches about Creating Deep Understanding

2011-08-21T11:55:00.000-05:00

Some people are intimidated by foreign films because they don't understand the language. Some just say they don't want to read their way through a movie. I usually read the subtitles, but I also find that the most essential content is conveyed pretty clearly even though I don't understand the actual words. If I miss a line here or there, I don't find it necessary to rewind the movie in order to read what I missed. I often think that some people just like what's familiar, and they don't care to risk investing time and energy into an unknown quantity. There's nothing wrong with that, I suppose.

People are not all that different about music. We turn up our noses at music that isn't our preference, and we settle into listening patterns that are comfortable to us. A new song in a familiar style is only slightly intimidating, if at all. Throw an entirely unfamiliar style of music at someone and I think most people would be quick to judge it unappealing. I think this becomes more true if that unfamiliar style of music is somehow challenging to start with.

Which brings me to Wozzeck. I had the great pleasure of seeing the Santa Fe Opera production of Alban Berg's first opera this week. The work met with great success during Berg's lifetime, even though it presents some challenges to the audience. Musically, the opera does not follow a traditional understanding of tonality. No major or minor keys, and no melodies that sound like ornamented folk songs. The story itself focuses on poor people and those who take advantage of them. The main characters of the story are not really likeable, and at the same time there is something captivating about them.

Santa Fe Opera/photo by Ken Howard

If someone knew absolutely nothing about opera, Wozzeck might not be the first performance you'd think of suggesting, but I believe that Berg might be just right for a 21st century opera neophyte. The composer knew what he was creating held some challenges, and he made some decisions that actually help the listener follow the dramatic and emotional flow of the opera. For one thing, the music still sounds like the mood of the characters, even if it isn't overtly predictable. A lullaby still sounds like a lullaby, and someone descending into madness in a tavern sounds like someone descending into madness in a tavern. Berg also uses recurring melodic patterns (leitmotifs) that become recognizable even though they may not sound "tonal". Within each scene, there is also a focus to the music that fits the scene, whether it is an ominous focus on a single pitch in the orchestra or a rhythm that defines the scene. In other words, the music makes sense.

Santa Fe Opera/photo by Ken Howard

While another composer deciding to create an "atonal" opera might write a frustrating and illogical barrage of unrelated pitches, Berg allows the external and internal drama of the characters' lives to dictate the music. He introduces musical conventions that are now familiar to anyone who has heard a movie soundtrack in the past 30 years, because they are so incredibly and effectively evocative. Even though these elements may not sound like Mozart, they are easy to hear, and they help the music create the appropriate mood for what is happening dramatically. The music creates a depth of understanding instead of merely being an accompaniment or backdrop for the story.

Berg was doing something new, and he did it in such a way that his audience would have some access points. Yes, he challenged some well-established expectations, but he led listeners into understanding what he was doing rather than daring them to sit through an entire performance. I have sometimes done the latter, and not just musically. In expressing new ideas or challenging old ones, I have sometimes thrown down a gauntlet instead of leading people into understanding what I see. Sometimes I have even convinced myself that blatant opposition is the only way to get someone's attention. It's more dramatic to spit venom and dare people to oppose us, but that approach rarely actually gets us where we want to go. Berg managed to create connection, even when what he was doing was bound to challenge some people's way of seeing (or hearing) the world. So, it's possible. Perhaps as the visionaries and thought-leaders that we are or can be, we can do the same thing: create connection and lead people into understanding what we see.

Traveling like a Ruby-throated Hummingbird

2011-08-14T11:11:00.001-05:00

Hummingbirds have captured human imagination for millennia. In fact, the hummingbird is one of the figures depicted in the Nazca Lines. While any species of hummingbird is fascinating, the migration of the Ruby-throated Hummingbird is especially impressive. They travel from the Canadian prairies to Central America, crossing the Gulf of Mexico in one 500-mile non-stop trip. For the rest of their migration, they travel about 20 miles each day, although they can fly at speeds approaching 35 miles per hour. Unlike some migratory birds, Ruby-throated hummingbirds fly solo, each bird having its own internal map.

A one-hour exploration of the fascinating hummingbird.

Dozens of animals migrate. Even more have adapted to life in one locale. If a hummingbird suddenly questioned its internal map (something I don't really think a hummingbird can do, but stay with me here)... If a hummingbird questioned its internal map and looked to some other creature to follow, it would surely die. A hummingbird can't follow the migratory pattern of a goose or a fruit bat or a dogfish shark. And although there might be a narrowly-defined territory with the perfect consistent temperature and a plentiful food supply, the hummingbird is not wired to stick around in the same quarter-acre for its entire life. It has an instinctive drive to make an incredible bi-annual journey (well, maybe the hummingbird doesn't see it as incredible, but from the outside it certainly appears so).

When I look back at the last two years (and beyond), I have taken some direction from different sorts of creatures. Some creatures have found their meaning in a rigid organizational structure, some creatures have found their meaning in dollar figures, and some creatures have found their meaning in a set of ideals which they may or may not actually practice in everyday life. Some of the creatures I have looked to for direction run in packs with clearly defined leaders, some of them wander as herds, and some of them are predatory. To most of these creatures, their existence makes perfect sense. It's how they are wired. It's where they are comfortable. It's what they are willing to accept. Whatever. But a perfect environment for one creature is not a perfect environment for every creature.

A broad-billed hummingbird in flight.

Over the past few months (aided by a slight geographic change to a new city), I have started to recognize just how much I have judged my path by other people's standards. I invent the game of my life, but for some reason I have wanted to use other people's rules. Maybe I thought that other people knew more than me or knew better than me, and on some topics that would be absolutely accurate. On the topic of what makes for a fulfilling life, however, no one else has access to my internal map. I might be driven to bulk up and fly for 500 miles straight in what seems like a mad proposition (to some creatures), or I might jump from one nectar-rich idea to another so fast that other creatures think I'm inconsistent or unreliable. I know that I can fly pretty fast sometimes, but there are days when I spend 80% of my time digesting.

Hello, my name is Randy Partain. I am a composer and pianist who loves collaboration with other creative thinkers. I am a spiritually-minded atheist who still finds value in ideas from many religious traditions. I can be an incredible strategist and an insightful critic, and I usually listen well when other people speak. I have an internal map that may seem bizarre to some, but when I trust it I can travel like a Ruby-throated Hummingbird. It is a genuine pleasure to be able to introduce myself.

A Lesson from the Yard of the Month

2011-08-07T11:01:00.000-05:00

Yards are very brown right now where we live. The ground is dry and the grass is burnt. Signs along the road advise: Extreme Drought Conditions... Conserve Water. Looking at the yards on our block, the effects of the dry, hot weather are obvious. Unless you look at the house on the corner, that is.

The house on the corner has lush green grass, blooming flowers, and a sign in the front that proclaims "Yard of the Month" from a local nursery. I have some rather harsh judgment against a nursery that would encourage using the amount of water necessary to keep plants healthy when everyone is being urged to conserve what resources we have. It's hard for me not to make assumptions about the people who live in that house, and ultimately they wind up becoming symbolic of an irrational sense of entitlement in my mind.

Really, why do they think it's appropriate for them to waste a resource that we all must share just so their yard can be a little prettier than the yards around it? OK, it's a lot prettier than the yards around it. And it's not that I care about the appearance of someone's yard all that much... it's the principle of the thing. Shouldn't they be fined somehow? (I mean, over and above the hundreds of dollars they must be spending on their water bill.)

Then, through an interesting bit of synchronicity, I hear a little more about how water gets used in this country. About 52 percent of fresh surface-water consumed (and about 96 percent of the saline-water we use) goes toward producing electricity. 42 percent of the ground water the U.S. consumes actually irrigates agricultural land. Only 11 percent of the ground water our country uses goes toward public consumption, which includes water for drinking and bathing as well as washing cars and watering lawns. In all likelihood, the amount of water the people at the end of block used on their lawn to keep it gorgeous is not going to break the proverbial bank. They just make easy targets because I see their yard so often and it seems a less worthy recipient of the limited water supply than food-growers and power-producers.

Of course, they still have to pay the price on their water bill. I'm no more inclined now than I was before to spend hundreds of dollars just to combat nature on the issue of a lush green carpet of grass. It just doesn't matter that much to me. It obviously does matter that much to the folks at the end of the block. It matters enough that they are willing to spend a little (or a lot) more than other people in time, money, and labor. It matters enough that they are willing to go against the standard practices of the community, potentially making targets of themselves for people like me who drive past and heap judgments and criticisms. Sure, they may actually have an unwarranted sense of entitlement. I really don't know.

What I do know is that there are some things that matter that much to me. I don't always act like it. Sometimes fear of how much I will have to sacrifice stands in my way. Sometimes I wrestle with a fear of how other people will see me. I actually want to be more like those people with the lush lawn. I want to have the evidence of well-tended ideas and the lush fruits of creative effort, even when it involves doing something counter to what others are doing. Even if it means placing myself in the firing line for some one else's criticism.

Changing Horses Midstream

2011-07-31T10:17:00.000-05:00

In the midst of composing a theater piece for woodwind quintet and a set of miniatures for chamber ensemble over the past several weeks, I've also started the libretto for a first opera. The story is familiar, and it's been told many times over on the screen, and that's a good thing for a new opera. It's also a rather convoluted story, though, which means that a lot of information has to be conveyed to the audience in order for everything to make sense. That's more of a challenge in an opera.

Maybe it's worth taking a moment to explain that comment. In a book or a movie, even in a ballet, a great deal of information can be communicated through visual cues. When the camera pans to a particularly illuminating piece of evidence in crime drama, no one really has to say anything for the audience to interpret that it's significant. Some stories are about car chases and explosions and stunning visual effects. Operas are about emotion. In an opera, the most significant moments are when the momentum of the story stops and one or more characters reveal emotional responses to their circumstances that the audience relates to on a very deep level. Those moments are more difficult to plan when a great deal of detailed factual information has to be communicated as well.

It's possible that I chose poorly in terms of opera subject, but as I was thinking of this a few days ago, the thought occurred to me: Well, what story would make for great opera, given this understanding of the art form? So I outlined a different tale altogether, conscious of where arias and ensembles would work well, and limiting the amount of factual information that would have to be communicated at any given point in the story. What I wound up with is a compelling and interesting tale with plenty of opportunity for the characters to give us some glimpse into their psyche. My only concern with its viability at this point is that it's not a story everyone already knows, and most new operas are adaptations of best-selling novels or award-winning films.

Still, it isn't easy to let go of the original plan. I had shared the idea with a few trusted people. I've already done quite a bit of work on it. It seems like a bit of a failure to give up on the idea and switch to something else. Of course, I'm not deleting what I've written so far or throwing my hard drive into the fire, and I can come back to it at some later date. But there are so many societal lessons that I'm ignoring about perseverance, staying the course, sticking with the plan, and on and on. You aren't supposed to change horses midstream, right? I know the new story has more potential as an effective opera, and I'm pretty excited about telling that story. There's just a bit of judgment against changing course that's getting in the way of fully embracing it.

Sometimes changing course is the wisest decision.

Idioms and platitudes aside, the new idea is more workable, and I'm going to follow through and see what I'm able to create with it. I actually think that starting with the more challenging idea is what got me to the better idea, so it wasn't wasted time in the least. There are times when the bit about staying the course might make sense, but there is no reason to remain loyal to a plan that is clearly fraught with problems when another plan avoids those problems while still getting to a desired outcome. After all, my purpose--my desired outcome--is to compose a compelling and enjoyable opera. Sometimes, radical change to a plan of action just makes the most sense.

Creativity Breeds Creativity

2011-07-24T10:08:00.012-05:00

Sometimes creativity is like a
hidden staircase.

Last week, I finished a theater piece for woodwind quintet. At times during the process of composing it, I struggled with the idea that being creative means not being responsible or dependable. I have this idea in my head that one can potentially lose oneself in creative pursuits -- that giving in too much to creativity can lead one far from "normal" society. I know this is a ridiculous thing for a composer to believe, but since I was raised with the idea that it's very important to be a responsible, mature person, it's a challenge when creativity seems to threaten that.

I'm probably a bit more conscientious than necessary most of the time. Truth be told, I'm not at risk for being labeled unreliable by anyone who knows me. When I was in the midst of this woodwind quintet piece and I felt that I was limiting myself, caging in what I allowed myself to create, I made a different decision than what I have sometimes made. I leapt over the precipice of creativity without worrying about any beliefs that might tether me in some imaginary place of safety.

Something happened. Not only am I very satisfied with the piece I just completed, but in the past few days, I composed a set of improvisatory miniatures. I just followed a little germ of inspiration and allowed my creativity to be important. I've also started formulating a plan to find or assemble an ensemble in Fort Worth, I'm continuing to move forward with a libretto for a first opera, and I've begun to assemble some writing for self-publication. I also started a new blog a couple of weeks back to articulate some thoughts about spirituality. And all of these projects are stimulating and exciting.

Fully claiming the identity of creator disallows feeble excuses and supercharges intention. Instead of complaining that a certain situation doesn't exist or may be difficult to find, I'm realizing (again) that I'm responsible for creating the situations I want in my life. And being creative with one thing has sparked my creativity across the board. I haven't heard any reports that I've become unreliable or irresponsible. What I am in this space is more reliable and responsible to myself. I know that there will be challenges at some point, but it's always easier to return to something once I know what it feels like.

My Own Worst Enemy

2011-07-16T13:17:00.001-05:00

As I've mentioned before, learning is like a spiral. I keep encountering the same issues over and over again, but I usually get to approach them from a slightly new perspective. This week, it was the idea of asking for what I want (which seems to have been on my mind about a year ago as well). The challenge hasn't been in knowing what I want or how to articulate it. Rather, I have this sense that people who are bold about stating what they want are jerks, to put it mildly.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I respect people who state what they want clearly, and I appreciate knowing what matters to someone. The option is to play guessing games, and that often winds up just being an exercise in frustration. So really, my belief about stating what I want is that people are going to think that I am a jerk. So, it's more about vulnerability and opening myself up to other people's judgment. And if I'm honest about it, this means I often fear that other people will be a threat to getting what I want rather than a boon. When I think about it intellectually, this is a silly fear, but it's still a fear.

So, even though I appreciate it when people are clear about what they want, the prospect of clearly expressing what I want has been intimidating. The way I often perceive it, stating what I want puts me at other people's mercy. Other people can determine whether I deserve what I want or not, and they get to decide whether they are going to help or hinder. Of course, the irrational fear is that people are more likely to choose to hinder me than help me. So, when I state what I want, I have to be strong about it. Defiant even. No wonder I'm afraid of coming across like a jerk.

But I don't want to come across as being a jerk, so I just keep my mouth shut about what I actually want and complain under my breath about not getting it. When I really think about it, there are other options. Stating what I want doesn't place any responsibility on someone else to make sure I get it. Creating what I want is still up to me, and being clear about it can make all sorts of decisions easier. Other people can play a part in that creation, but the responsibility for making what I want important is mine and mine alone. While a few people have chosen to put obstacles in my path from time to time, others have been invaluable. And although I don't know this, I suspect that the people who chose to make a situation more difficult than it could have been probably would have done so whether or not they knew what I wanted.

The best way for me to get what I want is to ask for it and trust in my ability to create it. In personal relationships, this looks like what some people would call defining the relationship, being willing to say what I want clearly and being willing to listen to what the other person wants. With the music I compose, it means creating without second guessing my vision for a piece, and diligently building relationships with performers so that the music can be heard. Being honest with myself about what I really want in any given situation might mean setting the bar fairly high. Personally, I would rather reap the benefits of dedication to a high standard than spend time complaining about not getting what I want.

Creating Experiential Music (as the economy and technology impact art music)

2011-07-10T10:14:00.000-05:00

Depending on who you ask, art music faces its share of challenges in America right now. Popular music also has its share of difficulties, although live concerts are still lucrative enough forms of entertainment to keep booking them. When the topic turns from popular musicians to orchestras, operas, and other classical musicians, organizations have had an increasingly tough time selling tickets and getting enough revenue to stay in operation. This is the point at which nearly everyone becomes an economist, at least as far as their own survival in a field goes. Some people believe in waiting for a return to the way things were, and for some companies this probably makes sense, especially in terms of my personal conclusion: just sitting and listening isn't enough for most people anymore.

The younger the generation, the more likely they are to be in a constant state of activity, perpetually typing or browsing tweets and updates on Facebook, or emails if they're feeling "old school," listening to a carefully selected stream of music that suits their personal tastes, perpetually mentally active in jumping from one focus to another. This isn't a judgment against anyone, it simply is the way a lot of people operate. Technology has become more portable, and more pervasive in people's lives, which may be leading to the normalization of shorter attention spans. It certainly means that people never have to be lacking for a distraction if they get bored for a moment.

No one frowns on a distracted outdoor audience member texting.

At a sporting event or a rock concert, a person can whip out a smartphone and send off pictures of everyone having fun without causing any sort of disturbance. At a movie theater, it becomes invasive, but some people still can't resist the urge to pull up that bright distraction at a slow moment--or maybe they're just enjoying themselves so much that they feel compelled to share it with someone who isn't there. Audience members in a concert hall for a classical music performance are not encouraged to exercise the same freedom of distraction. The music is expected to be engaging enough that people shouldn't have trouble paying attention for an entire symphony. It almost becomes an unspoken bit of snobbery that if you can't enjoy sitting quietly through a performance, then you don't belong in the classical music audience.

This would be a great perspective if classical music performances were consistently sold out, but the American art music audience is shrinking. Rather than suggesting that people be encouraged to multi-task themselves through a boring moment in [insert name of well-known dead composer here], I believe that musicians and organizations interested in growing an audience of music lovers can do some things to make performances more consistently engaging. This belief is informing the music I've been writing.

I've seen plenty of great ideas poorly executed. I've been to concerts in which some kind of slide show was projected onto a screen while music was performed, "to engage the senses" or something of the sort. I've also been to small recitals where the live music was alongside experimental film that added another dimension to the subject matter and emotional content of the music. At a well-choreographed ballet, there is always something to pay attention to. Even when everything is still, there is an anticipation that something is about to move. In an opera, audience members are watching a story unfold, and the emotions of the characters get much more attention than the often two-dimensional characters in movies. So, there are already precedents for art music to be more engaging that just sitting and listening, and some organizations carry it off very effectively.

For the music that I'm composing, I am thinking more in terms of a theater piece than a recital. When music can be downloaded and heard at the listener's convenience, I think a live performance has to be more than just the sound of a piece. While a performing ensemble can take steps in that direction, I'm composing more than just notes in my current projects. It's not a new idea by any means, but it is taking a step beyond where I have previously been as a composer. It's helping me to think more intentionally about what the audience will experience.

The unknown challenge before me next is to connect with performing ensembles that are interested in going a little beyond the norm in a public performance. Essentially, that translates to marketing my music. Even though this requires an entirely different skill set from the actual composition of the piece, it's another vital step in the creation of a compelling performance. More to come on where that process takes me.

Why Christians Should Back Down on Gay Marriage

2011-07-03T11:53:00.000-05:00

...confronting a couple of big flaws in the vehement Conservative Christian opposition.

Independence Day is tomorrow, and our country celebrates freedom from tyrannical rule. Yet there are some who would prefer to enforce tyrannical rule on others. There are some who seemingly cannot accept the possibility that their perception of things is not the only "right" way. I am thinking here of those Conservative Christian spokespeople who still argue with great passion against the legalization of gay marriage. While I am a straight, married man, at various times my wife and I have both worked closely with people who are homosexual, and some of our closest friends are gay. Some of these individuals have more solid monogamous relationships than some heterosexual couples we know. It seems at first glance that the issue doesn't really affect me directly, but it also seems incongruous to celebrate historical freedom while ignoring current inequalities.

I don't actually think anyone needs to defend gay marriage. When people open their eyes and see homosexual couples in the light of truth, I trust that they will find nothing more than people with all the same relationship joys and sorrows as heterosexual couples. The problem is that ignorance and volatile rhetoric can stand in the way of seeing all people with equal honesty. As far as I can tell, the Conservative Christian argument against gay marriage is based on two ideas. The first is that marriage should be between a man and a woman, and the second is that homosexuality is in and of itself sinful. These somewhat dishonest premises deserve a closer look before anyone uses them to judge a group of human beings.

There is no biblical absolute regarding "one-man, one-woman" marriage. There may be a legal precedent in this regard, but legal definitions of things are revised as a society evolves. Basing a concept of what relationships should look like on a culture thousands of years and thousands of miles away seems ludicrous to begin with, but a little reading reveals that the modern Christian idea of marriage is not really a scriptural concept. At best, it's an interpretation based on cultural norms.

Sure, at the very beginning of the Bible, Adam and Eve are touted as the first people in the book of Genesis. Then, we cover five generations in a single sentence just a few chapters later, and we read that Lamech (Adam's great-great-great-great grandson) married two women. It isn't judged as to its morality, it is simply a statement of fact. Lamech doesn't face any particular hardship or punishment because of this polygamy. A little further along in Genesis, Abraham's wife, Sarai, suggests that he sleep with her handmaiden, as if there's nothing morally problematic about it. From there on, there is matter-of-fact discussion of men taking multiple wives and concubines throughout the Old Testament. The children of concubines are considered legitimate heirs, and these women are treated as members of the household.

In fact, the Bible instructs that when a man takes a second wife, he is still obligated to clothe and feed his first one (Exodus 21:10). Gideon, a righteous man who brought 40 years of peace to Israel, had many wives (Judges 8:30), and Solomon, considered to be the wisest man in the Old Testament, had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines (1 Kings 11:2-3). All of this is before Jesus, though, so it's understandable that Christians would discount the premise of the first two-thirds of a holy book in favor of a concept of marriage proclaimed in the New Testament. Except that there is nothing in the New Testament proclaiming that marriage must be between one man and one woman either.

Jesus tells a parable about seven virgins who are waiting on a bridegroom, suggesting that a one-man, seven-women marriage was not an unthinkable idea. Paul writes in his first letter to Timothy that an "overseer" in the church should be (among other things) the husband of but one wife, which implies that there are other reasonable possibilities. Nearly everything that Christians interpret about one-man, one-woman marriage is external to the actual Bible and then interpreted back into their holy scriptures.

I understand that just because the Bible contains information about something, this does not imply approval. The challenges and pitfalls of having multiple wives are clearly indicated, just as the challenges and pitfalls of many other situations are illuminated. Adultery, which would presumably be sexual relations outside of the approved household, is frequently discussed as a sin, but sexual relations within a marriage relationship are never condemned, no matter how many wives one has. Adultery is actually deemed wrong in one sense because it is equivalent to theft, stealing another man's property (wife).

There is a blatant bias in this discussion, in that a man can have multiple wives (with all of the joy and hardship it may bring), but a woman cannot have multiple husbands. Culturally, women were not deemed full-fledged people when these scriptures were written, so it's difficult to see how any commentary about marriage between two equal human beings can be entirely based on biblical writings. It must be accepted that some amount of adjustment and updating is required because our culture is different from the culture of ancient people. Otherwise, any discussion of marriage based on Christian scripture should assume the reasonableness of polygamy and the status of women as valuable property. So how does one pick and choose what to update and what to let stand as it is written? The one-man, one-woman definition of marriage does not hold up to scrutiny as a biblical basis for denying homosexuals the right to marry.

Claiming that homosexuality is sinful also doesn't hold water as a legal argument, since the distinction between absolute legal issues and subjective moral matters is at the heart of the separation of church and state. Using assumed sinfulness is a bit of a cowardly approach to begin with, since the Christian stance is that everyone is sinful in some way and cannot be otherwise. According to the actual scriptures, no human being can live a perfect life free of sin, but it makes sense for church leaders seeking power or popularity to pick and choose which sins get the most attention. I have never heard of protesters picketing public ceremonies with signs reading: GOD HATES THE HEARTLESS or GOD HATES GOSSIPS.

Based on the idea that homosexuals should be denied legal equality because they are sinful, there are a lot of other groups to whom we should deny rights. Since Jesus never actually spoke against homosexuality, Christians have to use the words of the apostle Paul, who mentioned it in two of his 13 letters which made it into the Bible. In Paul's letter to the Romans, just after he mentions men "committing indecent acts" with other men, Paul includes among the sinful greedy people, envious people, people who cause strife, deceitful people, arrogant people, people who spread gossip, boastful people, heartless people, ruthless people, and more. If we took to heart the assumption that we should exclude rights to all those who sin by the standards of the Christian Bible, we would not be able to justify a free society on any level. Capitalism is, at its very core, sinful by these standards. And people who are allowed to arrogantly proclaim that they know what God wants have already condemned themselves.

If we just measure by the seven "deadly" sins of greed, envy, gluttony, lust, pride, sloth, and wrath, it would seem that homosexuals who desire a monogamous marriage relationship are not committing a sin. People of any sexual persuasion who desire intimacy outside of marriage could be considered lustful, and there are plenty of Conservative Christians who get caught with their proverbial and literal pants down. Actually, for a religion with a primary mandate to love, the Christian church manages to spew an incredible amount of judgment and hatred, which seems pretty close to pride and wrath from where I'm sitting.

Like everyone else in America, Christians are entitled to their opinions, but that doesn't mean that their opinions should form the foundation of national law, especially when their opinions are based on the flimsiest of premises. There is no clear "one-man, one-woman" definition of marriage in the Bible, and although homosexual behavior (outside of marriage) is considered sinful by one New Testament writer, so are a multitude of other behaviors practiced by Christians day in and day out. It is utterly senseless (another sin Paul lists in the first chapter of Romans) to allow for cultural interpretation in the matter of biblical polygamy and to stringently cling to a scriptural condemnation of homosexual relationships.

I find it hard to believe that I am the first person to point out these inconsistencies. Maybe all of this has been said by others, in which case I am happy to add my words in support. As a member of the arts community, I operate in close contact with gay people, straight people, and people who don't share that kind of information with me. They are all people, and I cannot see any rational reason that any of them should have more or less rights than anyone else. Especially in a country which celebrates freedom from tyranny.

Expert Opinions

2011-06-26T10:44:00.000-05:00

In a recent discussion among a group of professional musicians and artists, I was stuck by the comment, We're all experts at something... It would probably be an accurate statement in any group, but it's quite different from a phrase often used by one of the leaders in another group with which I worked: None of us here is an expert... I think these two very different perspectives open up possibilities for very different results.

The word "expert" has actually become suspiciously uninformative. According to Tim Ferris, you can legitimately call yourself an expert if you've read the three top-selling books on a topic. Perhaps in some situations that's enough, but it isn't always sufficient for me to trust my knowledge of a subject. I am much more confident claiming to be an expert in the field of music, because I've been doing that for over 30 years. I guess from my perspective, experience has something to do with the definition of an expert. There are a few other niches that I feel qualified to call myself an expert as well, but there are also other people from whom I could learn a thing or two. Even within the broad field of music, there are areas that I don't consider myself expert, like playing bassoon or crafting a violin. So whether one is legitimately qualified as an expert sometimes depends on the context as well.

For someone to state, "None of us is an expert here," is intended to open up creative and full participation from everyone present. If no one is an expert, then everyone's opinion is equally valid. If no one is an expert, then no one can pass judgment on the ideas that are shared. But if no one is an expert, then everything shared becomes reduced to opinion and decisions get made based on the most powerful personalities rather than the most accurate data. If no one is an expert, then it actually devalues the collective experiences of the group. This is a great way to preserve the status quo, but not a great way to move forward and grow.

"We are all experts at something," is equally intended to encourage creative and full participation from everyone present, except with a bit more wisdom and insight thrown into the mix. It begs the question, "What is my area of expertise? What do I know more about than most people here?" It means that everyone has something to offer, but it also means that everyone has something to learn. You are an expert at something, and everyone else here is an expert at something. No one is better than anyone else in that case. Everyone simply has something different to bring to the table.

I'm not trying to hide which perspective I respect more. The most productive, honest, and healthy situation I can imagine for a group is one in which everyone's expertise is acknowledged and valued. In assembling a group for a special project, it makes sense to bring together people that have different pockets of expertise that are important to the task. This is obviously more valuable than just a group of willing people without a clue.

The trick is recognizing one's own strengths and weaknesses and being willing to bring both forward. Some people don't want to bring their strengths to the foreground because they want to be modest or humble, or they think that their ideas will be shot down, or they doubt the value of their own experience. Others live under the impression that they don't actually have any weaknesses, that there is nothing they need to learn and no task that someone else could do better. Both are equally dysfunctional. As the philosopher admonished, "Know thyself." A wise person is willing to fully claim their expertise and fully accept the expertise of others. And a group of people with that attitude in place could do something truly remarkable.

Being Wrong

2011-06-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

At one point, I worked with an organization whose members endeavored not to make other people wrong. It was an actual agreement among the leadership of the organization, but it was also a practice encouraged among its members. Not making other people wrong may seem like an awkward turn of phrase, but it essentially means accepting the validity of someone else's feelings and perspectives without insisting on being right. When we get into a right and wrong mindset, it is usually ourselves we would prefer to be right and the other person we'd prefer be wrong, so agreeing not to make another person wrong is a way of saying, "I don't need to be right. I'm open to other perspectives and ideas."

The intent, of course, was to encourage creativity and out-of-the-box thinking, as well as receptivity and open-mindedness. If I won't be criticized for what I say because no one going to make me wrong, then I'll be a lot more likely to contribute my ideas. The problem is that sometimes people are wrong. Sometimes, people have faulty or incomplete information, and sometimes people draw erroneous conclusions from the information they have. There are people and groups that continue banging their heads against proverbial walls because no one tells them that they're not looking at useful or accurate data.

Now, you may conclude that there is a way to indicate that data is inaccurate or incomplete without insisting that an individual is "wrong". That may have been the whole point of the agreement not to make other people wrong. But when a person is on the receiving end of that communication, it can be pretty easy for our minds to translate even well-thought-out criticism as, "I'm wrong". On top of that, one can spend so much effort verbally distinguishing a belief from the believer that any real meaning is lost.

Of course, belief is the whole issue. Once I look at a set of numbers and draw a conclusion, that conclusion quickly becomes a belief of mine, whether it's accurate or not. Challenging someone's beliefs is a big deal. It's understandable why a person would feel attacked when personal beliefs are on the line. As you might imagine, many discussions degenerated into whether or not someone had made someone else wrong and never really got back to meaningful topics. Sometimes everyone just drew different conclusions, and there was no way to reconcile them all into one perspective. Even when you know that someone's information is inaccurate, if you don't want to be accused of making them wrong, you have to come up with just the right way to convince them to reexamine what they believe without having the tables turned back on your own beliefs.

The result of that seemingly noble agreement was that everyone's ideas and perspectives were not equally considered, and everyone's conclusions were not equally scrutinized. Nor should they have been necessarily, except that the claimed framework for interaction suggested otherwise. Just having a policy of honesty and maintaining an open forum where being wrong was OK would have been much easier and, I think, more effective.

I am sometimes wrong. Everyone I know is sometimes wrong. We get information and draw conclusions. When we get more information, we confirm or adjust those conclusions. We're doing this constantly. There's no way that anyone can go through life without believing something that's a little bit off at some point. The challenge for me is not to avoid making other people wrong; it's to be willing to accept when I am wrong about something. It's not the end of the world. If it's a big deal not to make someone else wrong, that becomes a threatening situation. If someone suggests that I'm wrong, I have to defend myself because they're out of line? Not really. If we never figure out where we are wrong in our conclusions, we can never improve anything, unless it's sheer luck.

There isn't necessarily a right and wrong in every situation, and some people will point out a perceived mistake when they don't have accurate information themselves. Sometimes, there is absolutely a gentle way to let someone else know that they've jumped to a conclusion that doesn't quite make sense, and I'm all in favor of providing more useful data to someone if they're willing to hear. I think words spoken in love will always be easier to hear. But the biggest thing is not being afraid to be wrong. It will happen. Best to have trustworthy people around you who will send up the red flags rather than perform semantic acrobatics.

Taking the Music Where It Wants to Go

2011-06-12T09:37:00.000-05:00

Earlier this year, I started work on a woodwind quintet. I had been thinking about the piece for awhile, but it wasn't until a few months ago that I set aside time to actually put notes down on the page. For a few weeks, the writing was going well. We were busy with a move and getting settled in a new city, but I was able to work on the piece consistently enough that the ideas were cohesive. Since I had a clear impression of the musical ideas I was using, the composition flowed fairly easily. That is, until it didn't.

At one point, in early May, I hit an obstacle with the piece, and I didn't know what it was. I was simply dissatisfied with what I was creating. The piece was becoming complicated, unwieldy to perform, and overly demanding to the listener. I was not enthusiastic about working on the music, and I found myself making excuses or finding distractions to avoid the piece. I knew that I had somehow gone astray with the piece, but I wasn't sure what to do about it.

So, I worked on other things for awhile. I allowed myself to set the quintet on a back burner and started doing more with recording, focusing on a completely different kind of piece. After a few weeks of wrestling with computer issues, fine-tuning virtual drums, and learning more about vocal recording, I had a good start on a recording of an original song. Somewhere in the midst of that process, I also realized something about the quintet: I was trying to take the piece in a direction it didn't need (or want) to go.

Although it may be a strange way to look at musical ideas, there are a few natural directions for them to evolve over the course of a piece and there are tons of awkward, tedious, or uninteresting directions they can go. In working with the quintet, I had begun to make things more complicated than they needed to be, taking the music in directions that were forced and unnatural. Once I realized that by keeping things simple I could actually create a more effective piece, I was ready to dive back into composing the quintet.

At this point, I'm expecting to complete the writing-the-notes-down-on-the-page portion of the compositional process in the next couple of days. Then there are some other performance elements of the piece that I am eager to tackle, keeping in mind that these things can be both simple and effective. Working with creative ideas is a partnership of sorts, whether it's music or color or words or movement. There are certain traps I sometimes fall into about how complicated or difficult a piece of music has to be in order to be considered "legitimate". When I remember that I care more about the music being an effective and compelling experience for the listener, my choices almost always become clearer.

Lessons from "Hydrogen Jukebox"

2011-06-05T09:57:00.000-05:00

Photo by Ron T. Ennis/Fort Worth Opera

I attended a performance of Hydrogen Jukebox presented as part of Fort Worth Opera's 2011 Festival. The music is by Philip Glass, and the text is by Allen Ginsberg. The two of them actually collaborated on the project; it wasn't just a matter of the composer grabbing text he liked and running with it. I think that sort of partnership can really pay off with presentational art, even though I don't really know how well they worked together.

Truth be told, I don't really like putting on a set of headphones and listening to Philip Glass compositions. In some institutions of higher learning, his music is ridiculed because of its simplicity. Heck, I've made fun of his music with a room full of theory students. Though it may not be explicitly said, the message in some composition programs comes across as, "Write whatever you like, as long as it sounds complicated enough to impress someone." Minimalism a la Philip Glass certainly does not apply.

What they don't bring into the conversation, though, is the fact that so much of the music Glass writes is only part of the overall experience. There is also choreography or staging or other engaging presentational elements that go hand-in-hand with the music. In the context for which it was created, the music becomes not only highly appropriate but incredibly effective. I walked out of Hydrogen Jukebox thinking (among other things), "How has this work not been programmed in this country for 20 years!?"

The music is rather repetitive, although there is a fair bit of variety over the course of the entire piece. Still, just looking at the score could trigger all manner of preconceived notions of how boring minimalist music can be. It is a widely-held belief that if an arts organization dares to program "new" music, it will lose a significant portion of its audience. I don't know how true that actually is, but if that concern exists, then an organization is likely to consider a minimalist composer so niche within the realm of "new" music that it would have additional hurdles to clear. Convincing a ticket-buying public to come and see something they start off thinking they'll hate is not an appealing prospect.

It also doesn't have a real plot. The official term for Hydrogen Jukebox is 'melodrama', and as such there are no clearly-defined stock characters involved in typical operatic relationships. There are singers, and there is action, but it isn't easy to say what the story is about. Even the most convoluted traditional opera can be summed up in a couple of sentences well enough for a potential audience member to know what to expect. It can potentially be more of a challenge to interest people in a relatively unknown work that doesn't fit neatly into a pre-packaged formula.

The subject matter is also mature, which to some people means unsafe. Ginsberg's poetry challenges society to a potentially uncomfortable level of self-examination which only becomes more poignant when set effectively to music. Compared to just hearing the poem read, music allows for longer pauses between sung lines. Instead of waiting for someone to say what comes next in the poem, an audience can accept that instrumental space between the words is part of the setting, and this allows the words a few more moments to sink in. And what sinks in is challenging. In a time when some people are looking for a reason to complain, a piece that is blatantly more than sheer entertainment is ripe for criticism.

Don't get me wrong. People complain plenty when their entertainment isn't exactly how they expect it to be. Heaven forbid a work of art should actually make them think as well. Even though that mindset only describes a very small portion of the art-viewing public, it's no fun for an organization to defend itself against such an onslaught of ignorance. When there are safer works out there with more widespread appeal and less preconceived opinions to fend off, I suppose I can see why Hydrogen Jukebox isn't programmed somewhere in the country every year. But it should be.

Photo by Ellen Appel/Fort Worth Opera

The themes about war, gender identity, societal values, love, environmentalism, and homosexuality are as appropriate today as they were when the work premiered in 1990, if not more so. The music is accessible, and as I have said, impeccably engaging in the context of the work. And whatever fears or preconceived notions may send up red flags for a company considering programming the work, the Fort Worth Opera's production was completely sold out before the festival even opened. Considering all of the potential challenges that seem inherent with a work like Hydrogen Jukebox, it's worth noting that most of the handful of complaints about the production came from people who didn't even deign to attend a performance.

I take a lot away from all of this. Once again, I am reminded that music does not need to be complicated in order to be enjoyable or effective or "aesthetically viable," and I have an opportunity to reassess some of my current projects. I am convinced even more strongly of the power of theatrical elements to attract an audience to a live performance in an age where music can be downloaded for a dollar. I also see how insignificant potential potholes can turn into mountainous obstacles in my own mind, how a few ridiculous complaints from self-important individuals can cast the illusion that the entire world is against something, and how much more powerful authentic art is than any amount of ignorance or prejudice.

Poem for Memorial Day

2011-05-29T14:19:00.000-05:00

[Initially, I had a rather complex indention scheme for this poem, which does not work well in this particular electronic interface. I learned a bit about indenting lines in html, still was not pleased with the rendering on the screen, and so made some adjustments and adapted. In any case, it was a short lesson in recognizing when an ideal may be a bit precious when creativity meets practical reality.]

Memorial (for soldiers known and unknown)

I honor you, O soldier,
who has fought and died with impassioned conviction.
I honor your commitment to a purpose, to an unassailable belief,
whether that belief welled up from within your soul
or manifested through intense indoctrination;
I honor the hard and fast lines of your truth,
even as I vehemently disagree with them.

In honoring you, I do not endorse the military industrial complex,
that hydra god
which can never be memorialized in its undying profits.
I honor your humanity,
your finite strength and infinite fallibility,
I honor your humanity,
your reckless courage and poorly hidden fear,
I honor your humanity,
O soldier who has fought and died.

You fought and died
for that elusive ideal labeled Freedom.
You fought and died
for inalienable rights
which can neither be conferred nor revoked by any human endeavor,
you fought and died
that power should remain in the hands of those
with the loudest voices and the deepest pockets,
you fought and died
that people who are as safe as anyone can possibly be
might believe that they are more secure than anyone can possibly be;
you fought and died
that the unborn might have the right to choose oblivion
over childhoods of poverty and neglect;
you fought and died
that consenting adults
might follow their sexual proclivities with impunity;
you fought and died
that any who prefer to do so
may wish a person Happy Holidays without fear of reprisal;
you fought and died
that the wealthy might entice the desperate
to orgiastic acts of depravity,
filmed and broadcast for the working class on pay-per-view;
you fought and died
with a steadfast devotion to people who never cared to know you,
clutching your military rosary beads, the chain of command.

You fought and died,
and the time of accountability for your actions has ended.
You are exonerated, if such a need exists.
You have served well and fully,
and though deserving of rest, you shall instead be immortalized
in the spittle of screed-spewing politicians,
and on the forked tongues
of those power hungry paragons of talk-radio buffoonery,
who confuse hatred for patriotism
and rhetoric for wisdom.
They offer fruit from a tree of jingoism
cloaked in the black-and-white moral absolutism of religion,
fruit to cure the unashamed nakedness of those who believe
that they are free indeed.
You are the branch from which that fruit is so often plucked.
In becoming a shibboleth for national pride,
however warranted or undeserving,
you have become sterile,
automaton, holy, stylized,
inhuman.

I honor you in your frailty,
for in that human susceptibility we are united.

I honor you in your frailty, O grandfather,
who called himself a soldier of the cross.
You fought in no national war, but your battles were manifold.
You were the serenity of Christ,
You were the joy of Christ,
You sang mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy
in the voice of Christ.
In honoring you,
I do not endorse the conservative evangelical Christian institution,
for which hatred and bigotry are justified
toward infidels and nonbelievers,
which cries out for justice for others and grace for itself.
You were the mind of Buddha and the love of Buddha
and the passivity of Buddha,
You were the delight of Krishna and the passion of Krishna
and the wisdom of Krishna.

Buddha Krishna Christ,
whose lap I sat upon to read;
Buddha Krishna Christ,
who spoke love
when others spoke admonishment;
Buddha Krishna Christ,
who cut down trees with a chainsaw
for his wife to have a better view of the mountains;
Buddha Krishna Christ,
who was walked upon
by those whom he loved;
Buddha Krishna Christ,
who knew that people never listen
and who spoke anyway.

When you were old, you stretched out your hands
and someone else dressed you
and led you where you did not want to go.
Instead of security,
those whom you held dear placed stones about you
and cast you into a river whose surface you had never breached,
a river with many names,
the foremost among them Ignorance and Greed.
You were the sacrificial lamb for the sake of a few.
You did not rise again after three days,
yet your absolution was immutable love.

I honor you, O soldier,
who fought and died in another’s war,
your true dignity arising not from uniform or adornment,
but from human perseverance and conviction.
I honor you, O soldier,
who has fought and died.
We are not united by cause or belief,
but by something much deeper.

--Randolph Partain
May 29, 2011

Longing to Do Something... Anything

2011-05-22T13:34:00.000-05:00

Just this week, we signed the papers to lease our house in Houston. It's an immense load off of my mind, since it had become frustrating to pay a mortgage on a house we weren't living in. The place had been on the lease market for just a few weeks, but it was on the sale market since January. So for the past few months, we have just been waiting, and even though we had a real estate agent, she really didn't give us many suggestions to get the house to sell. Sometimes, I wished for some assignment or recommendation for action, even if it ultimately only served to keep me busy doing something. Sitting around and waiting with nothing to do felt a bit helpless.

I'm sure there are a lot of people in the same position right now, the housing market being what it is. Since I'm the kind of person who likes to stay busy, I wanted to know what I could do to improve the chances of the house selling. What color should I paint the walls? Should we replace the windows? What kind of flowers should we plant out front? Do we need to pressure wash the brick? Will replacing the carpet make a difference? Should we stage the house in a particular way? It ultimately wouldn't have mattered what I was doing exactly, I just wanted to feel like I was doing something to contribute to the house selling. Maybe one new task every month or something. Enough for me to have a clear sense of action, plus a little breathing room in between to evaluate if it made a difference.

If it doesn't already exist, it seems to me that there is a great career opportunity for a specialist who crunches the numbers and determines what malleable features are consistent among a high percentage of homes that are bought in a particular geographic area. The color of the walls, the texture of the carpet, the size of the oven, the type of flowers by the front door. Sure, a lot of those things can be changed by a new owner, but I know from personal experience that if I decide I can live with something until I have a little extra time and money to fix it, it could be a long time before I have a little extra money and time. There's a big advantage to having something meet my specifications right out of the gate.

Now, I'm not suggesting that any of the little cosmetic changes I could have made would really have had any impact on whether the house sold or not. I'm simply saying that a big part of me wanted to have something to do. I wanted to feel like I was moving toward the goal of selling the house, and sitting back and doing nothing didn't feel like movement at all. Our real estate agent was trying to save us unnecessary hassle and expense, weighing how much of an impact various factors would have based on a wealth of experience. I'm grateful for the honest and conscientious feedback about how little control I had in the situation, even though I didn't like it.

Even though I don't consider myself to be a control freak, it still bugs me when I am in a position of just waiting with nothing to do. Sometimes, though, there really isn't anything meaningful to be done. Our busyness simply serves the same purpose as blowing on a hot spoonful of food: It doesn't really change the temperature of the food, but it gives us something to do for a moment or two while the food cools off naturally. If we didn't take that moment of ineffectual activity, we might burn our tongues a lot more often. I think the trick for me is to honestly recognize the actual value (or lack of value) of my activity and weigh whether that time and effort could be more enjoyably spent doing something else. I suppose there really is no harm in spending my waiting time in fruitless activity, provided I'm clear that I'm really just keeping myself entertained.

Judgment Is Belief Used as a Weapon

2011-05-15T11:11:00.000-05:00

Driving down the freeway, I saw an old van spewing exhaust fumes in a cloud behind it. My immediate thought was, What a jerk! (Actually, it was something a bit harsher than "jerk," but that will do.) Then, I responded back to myself, Why is the driver a jerk exactly? I drive a hybrid that leaves a much lighter carbon footprint than many vehicles, and although I am pleased by the sense of environmental responsibility, my primary motivation is that I get incredible gas mileage and spend less money on fuel. I use canvas bags when I go grocery shopping, essentially because it is a very easy habit that I perceive as having a significant effect on the amount of non-biodegradable waste I create without inconveniencing me in the least. We recycle, which doesn't cost us any more than having our garbage collected and is as easy as throwing something in a different receptacle. Very low impact on our habits, for a perceived higher impact on the environment, whether or not it actually makes a significant difference in the grand scheme of things.

A depiction of beliefs turned into judgments?

So, when I see this van fogging up the road with exhaust, I label the driver a jerk because he seems unwilling to do his part. I'm doing my part, so he should at the very least be courteous and conscientious enough not to smog up the road in his wake. This unknown person became, in my mind, ungrateful, irresponsible, insensitive, unintelligent, and oblivious. But wait. What if the driver really is oblivious? How much of a jerk can a truly oblivious person be? And while I don't necessarily enjoy the smell, how much confidence do I really have about the actual impact of this vehicle's exhaust? Aside from my indignation, I don't have a wealth of empirical facts to go on.

On that same trip, I was flipping through radio stations, and I happened to land for a moment on an individual making an outlandish claim based more on a personal victimization theory than on factual evidence. At the time I didn't associate my own judgment against the van driver with the radio personality's tirade. Rather, I thought, Why don't people use their brains? And the dialogue in my own head continued, Maybe they do.

Everyone doesn't see the same things I do, and when they do, they don't always draw the same conclusions I do. It doesn't have anything to do with right or wrong. We all come from different circumstances and experiences with different sets of information and beliefs, and so we can't all look through identical lenses. Although I can't be certain (since I'm not in other people's heads), it's as likely as not that other people do indeed use their brains to their fullest capacity, draw the best conclusions that they can, and choose the courses of action they deem best. Or some people may simply be oblivious. How would they even know if they are? How harshly do I really want to judge someone who literally doesn't know any better?

At the end of the day, I am responsible for my decisions, and I want those decisions to make sense with my knowledge and beliefs. I can't know what's going on in other people's minds, so it ultimately doesn't make sense for me to assume malice where there may be ignorance or even a thoughtful approach that simply differs from mine. My conflict with thinking that each person is only responsible for his own life is that I believe that we are interconnected, that we have an impact on and are impacted by other people. I don't believe that anyone exists in a vacuum. Our actions (and inaction) have an effect in the world. That belief provides a framework for my own choices, and it's easy to form an expectation of how that belief can play out with other people who have the same sense of connection. But how does that work in a messy world of people who are unaware or who have deep conviction about an entirely different interpretation?

The best conclusion I can draw is that my sense of connection with other people does not rely upon their sense of connection to me or anything else. To judge other people based on my impression of how they should act assumes that everyone should see what I see, know what I know, and draw the same conclusions I draw. I don't actually think anyone can know how things ought to be, so I don't really want to put myself in that place of perceived omniscience. All I can do is live out my beliefs to the best of my ability, and accept that there is a world of people who see things from different perspectives. None of us are completely right, but none of us are completely wrong either.

The Price of Cognitive Dissonance

2011-05-08T11:43:00.000-05:00

I am reading Robert Burton's On Being Certain: Believing You Are Right Even When You're Not, and like many authors who write on similar topics, he discusses cognitive dissonance: the unsettling phenomenon of adhering to two conflicting beliefs at the same time. In a strange bit of synchronicity, I received some practical advice from another composer this week about pricing music composed for advertising. He has done quite a bit more negotiating than I in this arena, and he has worked out a system which makes a great deal of sense. There was one bit that he said that completely floored me, however: "Basically, just figure out the rock-bottom dollar amount you need from the project and start the negotiations at ten times that."

Cognitive dissonance sets in for me because I am confident that he knows what he's talking about, and yet I have concerns about pricing myself out of a project. The underlying belief is that my time or my abilities aren't worth that much to other people. It isn't that I think my time or talent isn't valuable -- although I'll freely admit that my mind can slip back to that paraphrasing rather easily. When I dig down into it, it's the belief that other people don't see the value of what I have to offer, and therefore I can't possibly start off negotiations by asking for ten times what I absolutely need to make. Three times that figure, maybe. Any more than that just flies in the face of what I think about other people's ability or willingness to value... well, me.

I know that negotiations for a commercial project are different from collaboration with a music non-profit or a specific chamber ensemble, but in the more "artistic" arenas, I am even more likely to sell myself short because of my beliefs about non-profits and musicians and money. The key part of my fellow composer's advice, though, is to start negotiations at ten times what I absolutely must make to undertake the project. That also implies a willingness to come down as far as what I determine to be rock-bottom. If I start at rock-bottom, I have no room to negotiate, and I won't be giving anyone a chance to see greater value in what I have to offer.

If I never challenge my beliefs about what value other people are capable or willing to see, they are not likely to change. But having a concrete dollar figure as a starting point for negotiation gives me a framework to experiment with my beliefs, which is in my opinion, a healthy way to confront cognitive dissonance. If I believe two conflicting ideas, I could just choose one arbitrarily. I could just live with the mental discomfort. I could develop other beliefs to make sense out of the dissonance. Confronting the competing beliefs head-on has the potential to lead to a stronger conviction in one direction or the other, and the best way I know to confront the beliefs is to test them where it's possible to do so. Spiritual beliefs are somewhat immune to testing, but beliefs about negotiating a price for a project (and many other beliefs about myself and other people) are quite easily tested.

So, basing my numbers on a formula that has been tried and tested by a reliable source, I can determine the absolute minimum amount of money I need to receive in order to make a project worthwhile, and I can resolve not to allow negotiations to dip below that absolute minimum amount. Multiplying that figure by ten gives me the starting point for my end of the negotiations, combined with the time-frame I believe I'll need to complete the work. From there, the experiment will play out, hopefully over a series of projects, and I'll have a set of clear empirical data against which I can measure my beliefs about what my work is worth. I can formulate hypotheses ahead of time, but the strong beliefs I have are hypotheses in and of themselves. Ten times what I absolutely must make still seems exorbitant, and yet a part of me knows that it's an appropriate place to start. The most challenging part may be to set aside the cognitive dissonance for awhile and allow my beliefs to be effectively tested. The reward is a sense of personal value based on actual experience rather than whatever I invent inside my own head. In other words, the high stakes are worth the challenge.

When the Glass Is Only Half Full

2011-05-01T12:38:00.000-05:00

When people talk about the power of positive thinking, sometimes they slip over the rails into "blind optimism with no regard for reality." While I do think it's important to see the possibilities in a situation, I also think it's important to line up one's expectations and actions with practical reality. Glass-half-empty thinking is problematic because it always reveals the shortcomings of a situation, but glass-half-full thinking runs the risk of ignoring pitfalls, or at least pretending that they don't exist in the hopes that luck will claim victory over logic. Someone who sees the glass half empty is more likely to see that there is an issue crying out for a solution, but if you believe in the detrimental impact of negative thinking, accomplishing that solution can be a struggle for the pessimist who sees every glass as somewhere between half-empty and bone dry.

Which is why I have endeavored to formulate a new take on the glass: it's only half full. It is on the road to being full, but it isn't there yet. It isn't half empty, but it's only half full. There is still work to be done, and that work can have a positive impact. There's no reason to lament that the glass isn't full, but if a full glass is what you want, you can't ignore the fact that the glass simply isn't full yet. It's half full, though, which is better than being less than half full. To me, it amounts to recognizing whatever goal the full glass represents and acknowledging that I have covered some ground and still have a bit more to do. When there is room for improvement, I can take action. That's what the glass being only half full symbolizes to me.

All of this has come into play this week because of a job opening accompanying a program that involves playing the same music twice a day, five days a week. If I go for the position, I could be working with some great people, and I would be facing the challenge of mental and artistic tedium. The scarcity-theorist within me urges me to jump at it because it's the only accompanying offer on the table at the moment, but strategically, the timing of this position would eliminate any possibility of teaching a university course in the next year or accompanying college recitals or high-school solo and ensemble events. As I spoke with a couple of people in the know about the opportunity, it dawned on me that I was selling myself a bit short.

It's true that I don't have a ton of opportunities for musical collaboration on the table at this moment, but that doesn't mean that I have to accept a position that is (by all reports) less than what I want. Just because I want a full glass doesn't mean that I have to throw in anything that will raise the water line. It matters what I want the glass to be full of. (Horrible grammar, but still...) My first step is to define what would equate to a full glass. Then I can recognize that, at this moment, my glass is only half full. That leads to identifying what I can do to get the glass a little closer to full.

When I start thinking that the glass is half empty, it can spark a bit of panic. I have to do something about filling up the glass. Anything. That's often not a terribly helpful line of thinking. I prefer what happens when I think that the glass is only half full right now. Sometimes, when I take a step back, I realize that it's actually a little more than half full. Sometimes I think that the glass will never be completely full. And that's OK.

The Irrelevance of Evidence

2011-04-24T12:15:00.000-05:00

Speaking as an ex-church-goer (actually I consider myself post-Christian), Easter no longer has much relevance to me as a holiday. I still value the celebration of rebirth and new life in its manifold expressions, but now I honor those concepts differently than I once did. Musically speaking, the Passion story is tough to ignore. In Western art music, there have been an astounding number of compositions written on the theme of the Passion. Although I haven't done the research, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it is second only to romantic relationships in terms of the number of musical works the story has inspired, many of them profoundly beautiful.

What has amazed me in recent years, and this week in particular, are the number of churches and religious programs focused on the historical evidence for Biblical events, as if the factual accuracy of a story has a direct relationship to its value. When one needs to solve a mystery or defend a case in court, certainly factual accuracy and verifiable evidence are necessities. But spiritual mysteries are not intended to be solved, and spiritual truths do not need factual defense. Reducing one's faith to a belief in provable data removes a large part of the potential for spiritual growth through self-examination. Why would one be inspired to grow or develop as a human being in response to mere historical fact?

Perhaps my view of the value of spirituality is off-kilter in that regard. It is highly possible that only a small percentage of people now view religion or spiritual practice as a vessel for growth. Factual, historical data does not necessarily compel one to treat other people differently, or to focus one's life in a specifically meaningful way, and that may be what some people prefer about the approach. To me, it always seems that someone is trying to convince me of something when the issue of historical validity enters into a conversation about spirituality. And the evidence they may present to convince me of facts has no bearing on the spiritual value of the story.

Like most other streams of thought, I've been considering how this relates to creative practice as well. I believe that every creative person at some point, even if only for a moment, wrestles with the question of whether what s/he creates has value. There are certainly ways to answer that question based on awards won, commission fees paid, tickets sold, or reviews written. All of that pales in comparison to whether the creative act has value to the creator, and ultimately I believe that is the most important (and least data-driven) answer.

Milton Babbitt, a sly smile from the Princeton professor

In 1958, the composer Milton Babbitt had an essay published in High Fidelity magazine entitled "Who Cares if You Listen?" (not his original title), in which he advocates the continued support for the development of music as an art form without regard for how large an audience it may attract. While this may present some practical complications, the underlying principle is really that the creative must ideally be free to create what is personally inspiring, rather than what is deemed popular. It is through that deep sense of creative freedom that a culture progresses, in art as well as science. Doing what has received the popular stamp of approval is treading water creatively. Trusting a personally inspiring means of expression, whether one is painting, composing, programming, or constructing, builds momentum for the individual creative and ultimately everyone in an outward ripple.

It all depends on trusting the personal meaning that one finds in what one is doing, however. So, on a day when some would convince me of their beliefs with historical data and impersonal facts, however legitimate or skewed they may be to prove a particular point of view, I am turning instead to what is personally meaningful, seeking that inner trust for what I am creating that will best serve what I can contribute in the world without falling back to the illusion that I have something to prove.

The Illusion of Duality

2011-04-17T10:15:00.000-05:00

Since I enjoy TV series and movies that involve science fiction, I'm happy that stories involving altered realities and quantum physics seem to be en vogue. There is a somewhat disturbing trend with these stories, though, and I wonder how much is just a matter of convenience for the plot and how much is a fundamental flaw in logic. It's not my intent to get overly technical, and my thoughts have led me ultimately to a more practical point, so I do hope you'll stick with me through the technical part. I won't go too much into the plot of Source Code since it's still in theaters, and I don't want to spoil the experience for anyone. It's safer to address the issue as it manifests in the television show Fringe, in which there is an alternate reality -- a world very much like our own with some subtle differences.

Do we need technology to create another reality?

The storyline of Fringe doesn't go into detail about how this other dimension came into being, but often such a phenomenon would be explained as two different branches splitting off from from the same trunk. Some event happened one way in one reality and differently in the other, and that distinguishing event was the catalyst for the two alternate versions of the world developing differently. One determining point split the two different incarnations of reality and sent them off in subtly different directions. For more detail about the way this is presumed to work, you can check out the Many Worlds Interpretation, which is a thorough and widely accepted model. Essentially, the assumption is that any time multiple outcomes to a situation are possible, all of the possibilities occur; we just witness one and keep moving forward in our experience.

A "Dual Worlds" model

What you will have a difficult time finding is a "Two Worlds Interpretation." This is because if one assumes that reality can split into different streams as the result of several possible outcomes occurring simultaneously, one would wind up with many different "dimensions" from any one event. Very few circumstances operate on a toggle switch, as neat and tidy as that would be. While we want to see things as black or white, this perspective often does as much to trap us as it does to make our decisions easier. If one wants to acknowledge the existence of other dimensions, there is no reason to assume just one alternative. If two dimensions are possible, then a nearly infinite number of dimensions is possible.

Admittedly, that would make for a difficult story on prime time television. In life, however, it can pay off to recognize that there are more than two possible outcomes. We often have many more options than what we allow ourselves to consider. When we look beyond the immediately obvious, our creative minds can get engaged in seeing possibilities that might be more ideal than anything else. Some people believe that there is no way around their destiny, that Fate will carry them toward whatever is supposed to happen no matter what choices they make. I prefer to claim a certain amount of personal responsibility for the direction my life takes, and with that in mind, I rather like the idea that there are always more options and possibilities than I might see at first glance.

Musical Safety

2011-04-11T11:20:00.000-05:00

Thinking of me only as a pianist and not realizing that I am a composer, another musician told me of his first experience with a professional orchestra. He was filling in for a member of the orchestra who was away, and he was very anxious about doing well. A wave of relief came over him when he learned that they were performing a piece by Tan Dun rather than a well-known piece from Mozart or Beethoven. Why? Because, according to him, "it didn't matter what I played." He perceived a certain vulnerability with the standard, familiar works from what is known as the Common Practice Period (roughly from 1600-1900), but there was room to hide in the unfamiliarity of a contemporary piece.

European music from that three-hundred-year span has become predictable to our ears, we can tell when it sounds "right" and when something sounds a bit off because we have heard enough of it to form clear expectations. Even when that music takes a surprising turn, it stays within expected parameters. There is some comfort in that from the perspective of a listener. Some musicians apparently find it a bit nerve wracking, though.
Any mistake is much more exposed in music that has such familiar characteristics. A more contemporary piece that doesn't follow the same expectations can seem safer because most audience members won't detect any missed notes or rhythms. So a musician's pride is a bit more protected behind unfamiliar music. Or even music that an audience expects to be dissonant or difficult to appreciate.

As a composer, of course this is all a bit frustrating. I don't write music with a 17th- or 18th-century mindset, and at the same time, I don't intentionally create music that is challenging to understand. I want an audience to be able to find value in every moment of a piece, even if different moments evoke different emotions or ideas. Fortunately, most of the musicians that have programmed my compositions have accurately represented my intentions for the music. I am grateful for that. But in that recent conversation I couldn't help but wonder how much public opinion of "modern" art music is influenced by how musicians treat it.

One need not be an advocate of the avant-garde in order to appreciate music, however. Technology has made it possible for us to have access to an immense diversity of styles, whenever we care to listen. For many people, there is no need to attend a live musical performance because an mp3 will suffice. In fact, musicians are gradually becoming obsolete as technology improves as well. A composer could conceivably record an entire symphony with virtual instruments and never interact with another living musician. Hatsune Miku, a popular Japanese singer, is actually a hologram whose voice is created by a computer program called Vocaloid, developed by Yamaha.

So where does this leave me as a composer living in a time when some musicians consider new music to demand less accuracy than more familiar works, when audiences are able to get their fill of music without ever attending a live performance (or listening to anything composed past 1920 if they choose), and when computers are beginning to replace flesh and blood musicians? I start from the purpose(s) behind what I do in the first place:

1. I create because I am creative, and
2. I compose music to share that creativity with other people.

At the end of the day, I hope to have a positive impact on other people, and music is one powerful way I can do that. Everything beyond that is just details. There are certainly some things that a computer can do more efficiently than a person. Embracing that fact offers me a wealth of possibilities. I believe that live performances can still have great value as well, so I want to distinguish between pieces that lend themselves to meaningful audience experiences and pieces that can be highly satisfying as a downloaded recording. In other words, I have a purpose for doing what I do generally, and I have a purpose for each individual project. Beyond that, it comes down to a matter of trust for the musicians and listeners that take over where my part in the process ends.

Ghost Stories

2011-04-03T11:31:00.000-05:00

Until we sell our house in Houston, our entertainment budget in Fort Worth is a bit scant. Luckily, when we tire of board games and Netflix, we are easily entertained by free museums, theaters with great matinee prices, and drives down country roads. As far as the drives go, Joy is enamored with bluebonnets, which are plentiful this time of year, and I am on the lookout for cemeteries and ghost towns. It seems that every community has its own folklore about hauntings and spooky supernatural occurrences, and although I consider myself to be an open-minded skeptic, those ghost stories are still fascinating to me.

Thus, when we made the move to Fort Worth, I was given a book all about the area's haunted locales, and when a friend came to visit on Friday, we decided to check out a couple of spots the author highlighted. The first was Carter, Texas, a town that doesn't exist anymore except for some historical markers, an old church building, and an open-air, tin-roofed gathering area the author calls a "tabernacle". According to the book, the ghosts of a couple of children supposedly still played in the area, but we discovered something that the author neglected to publicize. At one end of the tabernacle stood an ancient piano, the victim of weather and neglect.

Ghost town piano detail

An old ghost town piano

Of course, I tried to play a few tunes on the decrepit instrument, and of course, they sounded creepily dissonant. Although we didn't hear any ghostly children, we did hear sounds of living children and livestock from nearby farms. It was easy to imagine how such noises, made ethereal by distance and intervening vegetation, could seem like spectral entities on a dark, quiet night in what remains of Carter. But the fact that the author didn't mention the old piano surprised me. It's not like anyone would travel miles out of the way to see a broken-down musical instrument, and given that the locals likely already knew about it, that old piano seems a strange thing to keep secret. Given what I know about children and pianos, if there truly were any juvenile spirits hanging around, they would be hard pressed to resist the urge to play it (or bang on it, depending on your perspective). Still, prowling around the ghost town and reading the historical markers was quite cool, and the discovery of the poor old piano was indeed a treat.

The author of my Fort Worth ghost book also mentioned a cemetery not far from Carter which boasts a glowing tombstone. According to what he wrote, "the phenomenon is consistent, night after night, regardless of the weather or any other conditions that might affect it." From his own personal account, this tombstone, supposedly 50 yards into the graveyard and clearly visible from the road, was "blazing away in ghostly iridescence." We decided to check out this "consistent phenomenon" for ourselves, since we were already close by. The experience was somewhat disappointing. Although we waited outside the cemetery gates for awhile after the sun had completely disappeared, we never saw anything glowing with the intensity the author described. We chalked up the alleged glow to some kind of optical illusion, but there was simply nothing there for us to see.

Which got me thinking about why a person would publish a story that was so easy to verify as false. The Carter stories are par for the course: On certain nights, if you listen carefully, you may hear the ghostly voices of the children of Carter. That kind of story might have people returning and hanging around time and again (although I can't say that such visits would benefit the local economy in any way). To suggest that one visiting the cemetery would experience something specific with absolute certainty, no matter the time of year or weather conditions, is just a silly claim. But we accept all kinds of silly claims all the time without verifying them, so stories about glowing tombstones seem like small potatoes.

In fact, I think I have accepted a great many "ghost stories" as true, without bothering to verify them for myself, and I'm not talking about glowing tombstones and underage specters at this point. From Hollywood movies to church pulpits to popular songs to adages that are somehow just floating through the collective unconscious of society, there are so many stories about how people should be. I have fallen prey to other people's beliefs about what a husband should be, what an artist should be, what a responsible adult should be, what a friend should be, what kind of music I should be writing, what kind of connections I should be making, and on and on. And as many times as I have accepted other people's beliefs, I have rebelled against them just to be defiant. I know that most people mean well when they share their beliefs about such things, and I know that most people are convinced that what they share is steeped in truth. Still, it takes a bit of work to peel back all of the layers of ghost stories that have covered my perspective of what my life is supposed to be like.

Stories about glowing tombstones are easy to verify. You drive up to the cemetery and you look out across the gravestones and visually determine if one of them has an eerie green ghostly blaze. It takes an inner eye to verify all of the folktales about more mundane subjects, how men or women are supposed to act, how success should be defined, what one must do in order to be a valued member of society, and why that is of paramount importance. Maybe some people find it easy to disregard such stories, but I know some people that take such beliefs very seriously. Some of them might be true for me, but I will only know that for sure if I take those ideas from external sources and verify them against what makes sense to me personally. If I don't see the glow, then I know that's one more ghost story someone just made up. Otherwise, I am essentially always measuring my life by someone else's ruler, and sometimes it seems that no two rulers agree.

I will most likely keep enjoying ghost stories and my own amateur investigations of supernatural folklore, but I haven't come across one yet that has turned out to be verifiably accurate. Likewise, I'll keep testing other people's beliefs that have made their way into my psyche. Hopefully, I can peel away the ones that don't make sense to me and hang on to the ones that ring true.

Redefining the Unknown

2011-03-27T13:22:00.000-05:00

Arthur C. Clarke (1917-2008)

I was reminded this week of Arthur C. Clarke's Three Laws, which have been oft quoted in science fiction films and literature. In case you aren't familiar with these tidbits of wisdom, they are:

1. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right; when he states that something is impossible, he is probably wrong.

2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

Although the Third Law is probably the most familiar, it was the first two that got me thinking this week, especially about the unknowable.

For a couple of years, I was quite intentional about making decisions based on verifiable data, and not making decisions based on things that I didn't actually know (like how someone would react, or what would happen in the future). Sometimes these predictions seem like absolute fact because they are so believable, especially if one is aware of certain patterns. If Bob has gotten angry every time I have mentioned his ex-wife in the past, I have every reason to suspect that he will get angry if I mention her again, even though I don't actually know what Bob will do. Criminals sometimes convince themselves that they will get away with a crime based entirely upon false assumptions about what other people will or will not do. Making decisions based on information that is created entirely in one's own mind can be dangerous, or at least frustrating. Most people can't predict the future nearly as well as they think they can.

That being said, there are some things that are probable even if they are technically in the realm of the unknown. Once I realize that Bob is likely to get angry if I mention his ex-wife, but admit that I don't know for sure what Bob is going to do, I can decide how much value there is in testing my hypothesis. Dismissing a pattern of behavior entirely, simply because Bob's future behavior is technically unknown, is honestly a rather stupid approach. Scientists operate all the time in the realm of the unknown, testing hypotheses to see how accurate their predictions are, and correcting things along the way to learn as much as possible and get to a desired result. Strategists in many fields operate in the realms of the unknown, predicting (with varying degrees of accuracy) what outcomes will result in the future from actions taken right now. They can't possibly know the future, but they can make predictions.

During the time that I was attempting to base all of my decisions exclusively on verifiable data, I lost a job, threw money away, and spent a lot of time on fruitless efforts, all because I could not claim absolute certainty about future events. In so doing, I discounted a huge portion of my personal strength. I am a person who resonates with Clarke's Second Law, willing to push past the knowable into the unknown. But such endeavors are not usually done haphazardly. Usually, a scientist conducting an experiment has some data upon which a hypothesis is based, and that hypothesis is fine tuned by a number of intelligent predictions. It isn't just a matter of throwing a dart without regard to the dartboard.

In all honesty, I think that people who are observant can make a great many reliable predictions. Sometimes our minds trick us into seeing "patterns" where none actually exist, but the answer is not to discount the unknown and operate completely blind to such predictions. Instead, it is better to venture into unknown territory with both eyes open, aware that our forecasts may be inaccurate, but willing to test them and see what happens. Playing it safe and hedging bets are the kinds of things that lead distinguished but elderly experts to claim that something is impossible. It would perhaps be more accurate to use "unknown" in the place of "impossible". Personally, attempting the impossible seems foolhardy and unsatisfying, but attempting the unknown can be pretty inspiring.

So while I acknowledge that I cannot accurately predict the future, I can also acknowledge that my strategic and forward-thinking mind is a powerful tool that can guide me in a keenly directed exploration of the unknown. If all of my decisions are based entirely on what I can know with utmost certainty, they are based on inaccuracy and half-truths. It is actually much easier to be manipulated when one discounts personal discernment as essentially unknown and unverifiable. Rather than discount it outright, I now believe that it is better to trust myself and work toward verifying the intelligent hypotheses of my insightful mind, reaching perhaps a bit past what I know to be possible. I'm not sure how a person can grow otherwise.

Enough Isn't Enough

2011-03-20T10:10:00.000-05:00

The word "enough" has been on my mind recently. It's a measuring tool that doesn't stay consistent. Every complimentary thing I could acknowledge about myself can be minimized by the simple application of that one little word. Sure I'm creative, just not creative enough. I'm intelligent, but not intelligent enough. Enough for what? I don't know. But I think it has something to do with personal satisfaction.

One organization with which I was involved was great at reminding people that they are indeed enough, just as they are in this very moment. Rich enough, pretty enough, smart enough, good enough. Except that the organization also encourages people to keep taking courses, which to me implies that I must not be enough if I need to get more of something for my life to be all that it can be. If I'm already enough everything, then I am lacking nothing, and there is no reason to pursue further knowledge or training or anything.

The problem is that the affirmation is empty. What exactly am I rich enough for? I'm rich enough to be happy in my life, but I'm not rich enough to start a $3 million endowment for musical innovation. That's just reality. I believe that some people are smart enough to make healthy decisions about their own lives, but that doesn't necessarily mean I want them making decisions about my money or my intellectual property. The word enough requires some kind of qualification in order to make any real sense.

My own challenge with the word recently even comes in a bit of a disguise. My inner critic says something like, You should be doing more. You should be composing more every day. You should be getting out there and making something happen. Which all really amounts to: "I'm not doing enough." It's a harsh criticism for exactly the same reason that it's a lousy affirmation. It needs some kind of qualification in order to make any real sense.

So my question back to the critic has become, "For what?" There are a lot of answers that actually don't matter to me. It's really alright to have some clear sense of realistic limitations. It's alright with me that I can't start a $3 million endowment, so stating that I'm not rich enough to do so isn't much of an insult. It's just a statement of fact. So, I'm not composing enough to send a new piece out to every competition I hear about. That's OK. That would be exhausting, and it's more important to me that I enjoy my life.

My level of compositional activity at this point may not comparable to some prolific composers, but the question is whether I'm satisfied with what I'm doing. If I'm not composing enough each day to be personally satisfied, then there's something specific to address. Then, there's a qualifier that makes sense. My inner critic may be trying to open the door to that conversation, but it's much more direct to throw an accusation than it is to ask "Are you satisfied with the amount of music you're creating day to day, or would you be happier if you stepped it up a notch?" Now that is an interesting question.

Stravinsky's Wisdom

2011-03-06T11:14:00.000-06:00

There are some quotes that return again and again like a perfectly appropriate refrain for many different experiences. I have mentioned before the value I find in Stravinsky's words, "The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one's self." The key, of course, is determining where those constraints come from. External controls are a bit more difficult to embrace as desirable, but deciding for oneself where to create boundaries for a project helps define, focus, and inspire.

Q&A with August Bradley

My Dark Little Room by August Bradley

What I am finding with my current project, however, is that I sometimes fail to distinguish between what I want to create and what I must create. I wind up thinking things like, If I compose a piece for an ensemble of this size, it will be a challenge to ever get it performed... I should go with something smaller. That isn't really all that inspiring a decision, to be honest. It's much more inspiring to consider what the perfect set of instruments would be for a particular piece. It might be a full orchestra, or it might be just a quartet or trio. That kind of constraint, being very specific about what is desirable, is what most easily opens the door to freedom. It requires focusing on what I want rather than misconceptions about what must be done.

While that may not seem like a constraint, it does eliminate possibilities. Once I consider that the perfect ensemble for a piece is a woodwind trio, I have no reason to consider how a violin or trombone could add to the sound. I am free to focus on the instruments I have chosen as most desirable options, and I can go on to make further constraints about the piece based on the music and what I see as its ideal incarnation. It becomes a matter of composing passionately rather than composing "correctly".

My own thoughts get in the way sometimes, though. I can't start off this quietly and slowly; a piece has to grab the audience right off the bat. Nevermind that thousands of very effective pieces start quietly and slowly, including a couple I've composed. I can't repeat that entire section of the music; that's lazy and uninteresting. Nevermind that repetition is an incredibly important and commonly used element of musical form that can have a musical purpose. I have to add more complexity to this music; no one wants to listen to a piece that's too simple. Nevermind that there have been musicians in every age who gained fame from simple pieces because so many people listen to them, or that some of the most memorable and well-loved works of music are just simple, well-written pieces that communicate something of value with compelling aestheticism. Why in the world would I want to set up such frustrating constraints when the music itself suggests a different direction? That doesn't create freedom.

So, as I conceive this piece, I am conscious of the kinds of constraints I am using. I want nothing to do with the voice that claims to know how things must be, especially if those ideas lead me away from the direction of inspiration. I want to create constraints that are based on my vision for the piece. Freedom emerges when I am willing to set aside all of the conceptions about how the music must be and define its boundaries by what I want the piece to be. It may take on its own twists and directions as I compose, but I will be more aware of them and better able to let the music "breathe" within well-defined boundaries. If only the rest of life were as simple as setting aside the beliefs about what must be and focusing on what is possible. If only.

Obsessing Over Originality

2011-02-27T09:43:00.000-06:00

It is hard to imagine Mozart, looking at the flow of harmonies in a piece he has just completed and saying, Crap, that sounds just like Haydn! Or Beethoven writing a major scale in the middle of a piece and thinking, I can't do that; it's been done before! Looking back, we know that every Western composer writing during the same era as Mozart and Haydn had the same harmonic aesthetic, and it even persists today in a ton of music. The same goes for major scales, and yet it isn't inaccurate to say that Mozart and Beethoven were both innovative composers in their own ways.

George Crumb's Makrokosmos II, Mvt. 12

Originality seems to have a high place of honor in our thinking (mine at least), and yet our society doesn't respond with much enthusiasm for completely original thoughts. Off-the-wall solutions that no one else has conceived are often met with ridicule and judgment. One has to think almost like everyone else with just enough originality to captivate and inspire. Too much innovation and people's minds rebel.

So why, when I am composing a piece of music, do I have this running criteria that it must be "original," that is must have completely new ideas that no other musician has ever considered? Some composers manage to do that some of the time. A century ago, the Impressionist movement (the most prominent figures of which were Debussy, Ravel, and Respighi) turned traditional harmony on its head. Debussy took it a step further and slipped out of traditional musical forms as well. But this didn't revolutionize the way people listened to music. We still hear the traditional harmonies and forms every time we turn on the radio. The influence of that innovation from a hundred years ago may be threaded into our 21st century musical expectations, but it didn't completely override the previous 200 years of musical development.

Harry Partch's quadrangularis reversum

Other composers have done very innovative things as well, and many of these people are the composers I most admire. Yet even they used musical elements in common with other composers. My mental criteria that what I write must be completely unique is not only unreasonable, but literally impossible. It focuses my attention away from the actual music I am composing and onto some strange value for originality that doesn't even play out in practical reality. Even the most compelling piece of music I can write will have some common elements with other music, and I would go so far as to say that the common ground is what makes new music accessible to people's ears.

So, I am releasing myself from the requirement that I must be an innovator. At the same time, I recognize that if I am simply true to my own creativity, the music I compose will convey my unique voice. Which is to say that I don't have to evaluate the originality of each discrete element in a piece in order to look at the completed product and see something of value. Perhaps this idea extends beyond the realm of composing as well. Perhaps there will be a time when we all set aside the obsession with originality and evaluate each idea on its own merit.

A Real Job

2011-02-20T23:59:00.001-06:00

When I was on the threshold of adulthood (on which I sometimes feel like I'm yet lingering), my stepfather asked one evening, "When are you going to stop this music crap and get a real job?" Or something to that effect. My mind may not accurately recall his exact words, but I do remember him suggesting that I could be a dishwasher for a local restaurant if that's what it took. Although at the time my reaction was fueled by teenage rebelliousness, there are still moments when I struggle with that question. I have nothing against dishwashers, but after earning a doctorate degree, teaching at colleges, and directing a multi-disciplinary, inter-generational arts program, expecting to thrive on creating music sometimes seems like cheating somehow.

My stepfather's question made perfect sense to him at the time. He chose a profession that reflects his strong work ethic, the kind of blue-collar career in which you know that you've been working at the end of the day. He respects people that stand on their own two feet, people who are responsible for themselves. A music career equated with a pipe dream of fame and fortune, slightly more respectable than winning the lottery, but less likely to happen. Especially in the small town where we lived. It has its own share of culture, but it simply lacks the critical mass of population to attract much attention. No wonder he would suggest a more realistic course than being a musician.

Even then, I didn't see a music career quite the same way as he. I simply wanted to get paid for creating music, in whatever forms that would take. It wasn't as though I wanted to be handed something for nothing, I just wanted to make money doing what I loved to do. Recently, I have made decisions as if I needed to earn money somehow so I could indulge in creating music. I could see music as a luxurious destination, but not the path. Somewhere along the way, I became unconvinced of the feasibility of just creating music and getting paid enough as a result. Even though that had been the reality previously in my life. Bizarre.

Relocation was an opportunity for me to hit the reset button on a few things, though. I decided to identify myself (to myself and to others) first and foremost as a pianist and composer, and to trust that to be enough. I don't need to add anything or take anything away from that. It is an act of faith, and it is an act of authenticity. At the same time, it is based in reality. There are certainly people of my skill level and less who are doing just fine in music careers. Perhaps partly because they believe it's possible to do so, at least most days.

Now I believe that it really boils down to authenticity. I don't quite believe in "Do what you love and the money will follow." I do, however, believe in "Do what you love and the satisfaction of doing what you love will follow." I think that when people are doing something that has personal value, they will do it well enough to be satisfied. Different people are satisfied by different levels of success, of course. My stepfather is satisfied, at least in part, by doing something at which he excels, with the confidence that his effort is worth his compensation. As it turns out, we have that in common.

Still Reflection on Troubled Waters

2011-02-13T19:15:00.000-06:00

An accompanying job in one of my old stomping grounds has stirred up memories of a challenging situation. While I'm not one to wallow in regret or rehash the past over and over again in my mind, I do occasionally consider what I could have done differently in a given situation, so that I might learn something valuable even if an experience didn't play out the way I would have preferred. As I played through this particular sequence of events from my past, I came upon a startling realization. Although I made conscious efforts to "not make the situation worse," there is very little I could have done to change the outcome. It would have been more authentic, and perhaps had a greater positive impact on some of the people involved, for me to simply speak directly and honestly without going overboard on efforts to be diplomatic or polite.

As concise as I can be while still painting a more or less complete picture, here is the story. I fired someone. Actually, I eliminated their position. I did so as gently as I could, and I offered another possibility for the person to be involved and continue to earn an income. This individual was essentially getting paid for doing the same thing that several other people did as volunteers. It was a bit of an ethical disconnect for one person to get paid to do something that other people did for free, and the budget wouldn't allow me to pay everyone I would have liked to pay. However, I needed someone to do a different task, a more unique task that I could practically and ethically justify paying someone to do. It seemed like a perfect fit to me.

Not so for the individual in question. The position for which I wanted to pay someone was not desirable to this person, so when I stopped paying for her participation, she stopped participating. I found someone else to fill the paid position and went on with my job. It was, after all, nothing personal. When I heard about another paying opportunity for which she was quite qualified, I passed it along, but she wasn't interested in that either. Instead, she started a whisper campaign to get me removed from my position.

One person who was sympathetic to her point of view happened to be the board chairperson, and this position held more power than any salaried position in the organization. The chairperson already had some significant differences of opinion with me about the organizational structure. I believed that the paid staff had been hired because of our expertise in our areas of focus, and that the volunteer board existed to guide and support the vision of the organization, spearheaded by staff leadership. The chairperson believed that the staff were hired help who were expected to follow the orders of the board, lack of expertise or leadership notwithstanding. This distinction was never clearly communicated to me, so I continued to operate under my own perceptions.

I knew that there were communication issues. I knew that the board was slow to make decisions, and that many of those decisions were based on fear rather than vision. I knew that there were rumblings going on behind the scenes and in the shadows. In other words, I knew this organization to be like most other organizations. So, I offered leadership from my position to support the stated purpose of the organization, not realizing that leadership was not really what was expected of me.

Eventually, ten months after these events began, it was suggested that I resign. I did so, and they ushered me out as quickly as possible, with a polite reception and a plaque. I received the plaque graciously and told everyone how wonderful it had been to be a part of their "family" during my time there, and I left it at that. In the moment, I thought there was no reason to bring up any of the misguided or dysfunctional actions that led to my departure, since really there were only a couple of angry people with personal agendas that created a toxic environment.

Now, looking back at that situation, I realize that nothing I would have said could have made matters worse. I'm sure there are things that someone could say or do that would have exacerbated things, but there was no reason for me not to be direct and honest with the people involved. My situation would have been no different, and (although I doubt anything coming from me would have been received) they just might have heard something that no one else was willing to tell them. Instead, I gave up and let them have their dysfunction, and in the process I didn't trust myself to be able to confront them with loving honesty.

Sometimes, being adept at self-deception leads us to the illusion that we are also effectively deceiving everyone around us. I want to be the kind of person who will tell someone, "What you are doing doesn't line up with what you claim to believe." Not out of spitefulness or malice, but simply because there is really nothing to be lost on my end and everything to be gained on the other end. If I could go back and observe, "It must be frustrating to constantly be at the center of upheaval and turmoil," I wouldn't have been telling the chairperson anything astounding, but it would have conveyed that I saw the pattern of his involvement in one organization after another.

Of course, I cannot go back and have any impact on that organization. That time has passed, and I have moved on to other endeavors. But I will continue to interact with people for the rest of my life, and I want to take as much as I can from my life's experiences, the ones I absolutely love as well as the ones that are frustrating as hell. From that chapter, I can glean (among other things) that there isn't that much to be gained by me trying to "not make a situation worse." I can trust my own authentic baseline of tactful diplomacy, honest care, and incisive discernment without adding anything to it. It may not change the outcome in the least, but it will change how I am with myself, and that is ultimately worth more than anything.

Braving the Ice

2011-02-07T13:01:00.000-06:00

When I initially made plans to drive back to Fort Worth after a couple of days of rehearsals back in Houston, last week's storm wasn't even on the radar. As my travel day dawned, however, it became apparent that the trip would be a little more challenging than usual. Most of the drive was just very windy, but as I drew nearer to Fort Worth, icy roads presented a challenge to which most Texas drivers are not accustomed. As one might expect, the transformed roads led to transformed behavior for some people.

Normally, busy roads around here are an "every man for himself" affair, but the icy conditions made it impossible for people to go speeding along in an imitation of the Autobahn. For a long stretch of the treacherous road, our cars were in a slow, single-file caravan, etching a cautious path through the ice. Instead of driving in the midst of the typical road rally, I was a part of a united effort to navigate the roads safely. Cars would exit or merge gradually into the determined stream of drivers, relying on one another's judgment and courtesy in a most unusual way.

We seemed to be crawling along, but the conditions demanded it. At one point, a little red pickup wasn't satisfied with the pace, and attempted to go a little faster than the long line of cars. The passing lane, being less traveled, had a much thicker layer of ice with no ruts from a caravan of cautious drivers. When the little red pickup hit a patch of ice and went spinning off the road, it was confirmation that we were doing something right by taking things slowly and carefully. I might have stopped or called for assistance for that driver if my entire focus hadn't been on my own safety.

Once I got into Fort Worth, the icy roads were still a hazard, but drivers were no longer banding together. There were fewer cars on the road than usual, but each driver was going it alone. The road conditions hadn't changed, but without the solidarity of a string of other drivers the experience was a bit more harrowing. Still, slow and cautious got me home. It was a great comfort to have that experience of safety in numbers, even though the last portion of the trip was on my own. And really, it had to be. None of the other drivers were actually going to my specific destination, so I couldn't possibly follow a caravan all the way to my doorstep.

Which is the blessing and the challenge of solidarity. When that long stretch of vehicles slowly arced onto an exit ramp going to some other nearby community, it was a bit tempting to go along with them just for the perceived safety. Maybe they know something I don't. Maybe the way ahead isn't safe. Or (more likely) they had a different destination than I, even though we shared the road for a portion of the dangerous trip. How tempting it is to go along with the group, just for safety's sake, or even for comfort's sake. It can seem disproportionately threatening to follow what one knows to be right when a group of people head in a different direction.

The group has its value, but those benefits must be balanced with trust for one's self. If I didn't trust myself to handle the road conditions, I never would have made it home that night. Sometimes trust is misplaced, and we hopefully learn to fine tune our perceptions. The group experience can help to strengthen our discernment, so we don't go spinning off the road entirely, and a trustworthy group can help to keep us focused on the path we've chosen. No group can replace self-knowledge, though. When conflict arises, I believe it's important to remember what matters most and follow that compass.

Hibernation

2011-01-27T09:29:00.000-06:00

In some spiritual traditions that evolved in a time when technology had not yet overcome nature to the extent it has today, winter is considered a time of hibernation, of rest. Not literally sleeping for months, but allowing oneself a time of rest spiritually, emotionally, psychologically. Although I understand the value in that, I don't like the concept personally. I don't like stopping and resting. I have it in my head that I must always be accomplishing something, moving forward, having some result to point to at the end of each day. What this translates to, really, is that I believe I have to justify my existence by external results, I have to prove my worth as a human being each day anew. Those words even look exhausting when I look at them, and on top of that, they don't mesh with my worldview.

Why would a person who believes that human beings have innate value simply because they are human beings demand of himself a constant stream of evidence that he is valuable? I'm sure somewhere back in my childhood there was some lesson learned that led to that conclusion, but the point now is that I realize how ludicrous and unachievable that demand is. Yet on the other side of that demand, I am still resistant to the idea of hibernation. What if I get into rest mode and never get back into growth mode? I don't want to be lazy. I don't want to be worthless... a ha... so we're not really on the other side of that demand. It can be a challenge to change what one thinks about oneself.

Which is why I am grateful for the move and the transition away from the built-in demands I had established in my previous routine. For one thing, living just a few hours north of where I was, it feels more like winter. For another thing, I was emotionally and psychologically worn out by the preparation for and execution of the move. I find it easier to rest when I am actually tired. So, this idea of hibernation is starting to make sense to me. I don't need to prove anything or accomplish anything right now. I'm not going to lose my place, and I'm not going to stop being creative and intelligent just because I take a little time off from my demands. Although I don't really know this to be true, I have a suspicion that I will jump back into creating something meaningful when "winter" cycles into spring.

I'm still fulfilling a couple of accompanying contracts. I'm still getting the new home in order. I'm still interacting with people. But for now, I am letting the winter coax me into some emotional and psychological down time, free of my typical demands. The interesting thing is that resting from my demands about what I do external to myself opens space for a different kind of growth. Creating evidence that is visible to me and other people about my value is a bit of a drain. During a time of rest, there is still activity inside of my own psyche, connections being drawn, ideas being incubated... the kind of inner work that may actually lead to an easier manifestation of creativity and forward motion when the time is right.

Adventures in Beaurocracy

2011-01-19T16:59:00.000-06:00

There isn't much need to carry cash anymore. Or checks for that matter. Everything is payable by plastic, or else it's gone completely electronic. All of the vendors that are providing some utility or service for our home encourage automatic payments, taken right from a bank account without me even lifting a finger. Of course, I still have to remember that money is being virtually vacuumed out of my account, but I certainly don't have to write a check or hand over any paper bills to anyone. In fact, the only legitimate business I have seen in recent history that required payment by cash was a parking garage during a special event when the fees were different than usual.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that renewing a driver's license in the state of Texas required payment by cash or check. The last time I renewed my license, I did so online. It was quick and convenient, and I used a debit card. Imaginary money was magically transferred from my electronic account to the Department of Public Safety's account without anyone needing to write a check or count any dead presidents. This time around, however, they required that I appear in person to fill out a little form, have my vision tested, and get an updated photo. I walked in to the driver's license facility to see the expected throng of waiting people, sitting in chairs or slowly queuing through lines. I assumed they were queuing, at least. They weren't actually moving, but the impression was that infinitesimal forward motion was indeed taking place.

I went first to the information desk, since a large sign on the door instructed me to do so. It was right next to a large sign that admonished against bringing food or drink into the building. Nearby were several signs advertising the convenience of renewing one's license online and some other signs that got lost in the overwhelming visual chaos of messages. The kind lady at the information desk told me I needed to fill out a short form and wait in one of the lines. Easy enough.

"Do I need anything else?" I inquired.

"Just your old license," she replied.

Simple.

So, I filled out the form and stood in the line. It moved. Slowly. I watched people, generally calm, perhaps a bit bored, waiting in their respective places in their respective lines, and before long I was next. I had my form, I had my license, I was ready. A surly older woman who was pushing retirement called me up to her window and asked for the form and my license and $25.

"Is a debit card OK?" I queried innocently, expecting that any form of payment that would work for the Department of Public Safety website would surely work in person. Not so.

"Cash or check," she snarled, adding a snippy, "The sign on the front desk says so."

I took my form and license and left, rather disappointed, frustrated, a bit angry, and perhaps a smidge indignant. I did glance at the front desk on the way out to observe a small square sign that read: Cash or Check Only. It was posted at waist-height, amid all of the other informative signs about how easy it is to navigate the DPS website. Part of me wanted to make a scene, to play the victim, to demand to know why a form of payment accepted across many parts of the civilized world for almost any service or product imaginable was not good enough for the Department of Public Safety. Instead, I decided that there are simply some times when you have to play by someone else's rules.

Determined to renew my license on the day I intended, after lunch I stopped by the bank and made my way back to the DPS office, expecting that the lunch break crowd would have cleared out and that I would quickly slip back it and take care of everything. Incredibly, the information desk line was nearly out the door and the throng seemed even denser than before. I slipped past the information desk and to the end of the renewal line, feeling a little conspicuous. I already had my form and knew where I was supposed to be, but I felt sure I would be "caught" disobeying instructions.

It wasn't quite this bad.

No one said a word, and I settled into the line behind a trio of older women complaining about how long they had been waiting. Their complaints became a bit louder until a deputy eventually came over to check on them. Had these women been thuggish young men, the scene would have seemed even more tense. The ringleader, a woman in her 70s, explained that she had been waiting for two hours and was too old to be standing around. She had other things to do, after all. The young, authoritative deputy sternly explained that this office had to handle licenses and identifications for all of the millions of people in the city, and she would have to be patient. Wrong answer. Her quick retort was that they should have a proportionate number of workers for all those millions of people they had to serve, which elicited some agreement from the officer as he departed around a corner.

A second gentleman came by a few minutes later, and he kept the ladies entertained for a while longer. He explained about the new system that was being installed, and that change takes time. It would have been nice to get the new system up and running without interrupting the normal business of the office, but sometimes the most ideal solution isn't possible. They were calling more workers in to assist with things in the meantime, and the line should get moving along more quickly very soon. Improvements for the long term are worth a little inconvenience in the short term, but he understood her frustration.

He was smooth. And he was right. Not long after he promised it, more workers appeared and the line began moving more swiftly. Before I knew it, I was handing my form and my old license to a calm, polite gentleman, although a part of me had secretly wished for the surly woman who had sent me away earlier in the day. My vision was tested, picture was taken, I provided my signature and my thumbprints, and while his computer was busy doing something, I said, "I hope the improvements will make your job a little easier."

"Nope," he replied. "We've gone from three screens to 50" (referring, I assume, to the number of click-through screens on the computer to complete the process).

It seems that change can be a challenge for everyone, and it's not always easy (or preferable) to contain one's frustration. Improvements can be double-edged. Improving one part of a process may make other aspects more cumbersome. And all of the challenges may not even be foreseeable. I started the afternoon angry at the surly woman, the Department of Public Safety, myself, and the whole situation in general. By the end of it, I was seeing the tenderness of humanity. In the surly woman and the polite gentleman who were both facing an exponential complication to their jobs. In the complaining women who basically wanted to be shown a little respect. In the deputy who tried to use his authority to maintain peace. In the gentle bureaucrat who successfully conveyed information with compassion. In myself for missing a vital piece of information and doing what was necessary to accomplish what I set out to do.

I almost felt ashamed paying for my new license in one-dollar bills, but I was thankful that I had talked myself down from the stiff-jawed desire to pay in pennies.

Dancing with Reality

2011-01-10T12:31:00.000-06:00

I was encouraged to share this recent article I wrote in the newsletter for Envision Coaching Solutions, LLC. With all of the hectic activity around the move this week, it seems like great timing for it.

http://www.oddee.com/item_94046.aspx

Sometimes I have been frustrated when plans go awry, especially when I have spent a great deal of time and energy formulating how things can ideally play out. Unexpected elements can emerge and change things suddenly and radically. There are times when it is tempting to delay action until all the unknown factors come to light. But even though chances for success may be greater with increased information, you might never have all of the information pertinent to a decision.

I wrote a few issues back about "paralysis by analysis". Now I am experiencing the other side of that conundrum, dancing with reality. Without knowing what the future would hold (and without expecting to be able to have such knowledge!), I created a plan for the next several months, and now I am faced with making some pretty big changes to that plan. The reasons for those changes is on the whole very positive: My wife is taking a job doing something at which she excels in a field she absolutely loves. There is some payoff for me in that as well. But it still means making changes to some pretty exciting plans.

Rather than see the situation as a loss, though, I am able to see how I can still be creatively engaging my passions for one simple reason. I knew from the start that there was more than one way to get the outcome I most want in my life. Had I believed that the first possibility I determined was the only way, this would be a very frustrating time indeed. Some people call that single-mindedness attachment to a particular result.

Attachment is not your friend. Determination is valuable to a point, and commitment and resolve and all of those admirable qualities that keep us focused on a goal. But danger arises when we focus on that goal to the exclusion of all other possibilities or when we ignore reality. Every plan of action is really just a proposal, a hypothesis to be tested. You test it by taking action, with full commitment and resolve and determination toward your goal. Then you get feedback, from other people, from circumstances, from your own gut.

The key is to take that feedback and adjust your plan accordingly. You can still focus on the same goal, but you may have to take a different route than you were expecting. It may even be a better route than you had considered. If you are unwilling to alter your plan, you are essentially saying that you know everything that you could possibly need to know to get where you want to go. No one can honestly say that. That is at the very heart of attachment. You must be willing to be wrong in order to create anything of value. That doesn't mean that you will be wrong, but a person who is willing to consider the possibility that he doesn't have every possible piece of useful information will be much more receptive to feedback than someone who can't bear to be wrong.

So, determine your goal, make your plan, take full throttle action on your plan, and then pay attention to what happens next. Whatever feedback you receive is incredibly valuable, and what you do with it is the key to having a plan that will truly carry you where you want to go.

The Sacredness of It All

2011-01-02T14:24:00.000-06:00

I had the opportunity to view the movie Howl, referring to Allen Ginsberg's poem of the same name. The film is really three themes woven into one tapestry: the story of the obscenity trial focused on the publication of the poem, biographical information about Ginsberg (taken mostly from an interview with the poet) which serves to elucidate much of the personal references in the poem, and the poem itself, set to animation inspired by Illuminated Poems, a collaboration between Ginsberg and Eric Drooker. It had been some time since I had read or heard the poem Howl, but what struck me once again was the final section of the poem, which the author actually called Footnote to Howl.

One word dominates Footnote, and that word is 'Holy'. Perhaps Ginsberg was being a bit absurd or provocative in the specific things he dubbed 'holy', but the overall theme that comes across to me is that everything is sacred and nothing is excluded from having innate worth. It is a sentiment with which I wholeheartedly agree. Certainly, different things have different value, and different people will value some things more than other things. Beyond personal preference, though, beyond opinions and market analysis, I feel a sense of grounded calmness when it sinks in that everything in nature, and every person, and everything that every person creates, has an intrinsic quality of holiness.

My bachelor's degree was specifically focused on "sacred music". As a pianist, I spent a great deal of time practicing, just like any other classically trained musician, but I also spent concentrated time studying "the use of music in sacred settings" and "music intended for worship, specifically in a Christian tradition." It is remarkable that it was never driven home to me how sacred all music is. That it is music is enough. I suppose more accurately, that it is is enough for it to be sacred on some level.

On my senior piano recital, I programmed a piece by John Cage called Water Music. There was some piano playing involved, but it also included the sounds of water being poured into containers of varying sizes, and a radio -- sometimes on an actual station, sometimes sitting on the static between stations. At one moment, the only sound was that of the radio, which was playing some kind of instrumental electronic dance tune as we all sat and listened within the context of this unique performance of Cage's piece. Then, a voice in the midst of the electronic sounds came across the radio and into our focused listening in that recital hall. It said, "Do it ... Do it doggie style."

And then the piece continued with me dealing cards into the piano or whatever part of the piece came next, but that moment was profound. There was laughter and perhaps embarrassment, our high brow artistic expectations challenged by something that bordered on vulgar, which was perhaps perfectly in line with what Cage would have relished. Yet holy. On some level, sacred. I didn't necessarily think so at the time. Nor did one of my professors, who thought that it made something of a mockery of the college recital environment. My perspective has evolved since that time.

Over the past year, I have spent innumerable hours pondering what music I should be writing. What will get played? What will excite a performer? What will fit what a film producer or advertiser is looking for? What will compel people to listen? As if the approval of a certain number of listeners was actually the goal. One of the most inspiring aspects of our upcoming relocation is that it gives my mind a bit of a reset. I really want to write music that is inspiring to me, music that expresses something compelling to me, music that is personally satisfying. In the act of creating, I am engaging in divine work in a very human way. And whatever I create will be worth my creating. On some level, sacred. Intrinsically holy. Like you and me.

The Year in Review

2010-12-26T14:11:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week, when I inquired about purchasing some lily essential oil (for a little "aromachology" exercise), the gentleman behind the counter said, "You won't find that here or anywhere else for that matter... genuine lily essential oil is highly poisonous and is absorbed easily through the skin. You may want some lily fragrance oil instead." Immediately, I felt very ashamed for not having had that knowledge, and I remember being in classroom situations in which I was expected to arrive with built-in knowledge rather than actually learn. I quickly realized, however, that the only way to learn something is to admit that you don't already know it. As someone who values learning, it is something of a gift to realize that there will always be something I don't know. The humility to admit that I don't know something opens the door for me to keep learning.

That little lesson got me looking back at what I have learned over the past year, and so I share with you now just a few of the things that have stuck with me from my journey of the last several months. I'll go ahead and start with: It's alright to admit I don't know something. It bears repeating, for my own sake at least.

Another big one from 2010 is: Money isn't everything. So many of the paths I have started down over the past year have ultimately been about finances. I wanted to be a responsible person, I wanted to monetize my passions, I sought guidance from a variety of sources, and ultimately I have come to realize that, for me, it doesn't work for me to focus on a dollar figure. The things that matter most to me are not things I can purchase, and when I become focused on the financial equation, it's easy to lose focus on the things that matter most to me. I have learned a lot about money this year, and I have crossed some thresholds in how I think about money. I know now that it isn't something that I want to pursue. Money is merely a byproduct.

There are a lot of voices chattering about money, though. And they chatter about success and freedom and all sorts of other topics. Testing what people say and observing the results in their own lives is a great way to confirm who to trust. Sometimes I really want to trust what someone is saying, and sometimes there is something within me that just cringes at a particular idea or individual. Without any actual data, I'm just going on my own intuition, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but data helps cement my trust of a concept. The challenge is that sometimes the data goes against someone or something I had really wanted to trust. As difficult as it may be to admit it, if a hypothesis doesn't hold true in the laboratory of my life, honesty with myself is still the best policy.

I've also come to realize that: Fiefdoms aren't worth the battle. In different roles, in different organizations, I have encountered people who operate as if they are running their own little kingdom. While I may have something of value to add to the organization, and while I may get something out of my participation, when it comes down to it, it's a poor use of my energy to challenge someone behaving like a local lord. It's easy for a person rooted in their beliefs and their pockets of power to develop a closed mind.

This has come up for me in part because I have begun to really understand for the first time that: It's good to play out loud. As a pianist, I have constantly found myself in places where I am asked to back off on the volume. Sometimes, as a thinker I have met with similar resistance. Recently, I have had a few opportunities where I was urged to play out louder as a musician, and it has been a lot of fun. There is a tremendous amount of freedom when I know I can play loud, and it is immensely satisfying to know that people genuinely want to hear what I have to offer.

Which is why: It's important to find a place where loud is accepted. After hearing for so long that I need to be a bit softer, it sometimes bleeds into my own personal evaluation of myself. In my own life at least, I want to encourage my own peak volume. But there are other places, too, where people want to hear me, as a musician, as a composer, as a thinker. Finding those places is more satisfying in the long run than screaming in a library. Especially since, most of all, I believe that what I have to offer has value, and I would prefer to find ways for that value to be what people notice first.

So, that brings me to two last big ones that I have known for a long time, but have only started to really believe. Focusing on what's most important to me is the best way to live a meaningful life. Of course, it can be a challenge to know what's really most important, but for me it includes having creative outlets, making music, the connections that I have with other creative people. It's important for me to respect and tolerate other people's spiritual expression, even as I seek an ideal way to define and live out my own spirituality.

Lastly, as much as I want to be understood, admired, and respected, as much as I want to be able to use my strengths and capabilities in service to others, my first priority is to live in a way that makes sense to me. To live in a way that I understand and admire and respect. To make choices that magnify my strengths and capabilities. I don't have to justify my life or choices to anyone, but I want to be act with integrity in accordance with who I am at my core. When I choose things that don't really make sense to me, why would I expect to be understood, admired, or respected by anyone else? Harmony within hopefully paves the way for harmony without.

It has been a very fruitful and satisfying year, all things considered. If you stick around on the journey, we'll see how many of these lessons I keep learning further up the spiral...

Unseen Influence

2010-12-19T09:44:00.000-06:00

Seeker's Journey will most likely resume its course at some point, but I want to share with you some of the big pieces that are falling into place in this time of transition (more on that in a moment).

Having never been to Fort Worth, I was delighted to find that people there were very connecting and warm. In a conversation with someone on the Texas Christian University campus, I remarked on this and related my experience in a grocery store that morning. I had popped in on that Tuesday morning to grab some juice, and half a dozen other shoppers greeted me over the course of that visit, some with a purposeful nod and smile and others with a verbal Hello or Good morning. One person even complimented my tie. This sort of thing has never happened to me in Houston, and I took it to mean something about me and something about the people of Fort Worth.

The person with whom I was speaking remarked, "The purple in your tie may have had something to do with it."

I glanced down and glibly commented, "Well, I do have some ties that tend to make me stand out in a crowd."

With a patient smile, the individual explained, "Well, purple is the school color. You see a lot of it around TCU. It's kind of a sacred color around here."

Of course, I laughed a bit at my own assumptions. I don't doubt that Fort Worth residents are warm and friendly, and expect to find that they are so even when I am not clad in a sacred color. But there was something at work of which I was not aware during my little grocery store stroll. Although I knew purple was associated with TCU, I hadn't intentionally picked that tie because of its color. Somewhere in the back of my subconscious I may have thought it was a splendid idea, but I certainly wasn't thinking of that connection even when someone directly complimented my tie.

That experience has me thinking about other unseen influences. Not fairies or guardian angels or ghosts, but the conscious and unconscious systems at work within ourselves or within other people (or groups of people) to which we are blind. We operate on a great deal of assumption most of the time. If we always assume the best about people, someone may take advantage of us at some point. But if we assume the worst about people, we will likely see adversaries where there are none.

Certainly other consequences abound from those extremes as well, but at the end of the day we must operate on some amount of assumption. We can never actually know every single factor that will impact a result. The secret as far as I am concerned is to maintain a willingness to evaluate and shift course when new information arises. Which leads me to why I am suddenly moving to Fort Worth when I wasn't even considering doing so a month ago.

My wife, Joy, has accepted a job with Fort Worth Opera, doing something that she does well, connected to an art form she loves. The whole process happened rather quickly, and I am proud of her for paying more attention to her hopes than her fears at the end of the day. What it means for me is relocation to a place where I have no clear and definite plan, but there is some exciting freedom in that. It will mean a rethinking of our finances, a retooling of how I spend my time and energy, and a chance to keep focusing on the things that matter most to me. From what I can see right now, it appears that there will be immediate opportunities for me to be involved in the musical goings-on in Fort Worth, which can lead to new collaborations as a pianist and composer. In a way, I've been preparing for this move for the past year.

Neither of us would have predicted a year ago (or even six weeks ago) that we would be relocating for Joy to take a position working once more in the opera field. We had our perceptions of where various paths were leading, but we couldn't see everything influencing the direction of those paths. The paths I have gone down over the past year have all taught me something valuable, even when I didn't stay on a path for very long. I learned things I would never have truly learned otherwise, and some of those lessons have helped to define me. Or, at least, they have helped me see the value in being honest about who I truly am. I'll say more on this aspect of the journey next week.

What I want to clearly acknowledge right now is the importance of accepting that I do not see everything that goes on in other people's minds, and that I cannot know beyond a shadow of a doubt where a particular path will lead. At a certain point, I have to decide whether or not to step forward on a path, with only partial knowledge of what may lie ahead. But I can keep making that decision at every point along the way, taking in new information to guide my expectations and recognizing what I can do to contribute to the outcome I want. If I want people to be friendly to me in a Forth Worth grocery store, I know now that wearing a purple tie will go a long way toward getting that outcome. It might also work for me to walk into a place with a friendly greeting ready for the people I find there.

Since we can never forecast every unseen influence, I think life becomes a bit of a game in which we win by doing our very best as consistently as we can.

Seeker's Journey: The Fourth Map

2010-12-12T18:34:00.002-06:00

As they sat and rested, Seeker said to the Smiling Man, "I understand that you are quite content to journey with no destination in mind, but I want to choose a destination for myself."

The Smiling Man asked, "Well, did you have something specific in mind?"

"Actually, I think the destination that matters most to me is True Happiness."

The Smiling Man laughed heartily. "My friend, I frequent that locale daily."

"But you simply wander where your Arrow Map points and make the most of whatever you find there."

"Fair enough," the Smiling Man nodded. "But it seems that True Happiness is a destination one may easily reach if one is willing to do so. Does it seem strange to be in two places at once? It is more common than you may think."

Seeker pondered this and eventually replied, "Yes, I believe I see your point. True Happiness is not a destination I need to seek. If I am honest with myself, I know how to get there when I want to. But still, I believe I would like to determine a focal point for my journey, even if I spend time in True Happiness as well."

The Smiling Man once more asked, "Did you have something specific in mind?"

As Seeker looked around at the mountains and their splendor, he realized that what mattered most to him was having a direction, a purpose that he valued. He didn't necessarily want to determine a destination where he would live out the rest of his days, but he wanted someplace to serve as a target. Once he arrived, he could decide on a new destination if he desired. It perhaps wasn't all that different from the way the Smiling Man journeyed, except that it held a bit more intentionality. Seeker knew for perhaps the first time how important that intentionality was to him.

His eyes settled on a distant ridge. Its contour was striking, and its rock formations seemed fascinating at least from this distance. Seeker imagined that the view from that ridge would really be something worth seeing, and he was confident that he could also arrive in True Happiness as often and for as long as he wished. So he indicated the ridge and said with some determination, "There. That's the destination I have in mind."

The Smiling Man said, "Hmmm, that seems like a bit of a trek, but probably well worth it. I don't believe I'll be pointing myself in that direction, but you can most likely find your way there on your own." And then his eyes lit up as inspiration struck, "What you need is a map!"

With a bit of resigned amusement, Seeker stated, "I have maps enough as it is." Once more, he withdrew his Map of Known Routes, the Map of Destinations, and the Arrow Map. He looked at the ridge at back at the maps in a half-hearted attempt to find a recognizable connection.

"Oh, no, no, no," quipped the Smiling Man. "That's far too much information. You would never choose some of those routes and you have no interest in most of those destinations. You need a map that is more useful and a bit less exhaustive."

"But exhaustive is useful," argued Seeker. "Until recently, I often checked my Map of Known Routes to insure that I hadn't strayed onto a dangerous or slippery path. And as recently as today I consulted the Map of Destinations to eliminate all of the places I don't care to go in order to clarify the choices a bit. Surely you don't suggest I reach that distant ridge by using only the Arrow Map."

"That may actually work. But I was thinking more of having a map that indicated what you actually want in way of routes and destinations, instead of confusing the matter by looking at every possibility every time you want to go somewhere. If your map shows you where you want to go and how you want to get there, isn't that enough?"

"What if I'm wrong? What if I wind up on the wrong path, one that doesn't actually lead where I want to go? What if a path doesn't go where I expect it to?"

"Then you make adjustments as necessary. It's not actually all that difficult."

Seeker was still a bit skeptical. "Why should I trust cartographic advice from a man who exclusively follows an arrow that points him in whichever direction he wishes to go in any given moment? I mean, it is a fine way to appreciate the journey, but I seriously doubt your method is a reliable way to travel with purpose."

The man's smile didn't fade as he turned his Arrow Map over and showed Seeker the other side. It was a simple affair, but it had some important destinations and reliable routes to them. "I know how to get to the places that really matter to me when I want to."

Suddenly, Seeker found his opinion of this traveling companion sharply adjusted. He spent the next few hours learning from the Smiling Man how to create a map with only valuable information on the back of his own Arrow Map. The Smiling Man wouldn't tell him if it was accurate, and he didn't express any approval or disapproval of what Seeker thought was valuable information. When it seemed complete enough for Seeker to resume his journey, the Smiling Man slowly nodded with satisfaction.

"I wish you the most enjoyable travels, Seeker. You will encounter others along the way who can help you correct and clarify your map as you go, but don't blindly trust anyone who tells you that you've got something wrong. Test it and see for yourself, and you'll always know you're on the right track."

Seeker thanked the Smiling Man, and he folded his old maps and kept them tucked away, just in case. He felt very happy with his new map, however, and he set off for the distant ridge with a spring in his step.

Seeker's Journey: Four Travelers

2010-12-05T10:20:00.000-06:00

As Seeker traveled on his unmarked trail, he occasionally met fellow travelers who had chosen an uncharted route. Seeker's journey led him up into mountains, and his conversations with others helped him tremendously when the actual path was difficult to discern. At times, it seemed that there was no real path at all, just a general heading, or a landmark on which he could fix his gaze. Other travelers would tell Seeker about places to find clean water, magnificent overlooks, quiet thickets. A few people Seeker met claimed to have been everywhere in these mountains, but few of them seemed earnest in such claims.

One man was eager to compare maps with Seeker. Unlike Seeker, he had struck out on his journey with a specific destination in mind: Unconditional Human Love. Seeker had met other travelers like him, who could not find a way to take well-known routes and arrive at Inner Peace, or Renewing Solitude, or The Most Inspiring View, or any number of other destinations. And so, they had taken an unmarked trail in the hopes of finding their own personal El Dorado. Seeker had not found any of those destinations, but the conversation was pleasant enough.

Seeker asked the man about other nearby destinations before they parted ways. The most valuable information often came from people who began answers to his queries with, "I don't know, but..." This man's response especially stuck with Seeker. "I don't know what's near here, but you'll be more likely to find it if you're looking for it." Seeker thanked him and they went off on their respective journeys.

Another pair of travelers was headed back to clearly-mapped roadways. One seemed rather disappointed with her journey off the beaten trail, but the other seemed quite satisfied and ready to resume a previous agenda. As Seeker talked with them, he discovered that the two women had come from the same destination, and his concept of "desirable destinations" began to shift. The same end point had left one woman feeling frustrated and empty, while her companion was full of vigor and purpose.

Comparing maps with each other, the travelers confirmed that they were headed back toward "accepted" routes, and Seeker began to reassess his sense of which destinations on his map were truly desirable. Then, Seeker was startled to learn that the two women did not even know if they were carrying a third map like his, with only an arrow upon it. They seemed puzzled by it, and left unconvinced of its usefulness. Seeker pondered how they had made it along any uncharted trail without such a map, but he shrugged and bade them a good journey.

The more Seeker conversed with fellow travelers, the more he became convinced that no destination was inherently desirable. Many people who had wandered from well-traveled paths seemed to have a different sense of where they most wanted to go. They still relied on their map of destinations, but they didn't concern themselves with which sites the mapmakers indicated as more or less desirable. This got Seeker thinking about what adjustments he could make to his own map, which destinations he would label most desirable if he had made his map.

As he was still pondering this, Seeker came across another man who seemed so light and carefree that Seeker's face immediately smiled upon seeing him. When he asked the man about nearby destinations, the man seemed exuberant at the wonders that were nearby, but he could give Seeker no real indication of how to reach them. So, Seeker suggested they compare maps.

"A splendid idea!" replied the stranger as he withdrew a single well-worn map. It was nearly identical to Seeker's map with the arrow and nothing else. Seeker laughed a bit and looked at the man expectantly.

"What about your other maps?" Seeker prompted.

"This is the only map I use! Each day I come across new and glorious reasons to appreciate this journey. I'm not exactly sure where I've been, and I don't know where I'm going, but I know that there will be something to see when I get there."

After an incredulous moment, Seeker mused, "It is as if you are your own destination."

The smiling man looked at his arrow-map, and Seeker looked at his own. As it happened, when they oriented their maps a bit, they pointed in the same direction. So Seeker traveled with the man for a bit, hanging on to his other maps and considering what destination he may actually find desirable. In the meantime, he became more accustomed to using a map to which he had paid very little attention before setting off on the mysterious path. Although it was true that there was always a new and glorious reason to appreciate the journey, Seeker was convinced that there was a way to combine a meaningful journey with a meaningful destination.

Seeker's Journey: The Village

2010-11-28T08:21:00.000-06:00

Seeker greeted the next morning with great excitement and faith, reassured by the messages of those who had traveled the unmarked path he had discovered and confident that it led to a wondrous destination. Fear and doubt were still present as he traveled, but they were quiet and unobtrusive. Before long, Seeker came upon a village and was overjoyed to see its activity.

In the village, there seemed to be many small gaggles of people, and in most of the clusters, many people stood enraptured by a nuclear figure, a speaker of some kind or a person engaged in some intriguing activity. Some of the people looked as though they had been listening for quite some time, and yet they were captivated by what they heard. Before long, Seeker realized that this place was like many on his map of destinations, and he quickly unfolded and consulted the map. He had been to some similar destinations, and there were many more indicated as possibilities: MBA, Community College, Law School, State University, Medical School, and on and on. Some of those destinations were very specific with regard to quality and location, and some were more general, but they were all sites of learning.

Sites of learning had been a distinct pleasure for Seeker, for he loved to gain new knowledge, and so he began to take in what the village had to offer. One group was listening to a speaker convey the secrets of finding hidden treasures in the nearby mountains. It was an interesting topic, but Seeker had obviously missed some essential information at the beginning of the discussion, so he wandered a bit and observed some of the other goings-on. He saw one individual sitting on the ground, grabbing handfuls of mud and slowly smearing it on his face. An onlooker whispered, “How profound!”

Although it increasingly became a challenge, Seeker tried to keep an open mind and benefit from the wisdom of the enlightened people in this village. One woman claimed to have incontrovertible proof of the existence of extraterrestrial visitors as she held up what was quite obviously an empty pie tin. Several people claimed to have been contacted by spiritual beings bearing messages of truth, but none of them seemed to have received the same messages. Some people were unable to share their complete knowledge adequately to the gathered crowd, but had written their secrets down in volumes which were available for purchase. Little by little, Seeker’s bright, wide-eyed smile began to ebb as he became more and more skeptical of the knowledge to be gained in this site of learning.

A bit disheartened and frustrated, Seeker trudged back to the outskirts of the village. He was comforted when he saw that his uncharted path continued on past the village. This, at least, was not the end of the road. There could be something better ahead, something that had more substance, more truth. Just then, Seeker heard an unexpected voice near the path ask, “Disappointed?”

He looked to see a large, free-standing window overlooking the path and seemingly connected to nothing. As he approached, he responded, “Quite disappointed, actually. I had hoped to learn something.”

“Didn’t you?” queried the reflection in the glass.

Seeker pondered the question, and was about to respond when the reflection asked, “Wasn’t the hammock and the fire a nice surprise?”

“Yes. Yes it was.” Seeker’s face lit up a bit and his shoulders relaxed. The reflection smiled back, and Seeker was filled with a sense of comfort and peace. He decided that he was finished with the village, and he continued down the path. He didn’t consult his map of destinations, but he wondered what such a place as that village might be called.

Seeker's Journey: An Emerging Fear

2010-11-21T10:42:00.002-06:00

Seeker started off down the uncharted road brimming with anticipation and excited to be on such an unexpected adventure. Beautiful and captivating sights and sounds were all about for one willing to notice, the simple gifts of nature. Here a cluster of flowers occupies a hummingbird, there a trio of squirrels chase one another across the surface of an ancient-looking oak. Beyond them in the distance was a backdrop of immense, rugged mountain contours, constant sentinels since before any person crested their ridges. Seeker was surrounded by wonder.

But as Seeker traveled, fascination with the wondrous surroundings gave way to other thoughts. This path was not on his map of known routes to anywhere. Perhaps it didn't actually lead to any destination at all. That was unlikely, since evidence suggested that the road at least passed through Serenity-in-Solitude, and Natural Wonder, but perhaps the path eventually led to someplace less pleasant. A destination that Seeker never intended or desired. Or perhaps the path was dangerous. It was pleasant enough now, but who knew what unseen risks and perils might lurk ahead? Seeker confessed aloud, I honestly have no idea where this will lead.

Turning around was always a possibility. It wasn't too late. The path had not forked, and there was no chance of getting lost on the way back to familiar territory. And yet, his feet still carried him forward. Something appealing about this unpaved road still piqued Seeker's curiosity, and so he continued on with fearful conjectures competing for his attention with the pleasures of the journey.

Even as he wrestled with his fears, the path continued to immerse him in new details of wonder. Kaleidoscopic patterns of light as the sun filtered through leaves swaying in the wind's gentle breathing. A colony of caterpillars in various stages of encasing themselves for transformation. The discarded skin of a local snake, curled like a brittle stocking. Each small wonder confirmed that the trip had been worthwhile, at least for that moment.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKjG1vm5F84

But as night began to fall, the fears began to win. What had seemed like a path worth exploring now seemed like a mistake. What if there is never anyone else along this journey? You might be alone forever. What if there was no meaningful work at the end of this trail? Everything would be a struggle. You will have to find the way to a desirable destination from a completely unknown location. You acted too rashly and now you will have to pay the consequences. You will be isolated and alone and unprepared in an unknown place. Are you satisfied with entertaining your curiosity now? All the hummingbirds and cocoons and snake scales in the world can't bring you safety and comfort.

Seeker's frustrating diatribe against himself ceased suddenly when he came across an unexpected sight. Off to the side of the path, there was a campfire. A hammock was strung between two sturdy old trees. At the base of one of the trees was a trunk with a small engraved sign on top: Rest well, and be sure to share about your journey. Seeker looked around, but there wasn't another soul in sight. He called out, but the crackling of the fire was the only response. So he opened the trunk and pulled it a little closer to the firelight.

In the trunk was a small basket of fresh fruit and bread, and an expensive-looking pen on top of some kind of scrapbook. Seeker gingerly took the book and opened its pages to find that many different hands had written upon its pages. Others before him had written about the unexpected path, the natural beauty they encountered, the fear that had gripped them all at some point. Some people had sketched animals or plants they had seen along the way. A few had written poems or songs about their experience. None of them seemed to know where the path actually led, but Seeker found their writings comforting and encouraging. He was not alone in this journey.

Then, Seeker came to a blank page. He looked at it for a moment, slowly biting into a piece of fruit as he considered all that he had experienced in a short time. With profound trust, he took the ornate pen and began to write by the flickering of the campfire.

Seeker's Journey: The Unexpected Path

2010-11-14T13:01:00.003-06:00

A cloud of dust enveloped the car as Seeker pulled off to the side of the road. Something had piqued his interest, and being the curious sort, he stopped to check it out. Leading off away from the road was an unpaved trail, a route Seeker had never noticed before. As the dust settled, Seeker emerged from his car with three maps in his hand, and he studied them.

One map held only destinations. Seeker had been to some of them, and he had been told that many others were "must see" locations. The most desirable destinations had names like Happy Marriage, Financial Security, Meaningful Work, and Healthy Children. Other destinations were on the map, too. Dead-End Job, Credit Card Debt, Hopeless Addiction . . . places that one may pass through or get stuck in, but not places that people were clamoring to find. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was which just by a name on the map, but once a person spent time in a place, its character became more apparent.

It had been easier for Seeker to find his way to some desirable locations because of a second map he possessed. Although the second map had no destinations marked, it conveyed the routes that one might take. The map indicated which routes were easy, which were challenging, and which were somewhere in between. It revealed which paths were well-traveled and which would make for lonely journeys. Some roads had special requirements, like training in a specific skill or approval of a particular person, and some were patently unsafe. When Seeker remembered to compare the two maps, he had been able to discern manageable routes to some of the destinations he had been encouraged to find.

This unknown trail leading off the well-traveled road was something of a conundrum. Here was a clear route that someone had surely traveled before, and yet there was no indication of it on his map. Since Seeker had never come across an obvious road that didn't appear on the map, he initially doubted that he even saw the odd road at all. When his eyes remained convinced that the unpaved trail was indeed a reality, he began to doubt his ability to read the map. But after a moment of getting his bearings, he surmised that this curious trail had somehow escaped being transcribed upon the map he possessed. He wondered where it led.

It was obvious that his destination map could not shed any light on the trail, and his map of routes was of no use here. So, Seeker opened the third map he had, a cartographic wonder that someone special had given him long ago. He had never needed it before, since the other two maps had served him in every other circumstance. As Seeker unfolded the page, he secretly hoped that it would give him a good reason to explore that mysterious trail. The third map was unlike the other two in its simplicity. It was comprised of a single symbol, an arrow pointing in one specific direction. When Seeker oriented the page toward the unpaved road, it became clear that the arrow pointed directly down the intriguing trail.

With a burst of exuberance, Seeker grabbed a few necessities and locked his car. He so wanted to find out where the new path led. A sense of wonder and excitement enfolded him as he set off in an unknown direction, imagining where it might lead.

To be continued...

In Sync with Me

2010-11-07T13:16:00.001-06:00

Jung's concept of synchronicity is a featured concept in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, which I have been working through with a few friends over the past several weeks. Essentially, synchronicity is "the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner." In other words, seemingly connected events that don't have a high probability of happening concurrently. While I am much more prone to labeling such things as coincidences unless they are uncannily pertinent to what I'm doing personally, I have been trying to notice when events seem to be lining up in a significant way. Perhaps this willingness and intentionality on my part has contributed to a feeling of being "in sync" with my life.

Most theories of personal growth and development postulate an even number of phases, cycling through focusing inward and focusing on something external. The first phase is usually something akin to survival, concentrating all of one's energy toward getting the basic necessities. A second phase (if one is able to trust that survival will happen) is often adopting an external set of rules or goals, whether they originate from a church, a political organization, or some other institution with established beliefs. The next phase would be integrating the meaningful beliefs from outside oneself into a period of defining personal identity. And once deeper self-actualization has taken place, the following phase would address how to engage with the broader society, or at least some portion of it. I can see this pattern at work when I look backward at my journey, but I have often been wrestling with whatever phase I've been in.

When I was clearly (looking back) in phases of clarifying personal values, I was also often struggling to engage more purposefully with a larger group. And sometimes when I have accepted a prominent role within a larger group, I have found myself confronted with challenges about what beliefs are most meaningful to me personally. While the internal and external work can be in balance, I have frequently tried to force myself to focus in a particular direction when I wasn't actually in the "right" phase to do so. I have wanted to guard against being focused too narrowly and missing some important piece of personal doctrine. Certain beliefs about what life "ought" to be about have served better at some junctures than others. To put it another way, I haven't always been willing to let myself grow because I was afraid of what beliefs I might grow out of.

Everyone has a doctrine—a system of beliefs they live by. Some piece of a person's doctrine may be incorporated from external sources, and some may come from an internal sense of what's important or how things should be. But at some point, the beliefs have to become personal if they are going to have deep value. Living by a doctrine that someone else created for you doesn't reflect integrity. That's just a sort of irresponsible obedience. Integrity comes from taking a personal stand for one's own life, claiming a personal set of beliefs not to judge right and wrong in others but to identify what has true personal value.

At some points in my life, the beliefs that primarily informed my decisions were actually different from what I thought I should believe. I was in conflict with my own doctrine, but I didn't realize it at the time. Now, I have been taking time to really think about what beliefs are really potent for me. I have been giving myself permission to be honest about what's most important to me, without worrying about what might get left behind if I focus in a direction that has personal importance. Trusting myself, with some confidence in what I have been recognizing as valuable for me, I find a strange appropriate-ness in the opportunities I am creating and discovering.

While I may have told myself so in the past as a reassurance or believed it intellectually, I feel in a very deep way that I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment in my life. It's not synchronicity, but I believe that noticing the "rightness" of my experience comes from being conscious of my personal doctrine and aware of how I am able to engage life in a meaningful way. And when I know that what I believe makes sense, fear has a lot less of a foothold.

Recapitulation

2010-10-31T10:04:00.000-05:00

In some pieces of music (specifically those with a sonata-allegro structure), the themes from the beginning return later on after a time of "development". This return is called the recapitulation, and it marks a very dramatic moment in the music. It's similar to hearing a jazz piece in which the soloist introduces the melody, and then improvises for a while, going as far afield as he dares from that original tune. When he returns to the melody again, it is a striking moment that (hopefully) ties all of his improvisatory development back to the foundation of the piece. The same thing can happen in Indian ragas, and in fact many other musical styles. The moment of return to the familiar is poignant.

But the music is never quite the same the second time around. Even if it held the exact same notes, we would still hear the recapitulation differently than the first iteration of those themes. The development that leads up to the moment of return fills our ears with many different possibilities, regardless of the style. The music at that moment of return could be identical to what we heard before, but we are different. We may be excited or satisfied when the music gets back to that familiar melody, even though we hear it through a filter of information we didn't have before.

The development helps us to appreciate the original melodies more fully by wandering away from the full blown themes of a piece and using bits and pieces of those ideas for musical meandering. The development can be exciting, but almost always has an unstable feeling. To our ears, it's restless, in motion. The return to the integrity of the initial themes of a piece feel like a destination after all of the development's instability. The recapitulation seems stable. Emotionally, it's a clear sense of arrival.

Life does that, too. As I have been looking at applying for a college teaching position after a few years of development, I have a comfortable sense of familiarity, and yet I am different from the person I was the last time I lived this theme. My path has certainly held direction and purpose, but there honestly has been some instability in pushing against my own perceived limitations. Covering new ground is exciting, but it can also be frighteningly uncertain. Returning to the idea of teaching music at a university not only has familiarity, though. I have greater clarity about that theme because of the time in between.

Having taken the time to discern what has greatest value in my life, I can approach the familiar decision differently than I did in the final months of my doctorate degree. I know now how much I love being in the classroom and teaching performers the keys to getting beyond the notes and creating engaging music. I'm aware of how valuable it is to me to nurture my own creativity, and I have a greater appreciation for organizational dynamics. Essentially, I guess I'm more mature than I was the first time I started applying for teaching positions, although I wasn't altogether immature before. I've been through a development section, and sending out letters of application and a revised Curriculum Vitae feels like a recapitulation--an arrival point at someplace familiar I can now see in a new way.

How Selfish

2010-10-23T09:45:00.000-05:00

When the flight attendants do the bit about putting on your own oxygen mask before helping those around you, it has always been clear why they would need to tell me that so directly. It's natural for me to put aside my own wants or needs for other people. So if a situation demands that I take care of myself first, it seems like the exception. I'm realizing how much more that could represent the norm, how satisfying it can be to focus my attention on my own personal vision.

In the past, I've written about my fear that, underneath it all, I'm a selfish person. This fear has been with me for awhile, but over the last couple of years, I have focused more purposefully on ridding myself of it. The problem has been that so much of what I am truly passionate about was taking a backseat to other noble endeavors, and to concentrate more fully on my own dreams and personal vision seemed selfish. It's hard to get rid of a belief when one is regularly creating new evidence for it. At the same time, I frequently allow my own goals to be less important than the goals of others, probably because I don't want to appear selfish to myself or anybody else.

Not being selfish has been the underlying cause of many issues for me. Most of the situations that I found dissatisfying as an adult have resulted from me working to improve the processes or culture of a place when my ideas were not universally valued. Instead of focusing my efforts on what mattered most to me, I sublimated what I saw as selfish goals for the sake of a greater good. I turned my creative abilities and strategic skill toward external organizations rather than using them for my own selfish endeavors, and in so doing, I created a no-win situation for myself.

Now, I believe that there is a difference between being selfish and being self-absorbed. I believe that one can be both selfish and compassionate. In fact, I believe that one must be selfish in order to see a personal vision through to fruition. Creating a life with deep personal meaning often requires guarding time against distractions and choosing relationships that are supportive over those that are toxic. One may call it self-awareness to soften the blow, but it has certainly felt like selfishness to me. The truth is, there has never been anything wrong with being selfish, aside from my own personal judgment against myself.

The big lie was not that I am a selfish person. The big lie is that it is wrong to be selfish. If I focus on the things I most want in my life, I'll still be creating something that has a broader impact, but it won't be at the expense of my own satisfaction. Giving myself permission to be selfish without imposing anything on anyone else is one of the most freeing things I have ever done. I am still interested in being of service to other people, and I know that I will be. But it makes sense to secure my own oxygen mask and breathe for myself before I help the people around me.

The Truth About Rejection

2010-10-10T11:21:00.000-05:00

My wife picks over bananas each week in the supermarket, carefully selecting a couple that were still green, a couple that were solid bright yellow, and two with peels that are being overtaken with brown spots. She knows that the bananas will ripen over the week, and she knows from experience what degree of ripeness she prefers. So with her, bananas have an equal chance of being selected no matter what their degree of ripeness. Entire piles of bananas still get rejected by her each week, but only because we can't possibly eat every banana in the store. She doesn't think much about the feelings of the bananas that get left behind (or the ones she buys).

A friend recently purchased a new truck. It looks a lot like his old truck, except that it's a little bit bigger and it has fewer miles on it. Before he got to the dealership, he had already rejected many possibilities of cars, minivans, and SUVs. He had some very good reasons for wanting a truck, and he wasn't concerned about how all those cars would feel when he didn't even give them a glance. Somebody else will likely prefer a car over a truck and the cars will get their chance.

We make selections every day about things, which means we choose some ideas and reject others. We absolutely have to reject some ideas, otherwise we would be paralyzed by the number of choices we have. When it comes to food or cars or other purchased goods, it's easy for us to narrow down our options based on what we want. When people get involved, rejection becomes a much more loaded issue. People actually have feelings that we intrinsically care about, and we know from personal experience how many decisions we make every day out of fear of rejection.

Why do we hold acceptance in such high esteem? Do we really believe that any person can be accepted by everyone? Or do we care more about what it says about us when someone rejects us? Something must be wrong with us if we get rejected, right?

But, wait a minute. Nothing was really wrong with all of the bananas left for other shoppers at the grocery store; it was a simple matter of knowing how many we can eat in a week. And nothing was really wrong with all of the vehicles my friend passed by to get to the truck he wanted; they just weren't what he wanted. When we face rejection ourselves, it's really about someone else expressing a preference. On the one hand, we would like to be "preferred" for a relationship or a job. On the other hand, we wouldn't necessarily enjoy just any relationship or job. We have our preferences, too.

I want the music I write to have broad appeal, but everybody isn't going to like it. The key is for me to find the people that prefer what I compose and focus on partnership with those people. It doesn't mean that I have been rejected as a human being just because my music wasn't chosen for a particular project, and it also doesn't mean I need to change what I am writing into something universally appealing.

The same is true as I continue to build my coaching practice. If I try to be all things to all people, I will fall short. I have areas of strength, and there are honestly some people I would prefer to work with. By defining a niche, I focus my energy and my attention. Choosing to focus on a certain group of people means setting myself up for rejection by people who are not part of that group. When that happens, it will be an indication to me that I have defined a niche well, and hopefully the people who are a part of that focal group will be able to see that as an advantage for them.

Whether it's with the music I compose, the people I choose to coach, or the relationships I nurture, the key is to be honest about what I want in my life. Some would call this authenticity. When I am being true to myself, there are some people who love being a part of what I am creating, and there are many others who ... well, reject me. That's alright. It means that I have defined myself more clearly for anyone who sees me. And when I'm being honest about who I am, and when I'm not afraid of rejection, being seen becomes a much easier thing to do.

Feeling the Rhythm

2010-10-03T10:06:00.000-05:00

When expressed in their most simplistic iterations, astrological and biorhythm forecasts just seem silly to me. Can it be that everyone born on the same day will really experience more or less the same life, with ups and downs coinciding in a lifetime of synchronicity? The idea is hard for me to digest. So I don't. I typically think of it as a bit of fun and leave it at that.

Someone was recently explaining a more in-depth astrological approach to me, and I began to see how the fortune-cookie blurbs in the morning paper don't do the practice justice. When a full blown astrological reading is done, there is a lot more specific information taken into consideration than I ever realized. Shortly after this conversation, I was reading about biorhythms. Once again, I learned that some people get much more involved than drawing a few simple sine waves and matching them up with dates. I still don't know that I believe one can make accurate predictions about another person's life, even with an elaborate system of forecasting. But it did get me thinking.

I create plans days, sometimes weeks, in advance. I know what I expect to be working on way ahead of time, even though I don't know how I'm going to feel or what other things may crop up. It's a flexible plan, by necessity, but I am not always flexible with myself. If I have planned to work on a brass ensemble piece next Tuesday, and then I wake up feeling rather uninspired, my typical response is to work on the brass ensemble piece anyway and just trust that inspiration will eventually be there.

My fear is that if I take a day off, or if I postpone something on the schedule, I'll never go back to it. I'll become a lazy underachiever with nothing to show for my all my creativity and experience. A bit drastic, eh? But that fear creates a demand that I must keep to my schedule, I must keep on track with my projects at all costs. I don't always like what I create out of that fear, but at least I stick to the plan.

The strange thing is, sometimes I do wind up taking a little time off. Sometimes I do get off track with my preconceived schedule. There are days that I just can't concentrate on the creative work, or I don't like anything that I'm creating, and I have always gone back to it later with renewed interest and inspiration. It's often just a matter of giving myself a little time to take a break and recharge.

I don't know if it has anything to do with when I was born or where the stars were at the time, but my life does have a rhythm. It may be a bit more complex than simple sine waves, but there is value in tuning in to what I'm feeling at any given time. Not only is it alright to allow myself to feel uninspired, it's the most honest thing to do some days. Giving myself permission to take a day off and trusting that I will come back to my creative projects refreshed is simply a way of recognizing the rhythm of my life. Forcing creativity can get the work done, but allowing it to flow naturally helps me to enjoy what I create.

Angry People

2010-09-26T09:46:00.005-05:00

Not long ago, I had occasion to hear someone tell a story about how things had unraveled after an angry rant was blown out of proportion. He was able to indicate how everyone else involved had reacted poorly to the situation, but seemed unaware of his own part in things. Being the person that I am, I tried to point out that his way of expressing anger could be something to look at as well. That piece of insight was not very well received.

In fact, when this fellow’s anger was focused on me, I found it easy to get hooked by it. It was a bit of a challenge to maintain my composure, which is a testament to how powerful an impact it has when we turn our anger on another individual. When I realized that I was getting riled up myself, I chose to remove myself from the situation. It’s my practice to handle my anger privately, since I know that I can say some pretty harsh things when I am angry – things I don’t really mean, which are intended only to be hurtful. I want to manage my anger in such a way that I can engage with people in a thoughtful and purposeful way.

There are plenty of ways to defuse angry people, but when I am in the midst of anger myself, I honestly don't feel like it. I don't always want to get to the heart of what is really bothering or scaring someone who is unleashing their anger on me. Sometimes, I just want don't care enough to take the verbal assault.

To this particular individual, my withdrawal looked like “running away and not playing anymore.” And that was true, in part. I didn’t actually want to play a game of one-upmanship with angry words. His claim was that I would keep encountering angry people in my life until I learned the lesson they had for me. In that moment, I think he knew what that lesson was supposed to be. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and I realize that I have learned a thing or two about anger.

Anger is useful. Anger is good. Anger is a legitimate emotion. As Julia Cameron says, “It is meant to be acted upon, not acted out.” Anger can direct us toward meaningful work in our lives. It can also be expressed in a way that separates us from others. Listening to anger can help determine what actions one wants to take in life. This is different from imposing anger on others. You can listen to your anger, but other people don't necessarily want to.

What I have learned from engaging with angry people is that it often isn't worthwhile to me to spend time and energy supporting someone who doesn't want support. When someone is in the middle of expressing anger, there isn’t a lot of room for another person’s insight or challenge. And I don’t have to engage in another person’s anger any more than I want to. Not only can I choose the partnerships that have meaningful value in my life, I can manage my anger in such a way that I bring my very best to those partnerships.

I know of organizations that have experienced great turmoil because a few people were unable to manage their anger or express it in a meaningful way. So, I don’t mean to suggest that anger should go unacknowledged. If one is unwilling to see the fear that is underneath the anger, however, festering anger can be devastating to many people. Expressing anger publicly is a way to gain power and get one’s way without much of a challenge. Managing one’s anger privately and bringing some practical suggestions forward publicly can be transformational on many levels.

It’s true that I have learned lessons from the angry people I have encountered. Not least of which, I’ve been able to make some choices about how I want to handle my own anger. But I may keep encountering angry people nonetheless, no matter how many lessons I have learned. Maybe they have something to learn from me, too.

Draco and the Labyrinths

2010-09-19T08:12:00.003-05:00

Draco crawled on his belly through the maze. He didn't know how he had come to be there, but he was beginning to discover how to navigate its twists and turns. Before long, he could predictably get food when he was hungry and attention when he was lonely, and yet there always seemed to be new paths to explore. One day, he discovered that he didn't need to slither along the ground, but could actually crawl up the walls of the labyrinth.

With a sense of wonder, Draco climbed on short legs up a wall all the way to the top. When he looked around, the whole labyrinth was laid out before him. It was no longer a mystery, and although it was comfortable and familiar, he began to notice something beyond the labyrinth he knew. It was another place, unfamiliar and yet inviting. He crawled to that place and began to explore.

Soon, Draco realized that he was in a new maze, with wonders and perils he had never known before. The old labyrinth was gone. As he walked along the new passageways, he made new discoveries. Beyond learning how to get his basic needs met in the new place, he also found ways that led to other rewards. Before long, the new labyrinth was as familiar as the one he had left behind. When he scaled the walls, he could see other mazes, but they seemed distant and unreachable.

With a bit of surprise, Draco discovered one day that flaps of skin between his legs would let him glide through the air. As he tried out his new capability, he realized that he could reach the other labyrinths he had seen with great ease. He wandered the mazes, each with its own surprises and rewards. The routes through some of them were so simple that Draco lost interest quickly. Other labyrinths were complicated enough that he became frustrated with them. Over time, he became familiar enough with bits and pieces of many labyrinths that he could find his way to what he wanted. By traveling this or that path, he could reliably get food, shelter, and other rewards.

But Draco eventually became so accustomed to the reliable routes that navigating the labyrinths no longer excited him. He began to think about who had built the labyrinths, and why they had fashioned the corridors as they had. He knew that his parents had created at least one of the mazes he frequented, and he assumed that they had traversed their own twisting paths. Friends, lovers, bosses, distant officials, and others he had never met crafted other labyrinths. When one maze became tiresome or filled with dead ends, Draco could glide over to another labyrinth and walk its paths for awhile. And when that became frustrating, he moved to yet another maze. He began to wonder if there wasn't something more, something that wasn't a labyrinth. A place without twisting corridors and confusing jumbles of paths.

One day, Draco noticed that the skin flaps that he used to glide from one maze to another had developed further. To his amazement, he found that he could fly up into the air. He would soar for awhile, and then return to one of the familiar labyrinths when the sheer freedom became frightening. A strong tether kept him from getting too high, too far away. When he became tired of the convoluted halls, he could fly up and away from them. But when he needed something, he knew how to return and travel the familiar paths. The tether kept him safe and close.

Until one bright day, Draco realized that he could get to anything he needed by simply flying to it. So he shook off the tether, and took to the air. He played on the zephyrs, perfectly content. And he never entered another labyrinth.

100% Certainty

2010-09-12T12:12:00.006-05:00

The puzzle began a little over two months ago. A group of friends were gathered around the table on a hot afternoon in early July, and a drop of water landed on the table. Searching the ceiling, we guessed that it was coming from a seam between the wooden slats there. It had been raining that day, so we thought it could be a roof leak. There was no plumbing in the attic above that room, just an air conditioning duct and a couple of vents. And the drip hadn't come from either of the vents. Still, as time went on, I became fairly confident that this drip had some connection to the air conditioner.

I don't really know anything about finding roof leaks or air conditioning problems. So, armed with our two best guesses, I called a roofer to come take a look, and I called our home warranty company to request an A/C specialist to check that out the other option. The first roofer was positive that it wasn't a roof issue, and the air conditioning specialist said he couldn't see any reason for the drip to be caused by the A/C. It was a just a mysterious drip, but it persisted and became more of an issue over the next couple of weeks. It happened infrequently, always on hot days when we had the air conditioner running, and with our two best guesses shattered, we had started seeking less likely causes.

The best less likely cause we heard about was poor ventilation. Supposedly, on hot and humid days, if the attic didn't have enough ventilation, a "cloud" could form up there that would account for our drip. Since attic ventilation was a roofing issue, I called a different roofer to come and take a look. He looked around and said that we seemed to have plenty of ventilation. In fact, the only thing he saw that could cause any problems in that part of the attic was the air conditioning system. So, I called the air conditioning expert back to have another look.

Imagine my disappointment when he couldn't find any reason for the drip. I had been fairly certain that the drip was an A/C issue, but then I heard some stories from other people about water leaking from one place and then running along a beam or something to a completely different spot before succumbing to gravity. So I went on a bit of exploration. I couldn't really see anything leaking or any water running along any beams. What I did see surprised me, though.

We have a lot of insulation in the area of the attic above that leak. I mean, a mother lode of insulation. So much, in fact, that I couldn't really get to the spot where the drip was happening without removing bales of insulation. I thought, I wonder how that A/C specialist was able to check this out without moving all this insulation out of the way. And then it dawned on me. He hadn't. Rather than remove all of the insulation, I called our home warranty company back and asked them to send the A/C man back, explaining that he could not possibly have done the job I paid him to do when he had visited my home previously.

He returned and briefly explained to me why he didn't need to move the insulation to know that it wasn't an issue with the air conditioning system. I pressed him, and he said, "I can 100% guarantee you that this isn't being caused by anything with your air conditioner." I was impressed by that. He certainly hadn't said that before. And he was the expert in that area.

So when he left, I looked up at that wooden ceiling and realized that the only way to really figure out the issue would be to tear down the planks (which were starting to show some signs of water damage by this point). I hoped that our home owners insurance would cover fixing the problem and any damage that had resulted. They sent out a few people of their own to diagnose the issue.

Their plumbers confirmed that there was nothing up there to leak in the way of water pipes. That was reassuring. I hadn't missed anything as obvious as a pipe spouting an arc of water across the attic. The air conditioning expert the insurance company sent out actually found the problem within about a minute. It was a problem with the A/C duct. Really.

Now, since the issue is the result of normal wear and tear, the insurance company won't cover it, and any damage caused by the water also isn't covered. But the home warranty company covers matters of normal wear and tear. So now, two months later, I have an answer to the mysterious drip, and I know how the matter can be solved. I am prepared to be tenacious with the home warranty company, the repair company with whom they contract, the Better Business Bureau, and anyone else that can have an impact on taking care of the problem completely.

The thing that bothers me most about the whole ordeal is that I knew what the problem was from the very beginning. I had no real knowledge or experience of my own to rely on, so I trusted someone who specialized in the area of concern. His 100% certainty turned out to be faulty, so I'm grateful that I got a second opinion. If I had trusted myself a little more in the beginning, perhaps I would have been a little more insistent with Mr. 100%.

It just seems like it shouldn't have been so difficult to get an answer. It seems like it shouldn't have gone on for as long as it did. It would be easy to slip into a victim mentality with all of this. What I want instead is to stand up for myself and get the services I've paid for, performed at a satisfying level of quality. It is actually about being able to care for and value myself while still seeing another person's humanity. Sometimes it can be a challenge.

Speaking of Truth

2010-09-05T14:43:00.007-05:00

Bold support is a term that gets used among a certain group of people I know. I use it occasionally, depending on the context, but I've started using a different term for it recently. Different people have different definitions of "bold support," so sometimes it can be a challenge to know exactly what people mean when they use the term. Some people think it means to tell people something they don't want to hear. A few people have described bold support as getting in someone's face and being confrontational. I don't necessarily want to practice either of those definitions, so I have turned to an older phrase for the same action: "speaking the truth in love."

The phrase appears in a religious text, but it doesn't really have anything to do with spiritual beliefs. Rather, "speaking the truth in love" is a way of engaging with other human beings that is at once bold and supportive, while maintaining a deep connection. Some people are good at speaking the truth. They may do so for any number of reasons. It isn't actually hard to say honest things if you don't care what anybody else thinks. The problem is that the truth can be presented in such a harsh manner that it is impossible to hear.

Some people are much better at saying loving things. They know exactly how to encourage, uplift, commiserate, console, and compliment. Sometimes there's an ulterior motive, and sometimes people are just trying to be nice. The issue with just saying loving things is that they are shallow without being rooted in actual truth. I'm sure you can think of a dozen useless loving things to say to someone who didn't get a promotion or reached the end of a relationship. It doesn't really support another person to give dishonest compliments or glib encouragement, no matter how good it may feel in the moment.

Of course, some people's words of "bold support" are neither truthful or loving. They wind up being opinions expressed as facts for the sake of telling someone else how they ought to be. Truth has an actual meaning beyond what any individual thinks. Our creative minds can invent all sorts of conclusions from the minutest details, but truth is really about the verifiable data one has. Sorting this from all of the opinions and beliefs we create ourselves can sometimes be a challenge.

For me, "speaking the truth in love" captures what I want my bold support to look like. I think the phrase is also less subject to interpretation if someone really thinks about the concept. I've seen it at work this week, and I've noticed how much I feel at home with that level of connection. I've been envisioning a world where people practice speaking the truth in love more frequently. I thought you might be interested in getting in on that action.

Back to School

2010-08-29T07:20:00.005-05:00

Throughout my college and grad school years, I had a real sense of what my long-term, short-term, and immediate goals were. I knew when the semester would be over, and I knew what I expected to learn or accomplish in that time. Now, with no advisor to inform my next steps and no professor with a syllabus to guide my journey through a course, it's really up to me to decide those things. Since I got so much from the structure of college semesters, I decided this fall to create a course listing of 10 courses and developed a semester syllabus for each of them. Essentially, I determined what things I want to spend my time and energy on for the next few months, and I found a way to share those goals with other people.

Five of the courses have tuition fees. One is the Basic Music Composition course I'm teaching at the Rice University Glasscock School of Continuing Studies, and another is essentially advanced composition lessons. I intend to take time for my own compositional endeavors as well, of course. The other three courses with tuition are the workshops I offer through Envision Coaching Solutions. The Power of Connection is on the calendar for October, and I'm in the process of locating a venue and scheduling the other two. I'm looking forward to how these workshops will evolve, and I am excited about being able to share skills and knowledge in a way that empowers other people to claim a meaningful vision for their lives.

The five free courses are a way that I'm basically doing that in my own life. When I was able to quantify what I want to create and learn over the next few months, I was also able to open space for partnership in those efforts. Basically, I advertised my "course offerings" to people I know, letting them see what I'm going to be spending time on and inviting them to join me. I've been thinking about how those courses fit together and why those particular topics are important to me personally.

Flow is a book I've been intending to read for awhile. I put it on the course schedule to invite others to read it at the same time and hopefully benefit from what it has to offer. It's about moment-by-moment creativity, which is something I strive for in my own life and want to encourage in others. I see it potentially informing how I coach coach and compose and connect with others.

The Artist's Way is similar is some ways. I expect to learn and grow as a composer and a coach, and I will have a chance to bear witness to the creativity of others in the group. This book is much more of a workbook than Flow, and its author, Julia Cameron, is an extraordinary creativity coach.

Since I know I'll be viewing and thinking about horror films, I included Morality in Horror Films in the fall semester. This has actually turned into a very compelling project for me. I expect a book to be created in partnership with the other participants, and there will be a lot of exciting lessons in organizing the project, over and above the entertaining subject matter.

Another activity I intended to keep on my calendar is a regular in-person role-playing game. For several months, I have been researching how role-playing games can be a tool for personal and organizational development. Unfortunately, lessons learned in a game typically do not transfer to real life. So, I have been working on developing tools to bridge that gap. Essentially, I believe that the opportunity for people to benefit beyond the fun of playing an imaginative game is too great to ignore. So I am dedicating time this semester to exploring Group Dynamics and Creative Strategy in Role-Playing Games.

Finally, I included in the fall semester Basic Ritual Craft. Much has been written about the importance of ritual, and how ritual can add depth of meaning to life events. We use ritual to celebrate all sorts of special events like birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, and promotions. It's been an interest of mine for some time, and I have created some rituals for use in previous jobs. I've been accumulating resources from many different perspectives, and I want to do something more with them. I don't know where this one will lead, but I am glad I committed to set aside time for it.

So, I am headed forward with a structure that has worked for me in the past. I don't know how it will work out, but it is an exciting venture filled with things that matter to me. And I am able to explore connection with other people in all of it. The biggest shift for me is that I have accepted that I am at the helm of my own life. Kind of a big deal I guess.

Crying Wolf

2010-08-22T08:14:00.004-05:00

You know the story. The shepherd boy is bored and lonely, so he yells WOLF! and everybody comes running to help defend against the predator. While this is great fun for the shepherd boy, everybody else is understandably angry about the whole affair. But the boy gives it another go and winds up playing the card too many times. By the time an actual wolf arrives on the scene, everyone ignores the boy's cries, and the wolf eats him. A harsh lesson to be sure.

I believe that there is certainly a lesson in that tale for the "everybody else," but today I am wondering how much I am identified with the shepherd boy. Once upon a time, I kept my cards pretty close to my chest. I didn't share with many people that I was going to a particular college until I had the offer and had made a decision. Same thing for grad school. There have been some major projects in my life I didn't really tell anyone about until they were close to completion. But something shifted several years back.

I started to tell more people what I was up to, and I found that there was support and motivation in the telling. Once I told someone that I was working on a particular piece of music, they would often inquire about it, and I would have another person's energy contributed toward its creation. Plus, just saying the commitment out loud made it seem a bit more real. Over the past several years, more and more people have known about the commitments I'm making, and I gain insight, feedback, and support from an ever-growing array of individuals.

Something else shifted for me over the past year. I started setting my sights on goals that are a bit bigger... paths that I can't discern fully from just the first steps. Committing to those targets is important for me, because otherwise they could just be wishes or dreams that never get realized. But the journey also gives me new information. For instance, I sometimes learn that there are things I don't really like about a destination I had in mind -- things I didn't know when I first committed to it. And in that moment, I have the opportunity to make a choice.

I could continue down a path I don't really want to travel simply because I have committed to it. People are depending on me, expecting me to follow through. That seems like a frustrating and dissatisfying choice that (at best) lacks authenticity. Instead, I have been exploring what was most meaningful to me about a particular goal, and I've been looking for more desirable destinations that offer the same benefits. Which is not to say that I would start a journey over from Square One. Rather, I have gained some knowledge along the way that I didn't have before, and I can see things that weren't possible when I started in a particular direction.

I'm actually at peace with this process. My concern is other people's perception. Since I am advertising my goals more widely, there are more people to notice when my commitment shifts. How many times can I veer off onto another unexpected path and retain credibility? There are some commitments I've made that just don't fit as I learn more about them, and yet I wouldn't have learned that information if I had never made the commitment. But when I choose to continue growing from that point toward something else, does it look like growth to other people or does it look like giving up? When do my shifts in targets for my life look enough like "crying wolf" that no one believes me when I stake a claim on another goal?

There is a part of me that retorts, "It doesn't matter what other people think." But it does. Partnership and meaningful support is such an integral part of creating big dreams that I want at least a few others to get the difference between "going back on my word" and shifting targets to something better for me as I gain more information. The real question doesn't have anything to do with how "everyone" will see me. Life sometimes seems as cut-and-dried as the story: there is the shepherd boy, and there is everybody else. In reality, there are probably people who would come running every time, whether there was ever a wolf or not. And my goals aren't just made up for attention, so the connection between the story and my life is flimsy from the start.

So my answer (to whatever the question is) is to trust myself, and to trust that there will be enough support and partnership in each leg of the journey. I know that I have a purpose, and I know that I never have to defend myself. It ultimately boils down to my willingness to keep connecting with others about what I am creating and why that means something to me. Strange how so many questions seem to have the same answer.

Paralysis by Analysis

2010-08-15T08:56:00.006-05:00

When I consider the big lessons I got from this week, it's striking to me that there were so many shifts. In fact, when I heard someone complaining after the fact about a situation in which they had been a willing participant, I recognized that habit in myself. In the recent past, I have chosen to go along with plans that weren't really desirable on the grounds that I didn't really have a choice. Or that the outcome would be worth the sacrifice. Then, I would complain about it, without really acknowledging I actually had made a choice. This week was the week after a decision to end that behavior -- the week after deciding that there are plenty of things I am passionate about that will carry me forward, and I don't have to follow any plans for my life that aren't satisfying.

Basically, I started measuring differently. The measurements I had been taking were based on assumptions and predictions... in other words, things I had no chance of really knowing. When I considered all of the possible outcomes that could result from a decision, the decision became impossible. I was paralyzed in a plan that I didn't necessarily like, just because I didn't really know how to evaluate it. And yet, there are ways to narrow down the scope of my observations so that I measure concrete evidence that can be evaluated. Once I started looking at reality instead of my own inventions of what could possibly happen, it was not only easier to evaluate my choices, it was also easy to recognize that they were choices in the first place.

It actually opened up the space for considering what is most deeply important to me. Beyond a particular title or a specific source of income, beyond a particular identity or set of accomplishments, there is a way for me to be authentic. Really, it amounts to trusting myself and recognizing that "I matter" is a simple statement of fact, without any criteria. Essentially, at the core of who I am, there is nothing to measure or evaluate. I need no justification or proof or defense for myself. I simply am. And that is a freeing piece of knowledge if ever there was one.

Blinded By Anger

2010-08-08T08:05:00.005-05:00

I felt angry. My immediate response was to discount the feeling and list the myriad reasons why I shouldn't be angry. Anger doesn't solve anything. I had no right to be angry about the situation. Anger isn't attractive or inspiring. Anger is irrational. Anger isn't productive. In fact, it's destructive. So I denied myself the opportunity to fully feel angry for all of those reasons, and I told myself that I needed to just "let go" of my anger in order to create what I want. In essence, I needed to let go of what I was feeling in order to be acceptable to myself.

Refusing to fully acknowledge the emotion didn't change the fact that I was feeling angry. And one of the things I was angry about was not being able to clearly see my next step in developing my business. I was angry at myself for being so busy doing that I wasn't leaving much time for enjoying what I was doing. Sure, I was doing lots of things I expect to contribute positively to what I'm creating, but I wasn't seeing results from some of those activities. And I didn't know why. Was I not being patient enough? Were my expectations off base? Would those particular activities actually benefit me? I couldn't answer the questions, and I felt angry about it.

I was actually angry about a lot of things. Little things that I told myself I really shouldn't be angry about. But whether I wanted to be or not, I was angry. Thanks to a good friend, I was able to see that I had trapped myself by wrestling with the emotion instead of just feeling it and expressing it (in a safe and non-destructive way). It made sense that I couldn't see a way forward from where I was standing. My energy was focused on denying myself a legitimate emotion.

Once I accepted that I felt angry and expressed it, I realized one of the issues that had me frozen in my journey. I was doing things without a means to measure them, and it is impossible for one to evaluate something that isn't being measured. I also realized that part of my anger was stemming from the fear that if I stop engaging in one of those potentially valuable activities, I could sabotage my efforts. So I was caught in a snare of not allowing myself to stop doing something that may be effective, and not giving myself a way to determine its effectiveness. No wonder I was angry about that.

With my anger expressed, I started to see that I can create a way to measure what I'm doing, to evaluate whether it's really having the result I expect. And I started to see that there are plenty of things that I enjoy doing that will support what I am creating. If I stop putting my effort into one ineffective activity, I'm not hogtying myself or limiting my potential for success. There are other ways to create what I want. I don't have to lock myself into one particular irrevocable path.

In the midst of my anger, I was the victim of everything, including my own decisions. As long as I wrestled with whether or not I should be angry, I would remain a blind victim. On the other side of that anger being expressed, my vision is much clearer. And I can laugh at my perceived victimhood as I step through the chains of my self-imposed limitations.

Lessons from Karaoke

2010-08-01T09:13:00.004-05:00

Maybe karaoke really is Japanese for "You're doing it wrong," but three things I noticed while out with some friends at a karaoke bar seem bigger than karaoke. So this week I'm sharing them with you so that they might have an impact in your non-karaoke activities. And mine, too.

When I looked at the head-spinning array of songs in their catalog, I found myself thinking Ah! I know that one!, only to realize as I thought of the tune that I didn't really know it as well as I believed. I knew the chorus perhaps, but not the verses. Or I knew some words, but couldn't for the life of me remember the actual melody. Disappointed, I kept searching for another song that I actually knew with a little more confidence. My mind sometimes thinks I have knowledge that I don't actually have.

Having experienced getting up on stage and singing, I may actually try one of those almost-familiar songs next time and see what happens. Who knows? The lyrics may all come rushing back. But being on the stage has challenges all its own. For instance, I couldn't actually hear the key of the song I was singing when it began, I just had a general sense that there was accompaniment. So I started in what seemed like the appropriate key and went for it. As the music became more distinct at the chorus, I realized that I was way off. But I couldn't quite make the shift to a new key until I stopped and listened for just a moment. Then, I jumped back in, more in sync with the accompaniment. My mind had been so locked in to what I was doing, that I couldn't comfortably make that shift without a little break in my own inertia. When I realize I am off course, sometimes the best thing to do is stop and get my bearings -- rather than continue to barrel forward.

The greatest phenomenon of karaoke bars is that everyone gets acknowledged. Whether you sing a song like the original artist or your performance lacks any recognizable melody or rhythm, people will acknowledge you. And the applause and cheers are quite sincere, even if someone tanks. Sure, people may really go crazy for a great performance. They also recognize that it takes guts and commitment to even be on stage in the first place. You might not be ready for American Idol, but it is an accomplishment just to get up and do your best. It doesn't cost me anything to acknowledge someone for doing their best, and there will probably be someone in my life to recognize me for stepping forward.

And even if there isn't, the whole point behind the evening was to have fun, and it was obvious that people did just that. People who were natural entertainers and people who were singing on a dare. And it was fun for everybody, whether we were on stage or enjoying someone else's performance. Of course, there is a little anxiety that goes along with any kind of public performance, but the bottom line is: Life is too short not to enjoy what you are doing. When I am willing to have fun with everything I choose to do, my whole life perspective is transformed.

The Perfect Ingredients

2010-07-25T09:18:00.003-05:00

After hearing an impressive soundtrack for a mediocre science fiction film, I was inspired to start composing an electronic piece. One of the challenges and pleasures of electronic music is determining what resources to use. If I compose a string quartet, I know that my resources are going to be the four instruments of that ensemble. And if I write a work for full orchestra, I have a broader array of colors at my disposal, but there are different things to consider about writing for a large ensemble that aren't issues for a chamber group. With electronic music, any sound is a potential resource, so determining which sounds to include and develop in a piece is an important phase of the composition process.

The challenge for me this week has been in limiting my resources. There are so many great possibilities, I have spent the week listening to sound files and taking notes about their qualities; imagining how they might sound if I combined them with other sounds; or what I could create from altering or slicing up a particular sound. I could do this exploration for weeks and never get to the actual creation of anything musical. Getting distracted by the wealth of possibility prevents me from moving forward in the process.

It is as if I determined to cook dinner, and so I set about collecting the perfect ingredients instead of selecting a particular recipe or dish to prepare. Once I have all of the perfect ingredients assembled, I will be able to create a wonderful meal from them. Except that I might never finish collecting perfect ingredients and move on into the meal preparation phase. If I know what I want to cook, I can gather the appropriate ingredients more effectively. And if I determine that I will just use the ingredients I have on hand, I can really streamline meal preparation.

In the purpose-building video course I recently created, I quote the composer Igor Stravinsky, as saying: If everything is possible, I can write nothing. He added to that sentiment, The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one's self. And the arbitrariness of the constraint serves only to obtain precision of execution. In other words, if I take a few particularly compelling resources and determine that the piece I'm composing will only use those resources, I open up space for my creativity to be expressed. I can focus on composing the piece because I have moved past exploring the possible resources. Limiting the possibilities I will entertain makes all of my decisions about this piece easier. There will always be another opportunity to compose some music and use a compelling sound I'm leaving out of this project.

And that experience this week has me looking at other areas of my life. Where else do I spend so much time considering the possibilities that I become paralyzed? Placing some purposeful constraints on my decision-making can serve to propel me forward. For the electronic piece, the resources I chose were somewhat arbitrary. Out of dozens of sounds I find compelling and interesting, I selected a few more or less at random, just to be done with the decision and move forward. In other areas of life, less arbitrary constraints might actually be more appropriate. Recognizing my purpose in a given situation can have tremendous impact by allowing me to focus my boundaries and constraints precisely toward a specific goal.

It's tempting to wait until I have accumulated all of the perfect ingredients before I set about creating something. Perhaps I believe that once I have all of the pieces, they will simply fall into place. But I will never have everything figured out. I can set my creativity loose if I am willing to set some parameters for the journey. There will be opportunities to gather more resources along the way, but I have enough in this very moment to take a step forward.

(Not) Accepting Defeat

2010-07-18T08:48:00.006-05:00

Last week, my top priority was to complete a new video course for Envision Coaching Solutions, upload the file, and get everything set for people to purchase the course from the website. One of my goals with Envision is to reach more people than I can help through one-to-one interaction, so this video course on building purpose is an important facet of that objective. Since it's the first paid product I've put online, there were a few unexpected challenges in the process.

I had the actual course completed on Saturday, so I expected to finish uploading it and making it available to people by Saturday evening. But the file would not upload to the shopping cart program I am using. I tried using different web browsers and formatting the video into different file types. Eventually, I asked for help from technical support (feeling grateful that they were on call 24/7!). I learned that the file was too large to work with their software and that I needed to compress the file before uploading it.

So I went back to the original video and began a trial-and-error process of finding the right level of compression that would still preserve the quality of my work. This took some time, and in the course of my exploration I discovered .zipx compression that helped a great deal. It also solved the challenge of including a printable workbook with the video. Finally, I had a satisfying blend of quality and compression, so I tried once more to upload the end product. And once more there were issues. I wound up calling tech support again, and was told that .zipx files aren't compatible with their software.

Frustrated and feeling defeated, I resolved to find a way to make the course available. I made several calls and checked out several alternatives. On a lark, I even tried one more time to upload the .zipx file... and it worked! I called tech support again, concerned that if the file type was incompatible with their software that customers may have trouble downloading it. I learned that if I was able to upload it, others should be able to download it with no problem.

I also learned that there was no reason why .zipx files shouldn't work with their software. That's right, someone had just invented that because there was no other reason why my upload shouldn't have worked. And I spent the better part of a day hunting down other options. But I was happy that the process was complete, and I was able to celebrate that success. It was four days later than I had originally hoped, but I had prevailed.

When I told this story to a friend of mine, her response was shocking. "You really let people give you run around sometimes." What? I had overcome the obstacles! I prevailed! The project was online and available for people! True enough. But some of my time had been spent trying to find solutions to problems that didn't exist, just because someone told me that what I wanted wasn't possible. It was easy to believe that. I'm getting better at believing that I can have what I want in my life when I'm the only one responsible. But when someone else is involved, it's still almost automatic to accept that I can't have what I want. That life isn't easy or simple. That things won't go the way I plan.

I'm still celebrating that I got the course online, and I am proud of the end result. I'm also looking at how much I still expect defeat, or at least a struggle. There's really no reason why someone else being involved should limit my success. In fact, some facets of my success are all about partnership. It's worth it to me to start expecting that there is a way for me to have what I want, even if it isn't immediately obvious in every circumstance. In fact, that can help me to inspire creativity in the people with whom I partner, rather than expecting people to disappoint me or make my life more challenging. I'd much rather live in the truth that others can be inspiring, creative, and supportive, too.

Lessons in Partnership

2010-07-11T10:33:00.001-05:00

Some significant experiences this week have centered around leadership and partnership for me. In general, I have been forging ahead on the things that are important to me, accomplishing meaningful goals, and soliciting feedback from others. It's been rather different from waiting for feedback or approval before I take a step, and I am finding it to be invigorating and fun. Here, briefly, are a few brief situations and what I have been getting from them.

Charging Ahead. One person this week asked whether I was just charging ahead and doing my own thing rather than accepting partnership from others within a group. My first impulse was to be defensive, but it didn't take much to see that this person was expressing a desire to be a part of what I was planning. I was giving people something to notice by being proactive. And I was very much wanting that kind of partnership to surface, so it was easy to receive.
The activity of moving forward toward your vision attracts capable partnership more than inspiring words alone.

The Critic. I showed a project to a friend this week, and his feedback was initially enthusiastic. As he continued, he became a bit reserved and was hesitant to say something critical about what I had created. In the end, he was able to provide some great constructive observations that will help me continue to improve upon things. His critique was oriented toward building up what I was doing, rather than tearing it down, and that contribution is incredibly valuable.
When you share what you are creating with others, their perspective can provide fuel to carry you forward in your endeavors.

History Lesson. In a conversation about future plans for an organization, some historical data was brought up. Instead of treating it as "the way things must be done," the discussion was geared more toward the question of what has worked well in the past and what hasn't. There was a great deal of honesty in that perspective, and knowing the history of a group or situation can help make decisions wisely. Historical data becomes detrimental when we ignore it or blindly adhere to it.
Know your history... create your future.

My own self-criticism is that these little vignettes are a way of avoiding getting something deep from the experiences, but I truly have found value in realizing how vital it is to take action while embracing partnership. And I am now on the lookout for more opportunities to partner with capable co-creators, insightful critics, and those who have gone before me to create the foundation where I stand. My path is my own, but the journey is made richer by appreciating a wealth of fellow travelers.

Celebrating Freedom

2010-07-04T09:35:00.007-05:00

I'm certain that the observation has been made before by many others, but a certain irony is hitting home for me today as I consider America's independence. As much as we seem to value our freedom politically, we sometimes make odd choices personally. In fact, many people I know have chosen their own form of slavery in their lives, whether it is slavery to a job, to certain relationships, to an addiction of some form or another, or just a set of beliefs about themselves.

I don't mean to say that work and relationships are bad things, but there is a potential for us to use the circumstances of our lives as chains that prevent us from truly living rather than wings that carry our most authentic and noble selves forward. Perhaps it stems from a fear of what will happen if we are accountable for our lives. When we can blame the prison of what our career demands, or focus on how our addictive behavior limits us, we don't have to take responsibility for our lives. My sense is that most people could be living much more satisfying lives if they weren't so afraid of what might happen.

For me, the slavery has been an unreasonable schedule. I load my calendar down with all of the things I want to do, and suddenly they become the things I have to do. And all of the incredible and creative plans I formulate transform into burdens. I beat myself up for not doing everything I want to get done in a day instead of celebrating the milestones I reach. And then I continue to hold myself to an unreasonable set of expectations, as if my ideas will somehow escape if I don't follow them through to fruition in this very moment. It doesn't feel very free.

And "independence" starts to take on a rather ugly connotation in that frame of mind. I want to think of it as:

"I have the freedom to follow any path I choose (within my capability), and I can choose the alliances I build along the way."

But it winds up feeling like:

"I have to do this all by myself. Now that I've started it I have to finish it. If I can't handle this, I'll be a failure."

So on this holiday weekend, I am keeping the calendar clear. I don't need to keep pushing forward and accomplishing more. My vision can have a realistic time frame. And I can enjoy creating it rather than being burdened by it. My intention now is to create more freedom in my life by being kinder to myself with the way I schedule my time. And I want to be more conscious about what prisons I'm choosing to live inside. Realizing that I'm both warden and prisoner. And that I don't have to be either.

Escaping the Failure Net

2010-06-27T08:13:00.001-05:00

There are a lot of things that matter to me. My marriage, composing music, coaching others in unleashing their creativity and developing a purposeful vision, serving on the local steering committee for the More To Life organization, nurturing the meaningful connections I have with friends, and a handful of other things as well. I make commitments about those things on a regular basis, and I put those commitments in my calendar. I know when I intend to work on a piece, how much time I want to spend composing on any given day, when I’ll have a project completed, and when I’ll submit it to a performance opportunity. I chart those kinds of commitments for all of the things that are important to me. And sometimes it all runs like clockwork.

Sometimes, my commitments get in each other’s way. I have a flash of inspiration about something, but I’ve already committed all my time to other areas that week. Or I underestimate how long it will take to complete one step, so my entire time line winds up being adjusted into conflict with other commitments. Intellectually, I understand the need for flexibility. And in practice, I often do well with shifting the landscape of my personal commitments in a way that maintains my integrity and honors my deepest priorities. When I start second-guessing myself or inventing what other people might think, I get into trouble, though.

It goes something like this: If I don’t keep this commitment, then people will think less of me, and then they won’t respect me, and then they will not support what I am creating, and then I’ll be all alone in this, and then I will fail, and no one will really care except me. And then I’m caught with the decision to give up what I want in one area because I’m scared of what will happen. If I was honest about my actual priorities, the decision would be easy, and I could possibly come up with more creative solutions about how all of my commitments can play nice. But when I complicate it with my own predictions and inventions, I trap myself in the most uncreative space possible. I call it my Failure Net.

But the Failure Net is built on a cascade of fears. The truth is the best gift I can offer the world (and myself as it turns out) is my bold, honest, and authentic self, and I can do that in a way that welcomes feedback and insight from others. The only trick to doing that is simply to trust myself.

Knowing

2010-06-20T08:20:00.006-05:00

What I have learned or read doesn't always make a smooth transition into what I do. Even when I understand something intellectually, applying that understanding sometimes takes effort. I'm thinking about this because of a conversation I had a few days ago. The other person was agreeing with me, and then saying something completely different. I got nods and verbal statements like "Right" and "I agree." Then the next thing I heard sounded like the opposite of what I had said. And I honestly believe that this person thought we were in agreement.

I was frustrated. I ended the conversation for the time and resolved to figure out a better way to explain or demonstrate what I was thinking before we talked again. The next day, it struck me. I already know very specific and valuable communication tools that would have been ideal for that exact situation. Why didn't I use them? Was I too bowled over with disbelief that someone would say "I agree" and then disagree? I don't subscribe to the notion that on some level I didn't really want to be heard, and I'm certainly capable. I simply didn't apply what I knew in that situation.

Something very similar happened yesterday when I was introduced to someone. When asked what I do, it didn't even occur to me in that moment to say the well-rehearsed elevator pitch I've been honing. What I said may have been good enough to get the point across, but the bold and succinct elevator pitch was really perfect for that situation. Why didn't it just roll off my tongue? Why did my brain search for something to say instead of just recalling that planned response to a clear, direct question?

My best guess is practice. Knowing what to say really doesn't have a lot of practical value until I open my mouth and say it. Same thing with recognizing the solution to a challenge. It may be nice to have the tools, but what actually makes a difference is using those tools. If that isn't second nature yet, I think that means I get to practice letting what I know inform my behavior. I suppose that's what a creative life is all about... finding effective ways to get ideas from my head into reality. And trusting myself to know how to do it.

When a Setback is a Breakthrough

2010-06-13T06:38:00.006-05:00

I had a conversation I didn't like this week. I've been talking to people I know in non-profit organizations about the launch of my coaching business, primarily because most of my experience is in the non-profit arena. I also believe in the stated vision of many non-profit organizations, and I would love to be a part of creating their visions. Many of these people know me as a musician and composer, but they don't have a full picture of my experience, so the conversations were a sort of re-introduction, as if they were meeting a part of me they hadn't seen before. Most of these connections were incredibly encouraging and rewarding.

One person thought he already knew all there was to know about me. This was the conversation I didn't like. Although I explained what sort of contribution I envisioned making as a coach, he kept mirroring back the label consultant, which has a much different connotation in terms of expertise, credentialing, and price tag. I listened patiently, wanting to really take in the challenges this person saw in what I am creating, recognizing that there are probably plenty of people I don't know who may draw the same conclusions. But at one point, I spoke up a bit more boldly.

It was when he stated very frankly, "I don't know how I could possibly recommend you to anyone. You have no credentials or experience with non-profit management, or a track record aside from a couple of music projects." That got to me. On a certain level, I started defending myself, but I allowed a boldness to be evoked that I often dismiss. There was certainly an edge to my tone of voice when I responded, but instead of brushing off the comment as ill-informed (or worse) and moving on with my life, I addressed the challenge head-on.

I went away from the conversation disheartened and questioning the viability of my vision, even though I had talked with several other people who understood and encouraged what I am creating. The truth is I have personally overseen the production of two CD projects, including writing and performing all of the musical content and forging alliances that would bring the projects to fruition. I have worked in non-profits for 20 years, much of that time in a leadership role, and that included religious, arts-oriented, and educational organizations. I have demonstrated in my personal achievements and my organizational influence that I can successfully create and follow a purpose-based action plan, and it's a skill I am constantly improving.

This is all information that most people will not have about me, unless I am willing to tell them. And something was missing from this individual's perception of me that didn't match up with what he thought I was creating, and he knows me as a creative person. As I mulled that conversation over, I realized that I was dismissing a huge portion of my identity in my new endeavor. My creativity is one of the greatest strengths I bring to the table, and it was barely playing into my action plan for establishing a coaching identity. When I began to think about how I could shift my "brand" and marketing to a creativity focus, I felt energized and confident. It fits.

What seemed at first to be a setback actually became a breakthrough because of what I did with that conversation. I now recognize that I will have greater success connecting with people if I am bold about who I am. And I am now consciously embracing creativity as a strength to be proclaimed. Creativity is a part of everything I do, after all.

Seeing Through Different Eyes

2010-06-06T14:39:00.005-05:00

A few weeks ago, I gave up something pretty significant. I gave up my hair. Not all of it, but more than I have had shorn off all at once in about a decade. People have often told me that my hair is my most distinctive physical feature. For many years, it was fairly long. Actually, since I haven't updated my profile picture yet, you can still see what it looked like. It was definitely a radical change.

My hair said many things about me. I believed it communicated my creativity, my willingness to be an individual, perhaps even a conscious non-conformist attitude. Other people may see things I don't necessarily want to convey, though. First impressions being what they are, long hair may signify to someone that I am unreliable, a slacker, a trouble-maker, or any number of other judgments. Those things aren't true of me, and for a long time my decision was that I didn't care what other people thought.

When I look at my goals, however, other people's perceptions actually do matter to me. Much of what I am creating now is built upon partnerships of some kind, and partnership involves being mindful of how another person thinks and feels. Healthy partnership requires that I be the kind of person with whom other people want to partner. And I am in many ways. But people don't always get complete view of someone's strengths if they stop at their first impression.

Last year, someone I trusted told me that I wasn't going to have an easy time being heard by a group of decision-makers because my hair isn't white enough. I knew that what he meant was that whatever I had to say was going to be filtered through other people's opinions of what it takes to be wise, strategic, insightful, or even valuable. For some people, I am simply not old enough for what I say to have value. I can't do anything about that except be aware of it. But, I also realize that for some people, my long hair was an obstacle between their assumptions and my actual strengths. I want to build partnerships in which my strengths benefit and inspire others in what they are creating, so it's important for me to allow my strengths to be most clearly seen.

In the end, I am already used to a new hairstyle. I haven't noticed any radical changes in the way others treat me, and maybe I won't. What I have noticed is greater willingness on my part to be seen and greater intention behind bringing my strengths forward. I can't control how other people will see me or engage with me. At the same time, I can give others the best chance to see me clearly, and I believe that serves both them and me.