Feeling the Rhythm

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.

Celebrating Freedom

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.

Getting Away From Everything Except Myself

When some friends invited me along on a short camping trip, my energy spiked. I have been falling into a pattern of "doing" and "accomplishing" without taking time to actually value myself, and a camping trip seemed like the perfect opportunity to get away from the perceived need to always be busy. On top of that, the weather this weekend was about as perfect as it will ever be in Texas, and my favorite 3-year-old girl was going to be there to boot.

The trip was wonderful. We ate some incredible food that no one who truly loves roughing it would ever associate with camping, including skewers of what has come to be known affectionately as "Randy's Wikken Chicken". We had brought along a few cards games and a bocce ball set which held our attention for short stretches, and the scenery at the campsite held its own placid beauty despite roving bands of rambunctious boy scouts. And through it all, we were constantly invited to pay complete and utter attention to an incredibly energetic young child.

And here's where I realize what I missed out on. During all of our adult card games and bocce ball and food preparation and consumption, we expected to a certain extent that a three-year-old would "behave herself" and let us adults enjoy our camping trip. Sure, our attention to her seemed incessant from our perspective, but throughout the weekend, I was almost always engaging in some specific activity. Sitting quietly listening to a dozen bird songs blending with the rhythm of a cereal-crunching munchkin in my lap was actually the most satisfying moment of the trip. And yet I spent a great deal of time on structured events... doing instead of just being.

When I let a child guide my conversation and activity, it is a moment-by-moment ever-shifting adventure. That can be a bit intimidating to someone who loves to have details planned out, and it can be very freeing once I get past the anxiety of not knowing what's about to happen. Structure certainly has its place, but structured activity is by its very nature limited. If I want to be expanding my creativity and dreaming bigger, it makes sense to set aside some bona fide free time. My bet is that willingness to play is a major contributor to quality of life, and its certainly something I know how to do. If I just remember to give myself permission.

Eating the Elephant

I have had several occasions this year for visioning, looking ahead at what I would like to have or be in my life and taking a stand or making a commitment toward it. When I really let my mind go, I can dream pretty big (although I am still conscious of limiting my visioning with my idea of being "realistic" sometimes). The problem is, there are a lot of things about which I've been dreaming. When I start making a list of all the different goals toward which my visioning leads, it's a pretty intimidating affair.

When I believe that I have to be doing it all right now, that is. What I have been doing is forcing myself forward on ten different fronts and what my body and brain are telling me is "Too much!" I focus my time so intensely on working toward so many commitments and visions that I frequently fail to enjoy what is happening right now. I'm even aware that I have written blogs on the subject before, and yet, here I am learning the lesson all over again.

So, my act of self-care now is to do a little whittling. I'm content to let some of the commitments I have made be future unknowns. I don't have to work at moving down every path all the time. My list of ten big, important goals can become three. It might even shift week by week, or maybe even from one day to the next. I don't actually know what it will look like, but I do know that I will need to check in with myself a little more honestly if I want a different result.

I've been convinced that I have to eat the elephant(s) one bite at a time. Now I am remembering that sometimes I prefer game hen.

All in the Timing

When I am working on a piece of music, I am very conscious of the temporal elements. How do different sections relate to one another in length? How much time am I spending on a particular theme? Am I giving the listener enough time to take it in, or am I surpassing a typical listener's attention span? Sometimes, I find myself writing more music to extend a portion of a piece that flits by too quickly, and on other occasions I cast aside something that just doesn't work in the pacing of a piece. Ideally, I want each portion of a work to take just the right amount of time to be appreciated and to relate well to the grand scheme of the piece. Of course, I don't know what any listener's actual experience is going to be, so I rely on what works for my own ears and trust the music.

This week, I have had a series of days in which I didn't do everything I had intended with my day. There are goals I have in several different areas of my life, and when I am not pushing forward toward all of them, I have had a tendency to beat myself up. It is as if I have to cover new ground each day or else I will be doomed to failure.

This isn't reality, though. Far from it. There is something in each step to appreciate, and moving on too quickly would be like cutting short a section in a piece of music. When I take the time to truly recognize what I am gaining from being where I am in this moment, I am better prepared for what comes next. If I go careening forward in a mad attempt to accomplish more and get where I'm headed faster, I can easily slip into panic mode. Today, I am listening to myself a little better. I have plenty of things I want to do today, but I also realize that I have tomorrow. And the day after that. And I am where I am supposed to be right now.

The Warrior's Bus

I just spent a tremendous week at Way of a (Spiritual) Warrior, a deepening of the tools I learned at the More To Life weekend in Houston last November. While much of the week's actual material is covered under a confidentiality clause, and it would be lacking in integrity to reveal what other people shared about their lives and discoveries, my breakthroughs alone could give me material to write on for weeks.

My first challenge turned out to be bigger than I expected. When I arrived at the airport, I had a few hours before the charter bus to the conference center was set to depart. I had a leisurely lunch, enjoyed people watching, and eventually made my way to the place where the bus would be waiting. I had printed out the instructions, which included the location to meet the bus, the name of the bus company, and a detailed description of how the bus would look. I was calm, confident, and eager to meet my fellow warriors.

Imagine my surprise when the location described on my printed page didn't actually exist. I went to the closest place I could find, and noticed that some construction was going on, so I followed some other people around to rows of buses for hotels and rental car agencies. That didn't seem like the right place, so I went back and started asking airport personnel. I learned about a new likely location for the charter bus, set off in that direction, and I was fine. A little frustrated, but willing to let it go.

Until I was unable to locate the bus at the new spot. Then, my frustration returned with a vengeance. I asked no less than six people with official looking uniforms and name badges and received the same three potential places, and at none of those places was there a bus that looked like the description I had. At one point I looked at my cell phone for the time and realized that the bus had been scheduled to depart 15 minutes ago. I thought: There's very little chance it's even still here for me to find. I decided to rent a car and drive there myself, even though this was an expense for which I really hadn't planned.

I was angry, frustrated, driven, and tense. I was believing that I should have been able to find the bus, that the directions were wrong, that the person who had written them was incompetent, and that I would have done a better job. I was believing not only that they were stupid, but that I was stupid and incompetent as well. I felt very disconnected from the enthusiasm I had been feeling less than an hour prior to that moment. I tried to hide all of that from the car rental agent. After all, it wasn't her fault. I told her what I needed, and she asked if I had my return flight information, documentation she needed to rent a car to me. I hadn't printed that out, so she suggested I go to the airline desk and get a copy of that.

Although I was polite to her, I was seething on the inside. One more obstacle in my path, I thought. And then I received a call on my cell phone. Another passenger from the bus had made a sign and was waiting for me by the information desk. They hadn't left. I found her and, still angry and frustrated, I followed her to the location of the bus, which I had passed at least twice. The bus didn't look anything like the description, there was no company name painted on the side, and there was no sign or indication that it was going where I wanted to go. But the driver had been there with the door open both times I walked past.

I held on to my anger, frustration, and judgment about the bus for at least a day, disengaging and remaining less than fully connected as the week began. But eventually I came to terms with the truth. The bus wasn't where I expected it to be. The bus didn't look like what I expected. I had inaccurate information. I was worth enough to them that they not only waited for me, but even sought me out. My anger and drivenness had focused my perception to such an impractical point that I was unwilling to explore possibilities outside my expectations. I could have asked the driver where he was going either of the times I had passed the bus, but I was convinced that it would have been a waste of time.

I don't know what would have happened if I had remained calm, open to alternatives, and connected with what was around me. It's possible that it would have played out in exactly the same way. But I know that I am more the person I want to be when I don't give my frustration and anger and drivenness the upper hand.

Being

There is a philosophical conversation about Doing and Being that has been parodied by popular culture, but I never really thought about it much aside from laughing at somebody's T-shirt. As a person who is often accomplishing things, working toward goals, measuring progress, staying focused, and yes, getting driven at times, there has never really been a reason to consider whether doing or being was of primary importance.

Now as a result of several recent conversations, I find myself in the midst of a rather powerful realization. I have been getting several messages that I am appreciated for who I am, for the attitude I bring into an environment, for my "energy." And although I am tempted to define this as my purposefulness or a drive to get things done, I realize that what is meant by this word is actually closer to "spirit." I am appreciated for my spirit. Huh.

I don't think for a moment that people don't appreciate the things that I do to make a positive contribution. I hear that message, too. But this whole idea that who I am is valuable in and of itself, apart from any achievement... that just having my natural attitude and being in my natural spirit has an impact... that's something that I just haven't listened to before. I get it, and it makes complete sense to me. But I'm not used to it.

Some wise person once said that 90% of life is just showing up, and I am recognizing that I can have an impact when I am willing to show up with my full self. I will still accomplish things, because I have passions that propel me and energize me. I know I'm not defined by what I have achieved, but I guess knowing something and living it are sometimes two different things. So, now I that am really getting the message, I am happy to be. And I am grateful that in that simple willingness I can make a difference.

A Strange Devaluing

Perhaps it's left over from the drive of academia. Or maybe its origins are further back in my childhood. Wherever it comes from, I often have a tendency to discredit earlier accomplishments in pursuit of my next goal or endeavor. I've noticed it particularly in the way I think of my compositions. For some reason, I sometimes behave as though a piece I wrote several years ago is worthless just because it wasn't finished yesterday.

Part of this perception is fueled by the overwhelming number of art music competitions which demand that entries be unpublished, unperformed works. I understand that organizations want the opportunity to premiere works for the sheer sensationalism and marketability of performing a piece for the first time. Each premiere can be treated like an ensemble is doing something that has never been done before. But what is the message about the music itself? Once a piece has been premiered, is it no longer noteworthy? What if that were the prevailing view about art music from previous generations?

So, with a somewhat habitual disdain for my compositions that have received performances, I have often neglected to send them to musicians or take advantage of further opportunities for these pieces to be appreciated. But when I recently had the chance to hear a performance of a piece I wrote several years ago, I realized just how ridiculous it is to discredit a work of art because it isn't brand new. As I listened, I thought: This is a damn fine piece of music. I feel proud to have created it. I'm really pleased with how all of its elements fit together, and I can acknowledge that it is a compelling piece of music even though it has long passed its first performance.

And that leads me to looking at other pieces I ignore and neglect. I have done some truly satisfying work, and it is not any less worthy of attention because it has already been heard. If anything, it is a mark of distinction for a piece to be actually performed more than once in today's climate. I am beginning to understand the value of taking stock of one's accomplishments, not merely to revel in the past or to stagnate, but to maintain a connection to one's achievements while still progressing onward. The works that instill in me a sense satisfaction are still worth my effort and attention, even as I continue to create.

Shortcuts

I was taking a large ensemble piece I wrote a few years ago and creating a virtual recording of it. I haven't ever gotten a high-quality performance or recording of the work, but I am hopeful that I'll be able to get close with my virtual studio setup. The biggest problem I encountered was one of balance between the instruments. I had been trying to take a convenient shortcut in recording the piece, but it was costing me more time and frustration than I had anticipated.

After my experiences this past weekend, I was quick to see that I had plenty of time to do this project well. I'm not on a deadline, and I won't lose anything by taking the time necessary to create a finished product with which I am very satisfied. What is my interest in a shortcut all about? I'm passionate about I'm doing, I have enough time to spend on it, and I'm not a lazy person. Maybe it was about finding an efficient way to accomplish what I want, but my exploration led me into understanding the flaws with my plan. What I was attempting wasn't much of a shortcut in the end. But that's really just fine. Now I can take the time to do it well.

Trusting

The More To Life weekend had been going well. I had taken time to be well-prepared for my role, and I had plenty of people contributing toward my vision of that role. I was really getting that I can trust other people (and myself) and relax and enjoy the experience of serving as a part of an incredible team. Then Sunday evening came along.

I hadn't eaten much lunch, my first mistake. When I care for my own health and well being, I am infinitely more capable to create what I want to in the world. But I didn't, so I was getting into a spiral about how much I had to do and how little time I had to do it. I was irritable that our team meeting was taking time away from what I needed to do, and I was frustrated that I was being asked to assist in other tasks when I already had so much on my own plate. I began to believe that I was on the verge of failure, and I became driven.

As I started in on getting things done, other people stepped up to contribute and they encouraged me to go and eat. That was when I realized that I had sabotaged myself by not eating anything for lunch. I was still in a very driven space, though, in spite of getting the message over and over again that I had plenty of time and plenty of people to get things done. First, my food was too hot and I had to wait to eat it (safely); one of my teammates pointed out that it was getting me to slow down. A document that was being updated was still being formatted when I got back from dinner, so I had to wait on that. The venue's copier jammed part way through making the copies I needed, so I had to wait on that. And all the while I had people asking what they could do to contribute.

When I really got the message, though, was when I wound up with everything ready to go and about 90 minutes before it was needed. I literally was sitting around with nothing to do but breathe and wait. I don't have to be on the verge of failure to be doing my best. Everything had been accomplished, I had plenty of people and plenty of time. And I usually do, whether I acknowledge it or not.

Valuing Play

Despite efforts to the contrary, I occasionally slip into a state of driven-ness. There is so much I want to accomplish, and there are so many steps I can take right now toward those goals. I want to be writing music, I want to provide a high quality of work at my job, I want to play some challenging piano accompaniments well for some high school musicians, I want to be sending my music out to get more performances, I want to continue along my path to mentor, coach, and trainer with More To Life, and I want to be engaged and fully present in my marriage and friendships. Just to list the important things. These are the long-term, continual goals that embody some portion of my passions and involve many little steps between milestones.

I plan when I will take time to play and relax into my weekly schedule, but even that can become driven. How much time do I have left until that lunch appointment? Am I getting enough done? Should I be doing something else with this time? Is it time to go on to the next thing? Crazy. All the "I want to"s slip so easily into "I have to."

So, I've been sick for a few days. It's not the swine flu, but my energy has been way down and a fever has had my head pounding. Instead of tackling the week with my typical m.o., I let my body's aches justify taking it easy. I relaxed. I enjoyed some stillness. And (since I'm not contagious), I've spent a lot more time hanging out with one of my friends than I typically get to. I have done a little bit to keep progressing toward my goals, but I haven't overexerted myself, and I haven't let accomplishing things become high priority. The amazing thing is that I have been able to be honest about what I actually want to do with my time, and I've been doing it. And it's been enough.