Stravinsky's Wisdom

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. 

Recapitulation

 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

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.

Hedging My Bets

Not long ago I wrote about finding focus. The multitude of things I have been building and developing in my life are all meaningful and valuable in some way, and yet I made a startling realization this week: I have been hedging my bets on my own success! Instead of going full throttle toward my passions, I have had other plans waiting in the wings just in case. In many ways, I have been putting out my terms of surrender to the universe, even as I strove for forward momentum.

This week, I received inspiration from a number of sources, and I started trimming the hedges from my plan. What I actually want to surrender to is my inevitable success at being authentically me. Keeping a Plan B in my back pocket is only necessary if I believe that I'm going to fail. In truth, I know that I will always have the opportunity to make new discoveries, course correct, and find a way forward. My journey may not look like what I expect it to, but building a Plan B or C only robs me of my commitment toward what I most want.

My friend, James Towell, wrote this week: "You might know that I do a fair bit of running. After a while, I had to look for a deeper purpose that just getting back in shape. I got that 'I have a body, and I'm going to use it, and enhance its capacity to help me have a full life'.

"Well, I had my first ever singing lesson on Wednesday. I sensed that I'd get more out of it than just an understanding of the voice. Apart from it being tremendous fun, I noticed a similar theme. 'I have a voice. I'm going to see what it can do, and enhance its capacity to see how it can support me in living life to the full'.

"...My running and singing helped me connect with a deep purpose for my [personal] work. I want to see what I can do with my heart and my mind. I want to enhance their capacity for no other reason that to help me live a full life. I'm going to see what I can do. I didn't settle for 'I wonder what it would be like to sing', and I'm not settling for 'I wonder what it would be like to live life without resentments, and with love for myself and others'."

I'm with you, James. There's really no point in betting on my failure or spending time figuring out my eventual terms of surrender. I'm going to see what I can do.

Evoking Passion

As I have been playing piano for a large number of high school musicians over the past week, it has struck me that so many of the beliefs and habits people carry around for the rest of their lives are already in place for these students. Many of them are talented, but the level of dedication and artistry displayed by a few of them is reflected in the music they play. They have tapped into a true passion for what they are doing... something not everyone discovers. A few students are on the other end of the spectrum as well. After every few measures, they take a pause to offer excuses and justifications for why they don't know a piece or aren't playing very well.

Of course, some of this latter group's behavior could be the result of nerves, but there is something more underneath. After accompanying so many other musicians over so many years, it's evident to me that some of them call forth a level of passion and intention that others never reach. And the same goes for other walks of life as well. There are some people who turn being laid off from a job into an opportunity to create something about which they are truly passionate. I have heard of people writing books, starting companies, or taking their lives in unexpected and satisfying directions, all because they "lost" a job. Others interpret the same circumstances as a sort of paid vacation, or use the situation as an excuse to indulge in self-defeating thoughts and behaviors. They don't tap into the same level of passion and purpose.

In my own life, I have taken the time created by stepping away from a predictable work schedule to compose music and seek more opportunities for my music to be heard. And I have been working to fit all of the things that ignite my passion into one big picture of my life. Seeing how excuses and assumptions work against other people, though, I have realized that I can be doing the things that are truly important to me, regardless of my circumstances. Many years ago, I was working full time as a courier and wrote a ten-minute wind ensemble piece over lunch breaks and in the evenings. And back then, the full score and all of the parts were written out by hand; I didn't have a computer program to assist with notating the music the way I do now. But it mattered to me, and so I made it happen.

Believing that I have to create a special set of circumstances in order to have what I want is a self-imposed limitation. It means that I have an excuse for not doing the things that matter to me, which could have the payoff of letting me play the martyr. In any case, recognizing that I have the freedom to do what what's important to me regardless of my circumstances is liberating. I am grateful that I know what I'm passionate about, and I strive to stay awake to how I can inspire others to discover what those things are in their own lives.

Putting Yourself in the Story

Once in a while, a scandalous tell-all makes the news because it ruthlessly reveals someone's secrets. The scandal isn't that a person's actions or decisions are published, but rather that their identity is made blatantly clear. If the same story is written with names and circumstances sufficiently altered or obscured, it isn't scandalous at all. It becomes only slightly elevated above fiction in that it is "based on actual events."

Even when I read a work of fiction, I often find myself identifying with a character. The more life-like and realistic the portrayal, the more inclined I am to find commonality with him. It is often clear that an author's inspiration for characters are actual friends and acquaintances, people that have had an impact or made a lasting impression. My sense is that it could be flattering to know that you are an important part of someone else's story.

This venue is where I have been telling my story. My challenges, my learnings, my goals. I have been sharing it because I believe that I am not alone in my experiences, and that others can benefit from what I learn in my journey. It is my hope that a reader will in some way be able to see himself or herself in my story.

Not being an island, there are of course other people connected to my story. Some of them offer support and some offer challenges, but they all offer opportunity. With very few exceptions, I have kept their identities confidential. I trust that anyone reading will recognize that what I share here is much more about me than it is anyone else. This arena is not intended to reprimand or scandalize, but I have learned things from my interactions and connections with others. In fact, these are some of the most important lessons I have learned. They are worth sharing.

For the past year, I have done very little to engage my musical creativity because of my commitment to a group of people I value. When I began articulating my story here, I had hoped that it would be additional incentive to compose and send my music out into the world. What I learned is that my innermost passions include having meaningful connection with others and challenging others in their own growth journey. As I turn the page to a new chapter in my story, I see greater opportunity and desire to make creating music a priority. I am confident that my growth will continue as long as I am willing, and I hope that those readers who see themselves in my story continue to grow as well.

Wishin' and Hopin'

I have wished for many things at different points in my life. I have wished for jobs, to win the lottery, to get someplace on time, to have favorable weather, to remember a piece of music well for a performance, for other people to keep their word. As I consider my current and evolving vision for my life, I see a stark contrast between my wishes and my vision.

Most of the things I wish for are completely out of my control. Sure, I can create an impeccable resume and do well in an interview, but there are elements of applying for a job that I just can't control. I can prepare a piece of music to the best of my ability and still have a memory slip when something unexpected happens in my environment, like bright stage lights in my eyes or hearing an audience member have a coughing fit. Winning the lottery, how heavy traffic is, or what kind of weather I'll experience are even more out of my hands. The best I can hope for is to prepare well.

Vision works a little differently. It isn't just hoping for something to happen the way I want, or even having a conscious willingness to be successful in my goals. To have an intentional, purposeful vision means to be committed to taking the steps necessary to bring a result into reality. It means developing a keen awareness of what I can control and embracing a certain responsibility to myself to do what I can to the best of my ability to achieve what I want in life. And this means getting very specific about what I want and what I can do to make it happen.

Having a vision is a position of power in my life. Making wishes often just articulates the areas in which I am powerless. When I recognize the things in my life I can control and I focus my energy on a vision that is full of meaning and passion for me, I find that I don't do nearly as much wishing.

Plenty of Time

There are so many things I want to do in a day... so many things about which I am actually passionate. Sometimes I miss having days when there was literally nothing on my to-do list. But having an abundance of things on which I really love spending time and energy is very different from just staying busy. The former is an expression of life while the latter is numbing.

But I get a little frustrated at what I'm not doing with my time. Every day doesn't have enough moments to really dig into all of the things I want to be doing. No matter how I have spent my time, I look back at the day and think about what I didn't get to. Why does it elude me that I don't have to do everything today? Just because something waits until tomorrow doesn't mean that I have lost anything.

The truth is: if there is an abundance of things about which I am passionate, I will have choices about which valuable and meaningful things I'm going to focus on in any given moment. The truth is: I will never accomplish everything I want to do. There will always be things I just haven't gotten around to yet. Maybe there is a challenge for me in balancing all of the facets of my life in a satisfying way, but to have spent my day doing things I loved doing is a gift I often don't appreciate. And always having further to journey is what gives my life momentum.

The First Step

Breaking down a long-term or daunting task into several smaller, attainable goals is a widely accepted bit of advice. One step at a time, you'll eventually achieve what you want. It often works pretty well for me with things about which I am passionate or deeply committed. But in my moments of laziness or fear, the same practice can work against me.

I sometimes allow a goal to seem so convoluted and complex that I never actually make progress. And it can be anything. The less I think I want to do it, or the more fearful I allow myself to be about the outcome, the more steps I create. My mind can make things seem absurdly complicated. "I don't know if I really want to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. First, I have to open the cabinet and get a plate. Then I have to get the bread package, open it up, pull out a couple of slices of bread, and put them on the plate. I'm going to have to open the silverware drawer and find a knife. I have to go into the pantry and look for the peanut butter, then I have to open the jar of peanut butter, take the knife and dip it into the peanut butter jar..." and on and on.

Not that I do this when I just want a sandwich, but it really can be anything. I'll even write down a list of the steps I want to take to accomplish a long-term or daunting task, and then I'll conclude that I have accomplished something. I have a list of smaller targets, so getting to the larger goal should be a walk in the park. That's worth a pat on the back. But then every time I look at that lengthy list of smaller, short-term tasks, I get exhausted just thinking about starting in on them.

Sometimes it serves me better to just dive in once I have a destination in mind. Constantly planning out a course might be a great organizational exercise, but if I never start following the plan, it doesn't amount to much. I can figure out the intermediate benchmarks and course correct along the way, but the most important thing is getting that first actual step behind me. Once I am committed to heading in a particular direction, every step along the way becomes easier.

The Outer Limits

No, not the predictable "Twilight Zone in outer space" TV show. I'm thinking of my personal limits. For the past few months, I've been striving to stretch and reach beyond the artificial limitations I once put on myself. This is fun, challenging, and rewarding. I keep learning that I can accomplish more and have a greater impact when I am living to my fullest and not sticking to the shadows. But I wasn't entirely prepared for life to bring me an experience that reminds me that I still have limits.

I acknowledge that I hold my own pretty well with people. I am often able to connect with people who are choosing to be a bit aggressive about their opinions, or even belligerent in their demeanor. I recognize that what they are expressing is about them, not me, and it's like water off a duck. I do this often enough that I'm used to being able to do so. When someone comes along that is behaving way beyond what I typically encounter, my instant belief is that I can deal with this person the same way I do everyone else... that I can still connect with this person and hold my own ground without much of an emotional cost.

The problem is that I have real limitations about how much toxicity my emotional kidneys can process. My "I can do this," becomes "I should be able to do this," and I wind up persisting in a conversation longer than what is healthy. My mind tells me that if I disengage then I am admitting failure in some weird way. And yet if I allow myself to be negatively impacted by someone else's words or behavior, I have somehow "lost."

But stretching to the fullest extent of my own personal limits doesn't imply that I have no limitations. I may be in the habit of not reaching for the absolute border of my capabilities, but that doesn't mean that I can do anything. I do have limits. I don't have to engage everyone I encounter completely in order to be an engaging person. And I can accept the reality of who some people are without enjoying my experience of their presence. I can even choose not to be around a person whose behavior is consistently toxic. It's one way of caring for myself.

Then it hits me... This is what being at the edge feels like. When I'm pushing against something in life and it's pushing back at me, I learn something about myself, reality, and Truth. When I hide out in the safe zone, far from approaching the edge my personal reach, there's no challenge. I don't get to learn anything. And the edge is where my passion is.