When the Glass Is Only Half Full

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 Sacredness of It All

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

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...

Finding Focus

At a recent recital, I was playing piano for several high school musicians. We had rehearsed together a few times, and I felt confident going into the performance. Then little details started whittling away at that confidence. The piano was arranged in such a way that I could not see the performers well, so I missed some opportunities to coordinate. The room was cold, and the resulting stiffness in my fingers reduced my dexterity. I hadn’t had a chance to practice in that space, so my ears were not accustomed to the reverb…

It looks like a list of excuses from where I am sitting, and perhaps that what it ultimately is. But my performance that day was not what I would have liked it to be. I am convinced that the real reason is simply that I don’t practice as much as I used to. Without frequent practice, the muscles and the mind lose a bit of capability, and I no longer spend the 4–6 hours practicing every day that I once did. If I were to focus my career on being a pianist, I would need to make some adjustments.

Instead, I have concluded that having money is the result of helping other people. I want to find ways to engage my passions in helping other people, and I want to create ways for that to be an income stream, so I am not sacrificing my own well being for the sake of my passions. In fact, that kind of sacrifice is the stuff of martyrs, and I’m not submitting any more applications for that position. But not every opportunity to help others is equally satisfying or equally compensated. As much as I have enjoyed playing the piano and the connections with young musicians, accompanying middle- and high-school musicians frankly doesn’t pay well enough for a person to make that their entire source of revenue.

So I am faced with a challenge of focus. As I began exploring what I wanted my life to be, I realized that I had been playing small for a long time. My first goal was to spend more time creating music and seeking opportunities for it to be heard. Pursuing that goal initially resulted in some short term jobs to meet immediate financial needs, and in less than six months, I now have an exclusive publishing contract for one of my pieces, which can be a stepping stone toward long-range success as a composer.

There have been other things occupying my attention, however. I became an independent contractor in a wellness business in order to develop residual income which would allow me to take full advantage of the freedom of time and location I had gained. As a result, I have been learning and honing some entrepreneurial skills I never saw a use for in previous positions. It has definitely ramped up my personal development, and the skills I am learning are transferable to every other area of my life. Although I haven't yet replaced my old salary, if I were to truly focus on developing this business, I can see the potential to do so in a short period of time from where I stand.

And yet, I still have a passion to help others deepen their purpose and build a strategic vision for their own goals. Although my wellness business can offer this in a very focused way, some people aren't looking for an entrepreneurial opportunity. They want to engage their passions differently, create something bigger than what they thought possible, or just find greater meaning in what they are currently doing. Helping people find purpose and create a vision energizes me and fuels my own creativity. So I am creating Envisionability, a newsletter about purpose, vision, and creative solutions. I see how this can help other people, serve my own personal growth, and ultimately serve as another revenue stream so that I can keep spending my time helping people, composing, and simply enjoying life.

My challenge now is focus. Do I focus on the thing that I most want to do, or the thing that can bring the most financial freedom? Do I split my focus on three different endeavors, recognizing that they all provide some transferable skills and learning? How will that impact my ability to accomplish my goals in each of those arenas? Will other people see how the different elements of my path are linked, or will they judge me as lacking credibility or clarity? Or is my focus actually on something other than the activities of my journey?

The Case for Live Accompaniment

I've been accompanying young musicians for some intermediate school competitions over the last few weeks, playing the same piano parts several times in a day. Some students choose to use a CD accompaniment, perhaps for a variety of reasons. The CD is predictable and consistent. They may have practiced many times over with the recording. The CD doesn't cost them anything additional to show up at the competition.

A live accompanist is an asset, though, as many teachers point out in their letters to parents. A live pianist can follow a student who rushes ahead or holds a note too long. A live accompanist can adjust the balance of the instruments more effectively. And a live accompanist can provide feedback in a rehearsal. But I've been thinking today about what I get out of it.

Sure, I get paid. It's not enough to call it a second job, but it is a little extra to help out with infestation recuperation. In truth, it's not enough money to be worth the effort by itself. What I have concluded is that it is a matter of connection.

Music was initially designed to communicate and to connect people. And we still use it for the same purposes. Alan Merriam's list aside, people value music because of its ability to connect us to one another, to our beliefs, to our history, to nature, even to God. Music connects us to distant times and cultures as well as to the world around us right this moment. And although we can get some of that impact from a recording, live music is exponentially more connecting.

I still believe that musicians should get paid, don't get me wrong. But the real payoff is in the opportunity to connect with one another and to communicate through the music. It's what makes the difference between an accurate performance and a truly beautiful one. It's the part of music that can't be as easily taught in a classroom. That what I get to be a part of. No wonder I get such a kick out of it.

Making Things Difficult

On Saturday I accompanied a ton of intermediate school musicians at a local competition event. At their level, the piano parts were not terribly difficult and the judges were mostly there to encourage the students to stick with their musical training. It was fun to work with them, and I made a little money. Over lunch, while sitting with one of the event organizers, I even made a couple of strategic suggestions that may improve their scheduling system in the future. The most flattering part, though, was when one of the teachers pre-booked me for next year's event.

I walked away from that event believing that I was a skilled accompanist, an insightful strategist, and a valued musician. Then I went to work on some of the high school accompaniments I am preparing for a couple of weeks out. These piano parts are a bit more challenging, and I was really struggling with a couple of them. One in particular was marked "Allegro con Vivo," which I was interpreting to mean "faster than you would like." It was a difficult piece of music. Nearly at the limit of my ability.

Then, I rehearsed with the saxophonist Monday morning. I asked him about his tempo, since "Allegro con Vivo" is a rather subjective marking. I was astonished that his speed was nearly half the speed I had been practicing. It still sounded fast, and it still had liveliness. But now it was suddenly an easy piece of music. Of course, I'll still practice it and prepare for this student's performance, but I won't dread it or use it as evidence that my skills aren't enough.

Now I'm wondering what else seems to be at the limit of my ability. What else am I making more difficult than it actually has to be?