Despite my unabashed affinity for large, high quality, exceptionally thin, TV screens, I have always been reluctant to get comfy with a big picture. I dislike long term goals to the point where even imagining a few is difficult. I struggle to want the forest, even as I enjoy its shade and wander its leaf riddled paths and lull myself to snoozing with its rhythmic rustling.
Violin has been a great enabler; focusing on the details has led me to greater confidence in my technique, the ability to micromanage several simultaneously occurring issues without becoming flustered or sloppy, and the tenacity to try different approaches with problem areas until the problem is resolved. It even, after a blisteringly drawn out marinating period, enabled me to deal with my performance anxiety; I found I could pick certain details to focus on for each portion of a piece and use that focus to detract from the debilitating horror of my nerves until the panic had passed.
But music will hate you for your partial truths, and my difficulty with seeing pieces as a whole instead of their parts quickly caught up with me. Learning to play the piece as a single conscious gesture is a multi-headed venture I am still juggling, dropping phrases every which where while I try. Feeling confident about my technique is worth nothing if I feel my story won’t be heard. Learning to trust the story for its own solitary grace was a skill I didn’t have and didn’t understand.
Because music is my sneaky sister living in my soul, my big breakthrough came entirely independent of a practice room. I made some personal changes, broke my heart a bit letting people and things go, and stumbled into a gin ladled duet session with hubs. I fell ass first into really enjoying myself, reading the music like a book with a plot and characters that didn’t piss me off in the first scene.
I let go. And I could only do it because I’d rebalanced myself and found a way to know what I could trust in my life.
I didn’t put the two incidents together until this evening, sitting here, wondering what the hell I would even write about on my gerflerjionth day of daily posts. I’m looking around at my lumpy Thursday and thinking about all the things I did and have done over the past week, and I realize:
They are all long term action items. Every problem I have thought about, every plan I have hatched, every detail I added in a panic tainted haze, was for a future that isn’t tomorrow or next week or even six months from now. It was all for an unscheduled vision, an idea I have nursed, a want I have cradled but never released.
And then I knew, I knew today was my gin soaked duet session with my writing, today is the day I embraced my entire life, maybe for the very first time.
I don’t recommend it because awkward and Netflix + Doritos is still better.
But it’s nice. I like the forest. It’s almost as cozy as my individual trees. I might choose the view more often.