Apparently I write poems now...

 Busy morning so not as much time for a poetry session but coffee is ALWAYS inspiring to me. 

As are cozy socks...

My second poem....

 

My First Poem

This week has been exceedingly difficult for me. There is existential stress about the state of the humanity and fear where we might be headed. There is instability in our family life, jobs and finances. There have been some especially hard "no's" for both my husband and I, and they just keep coming. 

Whenever something unexpected happens to Ian or I -- often two things occur -- I get the physical sensations of being punched in the stomach followed by an overwhelming tingling that is signaling panic. My breaths get short, and hard to find, my eyes start darting, mind starts racing. I jump many steps ahead of the task at hand and I start reeling about how this not only effects us but what of someone in a harder spot than we are - how does this effect them? How will they recover? How will they find their way? How could they even be dreaming of happiness and fulfillment, when they are hanging on just to survive? These people have names, lives, full back stories in my head and feel as real to me as a family member.

However, this week a few things happened that were different. When I got the first piece of difficult news, I felt the familiar pangs. Punch in the stomach. Overwhelm rising, shortness of breath. Panic. But I found that life saving breath between where I was and where I was going in my head. I was in my house. Safe, warm, surrounded by my husband and dog, sitting at a piano. I was okay. I canceled plans for the rest of the evening because I knew this dilemma required my attention and I changed my clothes, and went to yoga. 

On the way I found myself singing "The Sound of Music" softly under my breath - "with songs they have sung for a thousand years" - the permanence of nature speaking to me on a spiritual level. "I know I will hear what I've heard before", "and I'll sing once more". Gratitude. Faith. Knowing. I sent my husband an audio message with these phrases as my way of saying - it will be okay. I will be okay. 

The heat in the yoga room was blissful. For 60 minutes I could focus on nothing but my body and my breath. Sweat pouring off of me, breathing. Moving. But when I laid down for shavasana at the end of class. It all started rise up again. The dread. The fear. 

I got to my car and the tears began to fall. I had a deep knowing that I wanted to "show up" to the conversation with my husband in a certain way and this wasn't it. He needed support, something to stand on, a partner -- not another thing to take care of in this moment. But I knew I couldn't do that alone. 

So, I called a friend. Something I rarely do. My first attempt was riding the subway and we shared some texts and I felt a little lighter, relief? Someone heard me suffering and didn't try to fix it, didn't try to make it smaller. Just heard it. And loved me. 

But I knew I needed to talk, to cry. So I tried another friend. She was getting her nails done and said she could call me back but I insisted - all I need is someone to listen. 

Great wells of tears and words came flowing out of me, without judgement, without filter and without fear. My pain was witnessed and held. I felt lightered, more healed. Seen. Understood. Belonging. Love. 

I went back home and my husband and I started the difficult conversations. Decisions needed to be made, logistics organized and there was not time to delay, ponder, second guess. 

And as soon as the decisions were made and the present task at hand was 'dealt with' - I asked my husband "can I be sad now?" - and the tears came again. But they passed. And a lightness entered the room. 

Several days later, another blow - this time in the world of 'show biz'. It hurt. It stung. I had hoped, I had dreamed, I had longed, yearned for a sense of artistic belonging, community, fulfillment, joy, music and I thought I was on the cusp of having it. But with one email, I felt those things race away from me like wind through a door and the ground I felt had been unsteady for sometime now, cracked and I started to trip and fall through. 

But, that same magical moment to me came once again - that moment before panic. That space between myself and my thoughts. I had experienced this before, but not in a way that felt so centered. I cried, it hurt so much. I had once again shared freely, opening, unabashedly with a friend and I was seen. Heard. Validated even. Empowered. In her very wise way she encourage me to take the rest of the day off if you can, or you will not have the strength to move forward tomorrow. 

So, for the first time I can remember, I canceled my work for the evening and I got into bed at 3pm. And I didn't cry. I didn't watch TV. I didn't eat copious amounts of chocolate (although my dear, sweet husband, DID bring me a cookie to bed later in the evening).

Instead I wrote a poem. My first poem. I've never considered myself a writer. I still don't. Though I've been writing a blog for 14 years now with varying degrees on consistency. All is to say, I've not ever once had the impulse to write a poem.

But I needed to make something new. Create something. Not just sing something or play something that already existed. It needed to be new. And it needed to be mine. 

I forced myself to write each line without going back to edit, just one line at a time, telling myself it was exactly what it needed to be, and perfect was not the goal. 

So, my first poem. First of many? I don't know yet. 

Newsletter #2

Click the image for a cleaner zoomable version :) 

 

Practice makes....you better.

Practice is not something that comes naturally to most people. It is a combination of discipline and inspiration and rarely are the two in coordination with each other. There are days where inspiration strikes and break through feels incredible and other days where you feel like your practice session, not only didn't fix the problems you were having, but perhaps made you feel hopeless, confused and frustrated.

Yep, that's all part of practicing my friend. 

Much like going to the gym, you're not going to hit a PR every time you go. You're not running a 10 miler every time you put on your running shoes. Some days you just take a walk, some days just a yoga flow. Whatever your body can give that day. But the practice of moving your body is the constant that not only becomes a habit - but a desire for your mental and physical health. 

Now wouldn't it be cool if practicing our craft could be the same way? Good news, it definitely can be. But the answer is NOT singing your pieces over and over again or filming 100 takes of the same piece. Its showing up every day (or most days at least) and doing something. 

 My voice teacher, Harolyn Blackwell, a world renowned opera and Broadway performer, told me once that she could count on her hands the number of times she felt truly at the top of her game in performance. Where everything was just clicking. And she's performed thousands of times at an extremely high level to great critical acclaim. So for those performances we don't feel at the tippy top of our game, thats where skill, practice and craft comes into play. We can fall back and rely on our skill that we cultivate, showing up every single day to our work and give whatever we have that day. 

And if you need a little inspiration (variety is the spice of life!) give these a try.....