I had an audition yesterday, the first in two years. I don't want to say too much about it, because I have no idea who might read this blog, but here are a few things that I feel I can make public.
First, I had stopped going to auditions because none of the opera groups here that don't pay people are interested in avocational singers (unless we've been doing it for decades and started out in music schools) no matter how well we sing. And the last time I actually got cast in something, a role consisting of about four chunks of music, the conductor was so abusive for unknown reasons (no one had any idea what I was doing that he didn't like) while mollycoddling a woman less than half my age to whom he had assigned the larger role for which I had auditioned (by "mollycoddling" I mean he put up with her coming in not only unprepared to sing her part, but unprepared to speak the words in rhythm and clueless about how to pronounce French).
I went to this particular audition because it was for a Handel opera and Handel is something I sing well. The fact that I have a church rep background not a 19th Century opera background (I am speaking of the things that I sing regularly in public) means that I probably know as much if not more about Handel style than a lot of singers.
I sang Bradamante's aria "Vorrei Vendicarmi". For me that sort of thing is not difficult. What is difficult for me is anything with big climactic high notes although I am getting much better with those. In fact the woman I auditioned for complimented me on my middle voice and my top A (which I had interpolated into one of the runs). She said my Italian pronunciation needed work. No one had ever told me that before, on the other hand this woman speaks Italian fluently and lived in Italy. So this is something I need to work on.
The bad news is I think I will be squeezed out by professionals or emerging professionals who have or will have or might have a gig to sing this role (or one like it) in a real professional performance. Even if I sang that aria as well as they did (which I might not have, which is another story).
This has made me sad and frustrated. If I need to work on vocal technique, or Italian pronunciation to be competitive, I can do those things. But I can't rewind the tape and be somewhere else in my life trajectory. I am not young (although I still look hot - men in their 30s and 40s are always hitting on me) and have no "future" in singing other than what I can make for myself (this does not mean that I will not keep singing better, just that other people's interest will not be there), so I will be pushed farther and farther into the background.
It makes me sad that there is nothing for us - people who discovered our passion for singing later in life and want to perform. I am not asking to be paid. I am only asking to be given a chance based on my own merits, not my resume or what people think my "future" might be. The professionals snatch up everything and use these no pay groups, even the pay-to-sings, as places to test drive roles. So they basically encroach on every sphere, no matter how humble. I was told, in fact, that people might come from as far afield as Chicago to read through one of these operas for a fee.
Well, the woman I sang for was very nice. She might find something for me. I said I was not interested in singing a comprimaria role (unless it was for money). I would rather sing two arias or art songs in a studio recital and get my share of the applause and the attention.
So now I have to ward off postpartum depression again.
It's so bittersweet. I keep singing better but the older I get the less "marketable" I am. Not because of my looks (if nothing else I have a better figure than a lot of 35 year olds) but because of how my "future" is perceived.
So OK, as for what I think about my future:
1. I bought two aria books: one of Handel opera arias and the other of Vivaldi opera arias (I have fallen in love with the little snippets of Vivaldi's Orlando Furioso that I have heard).
2. I am going to order the piano/vocal score of Verdi's "Ave Maria with Strings," which was written for a mezzo. I will see if something can be excerpted for Magnificat Sunday.
3. I will keep working on Amneris, including the dreaded scene with the two high B flats.
4. I will plan something and come up with a better marketing plan than whatever the one was that I used for Carmen.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Sunday, September 21, 2014
How My Imagination Atrophied
In a recent post about sexism, which also included quite a bit about generational differences, I spoke of how some of my self-dislike and low spirits around my dull work life, life as a caregiver (despite passionately loving my "care recipient"), and financial and temporal limitations, stemmed from "the conversation" or "the buzz" as you will around the topics of self-actualization through work, postponing coupling (and childbearing, which for me was not relevant), and an extended period of self-exploration. And more importantly, about how doing those things is a passport to a good life, whereas not doing them, is a passport to poverty and a lesser one.
And now we have this op ed piece, which rehashes some of the same ground.
What I found most compelling, particularly in view of my goal to "jumpstart" my imagination, is the recent belief that postponing "settling" (one of the hallmarks of adulthood) allows the imagination to blossom more fully, and (although this was not mentioned) also allows one to "settle up" (with a more interesting and more lucrative career and a more appropriate spouse) when one does settle. The article states that the jury is still out on which comes first: the "settled, hardened brain" or the routinized life, but they do seem to be related.
I (and many others of my generation) postponed adulthood, certainly middle-class adulthood, for a period of time, and some never found it, but this was a very different trajectory from that of today's millennials. First, we got away from our parents at as young an age as possible and never went back. We did not take money from our parents for living expenses, certainly if we were living in a way that they would not have approved of. (If there was money, parents paid for college and graduate school - the latter mostly for sons - but nothing beyond.) We did not become part of the "establishment". Aborted our education. Some died of drug overdoses or ended up in jail for misguided "politically motivated" crimes or for God know what that we did when on drugs. Some managed a complete turnabout and became Yuppies. The rest (I would include myself here) settled for the lesser life that one ends up in with a tenth rate education, often too little too late, and the need to opt for short-term financial security.
Once I got sober, the first thing I did was find a mate (someone I was madly in love with, with whom I could have sex regularly - let's get real here), then a job. With nothing but a high school diploma and no work history I was lucky that I was able to get a "career ladder" secretarial job in publishing. I was making a pittance but had good benefits and a ladder up in an industry that I was familiar with because I had grown up around it. But that, and my early "marriage" did not do much in the way of allowing my imagination to blossom through novelty seeking. True, I believed that I was sort of living on the edge of danger being out when sexual orientation was not a protected class with regard to employment discrimination, and when being in big groups of gay people demonstrating (or even going in and out of buildings known to be gay-centered) might have led to an ugly skirmish, but actually my life was pretty dull and predictable. In the "textbook" time frame my relationship deteriorated from endless lovemaking and fighting (although some of that lasted for 20 years and the fighting continues to this day when I am mainly a caregiver) to discussions about grocery shopping and laundry, and certainly very little that I did at work was interesting at all. I mostly liked the job because it was easy and I could take an hour and a half for lunch three times a week to go to an AA meeting and talk on the phone with my AA fellows most of the day while I shoved documents into file folders. And I met interesting people.
I had hoped that when I stopped working in an office and got out of the routine I could find "something different" but I see that I have settled into another routine that is just as dull, and I don't even sleep that much later!!
It always seems to be a struggle, not just to find venues for singing at my age with so little experience, but just to diversify my life in any way at all!! I have always felt that my brain and my psyche fight these attempts at diversification much as my soul hungers for it, and at least this article explains why,
This also explains one of my sources of fascination with The Mentor. I envied how he was free of the two things that made my life feel like a prison: monogamy (which wasn't even that any more, when your partner is physically failing) and an office job. I can't comfortably address the first issue in a public blog, but although I am now free of the second, and do enjoy being able to mix and match my daytime schedule (do outside errands and make appointments during the day and work at my laptop at night), I seem to have ended up in the type of work that is largely dull and rote.
So how do I get my imagination jumpstarted?? Certainly remembering everything I learned from The Artist's Way has helped.
I would also like to see some articles about how some of the choices people like me made (and I am certainly not unique) can be leveraged as assets, going into the home stretch. I'm really kind of sick of all the coverage given to young people.
And now we have this op ed piece, which rehashes some of the same ground.
What I found most compelling, particularly in view of my goal to "jumpstart" my imagination, is the recent belief that postponing "settling" (one of the hallmarks of adulthood) allows the imagination to blossom more fully, and (although this was not mentioned) also allows one to "settle up" (with a more interesting and more lucrative career and a more appropriate spouse) when one does settle. The article states that the jury is still out on which comes first: the "settled, hardened brain" or the routinized life, but they do seem to be related.
I (and many others of my generation) postponed adulthood, certainly middle-class adulthood, for a period of time, and some never found it, but this was a very different trajectory from that of today's millennials. First, we got away from our parents at as young an age as possible and never went back. We did not take money from our parents for living expenses, certainly if we were living in a way that they would not have approved of. (If there was money, parents paid for college and graduate school - the latter mostly for sons - but nothing beyond.) We did not become part of the "establishment". Aborted our education. Some died of drug overdoses or ended up in jail for misguided "politically motivated" crimes or for God know what that we did when on drugs. Some managed a complete turnabout and became Yuppies. The rest (I would include myself here) settled for the lesser life that one ends up in with a tenth rate education, often too little too late, and the need to opt for short-term financial security.
Once I got sober, the first thing I did was find a mate (someone I was madly in love with, with whom I could have sex regularly - let's get real here), then a job. With nothing but a high school diploma and no work history I was lucky that I was able to get a "career ladder" secretarial job in publishing. I was making a pittance but had good benefits and a ladder up in an industry that I was familiar with because I had grown up around it. But that, and my early "marriage" did not do much in the way of allowing my imagination to blossom through novelty seeking. True, I believed that I was sort of living on the edge of danger being out when sexual orientation was not a protected class with regard to employment discrimination, and when being in big groups of gay people demonstrating (or even going in and out of buildings known to be gay-centered) might have led to an ugly skirmish, but actually my life was pretty dull and predictable. In the "textbook" time frame my relationship deteriorated from endless lovemaking and fighting (although some of that lasted for 20 years and the fighting continues to this day when I am mainly a caregiver) to discussions about grocery shopping and laundry, and certainly very little that I did at work was interesting at all. I mostly liked the job because it was easy and I could take an hour and a half for lunch three times a week to go to an AA meeting and talk on the phone with my AA fellows most of the day while I shoved documents into file folders. And I met interesting people.
I had hoped that when I stopped working in an office and got out of the routine I could find "something different" but I see that I have settled into another routine that is just as dull, and I don't even sleep that much later!!
It always seems to be a struggle, not just to find venues for singing at my age with so little experience, but just to diversify my life in any way at all!! I have always felt that my brain and my psyche fight these attempts at diversification much as my soul hungers for it, and at least this article explains why,
This also explains one of my sources of fascination with The Mentor. I envied how he was free of the two things that made my life feel like a prison: monogamy (which wasn't even that any more, when your partner is physically failing) and an office job. I can't comfortably address the first issue in a public blog, but although I am now free of the second, and do enjoy being able to mix and match my daytime schedule (do outside errands and make appointments during the day and work at my laptop at night), I seem to have ended up in the type of work that is largely dull and rote.
So how do I get my imagination jumpstarted?? Certainly remembering everything I learned from The Artist's Way has helped.
I would also like to see some articles about how some of the choices people like me made (and I am certainly not unique) can be leveraged as assets, going into the home stretch. I'm really kind of sick of all the coverage given to young people.
Friday, September 12, 2014
A Lovely Night, Some Pictures, and an Attempt to Build a Bulwark against Post-Performance Depression
The concert last night was a lovely occasion. For the most part, I think I sang well, certainly the aria from Handel's Joshua. That is the type of thing I sing really well: fast moving in an upper middle register with no sustained high notes. I am going to try to see if I can sing it as a summer anthem next year.
The place was full, so even though only one of the people I personally invited actually came, I was not disappointed by the turnout. The purpose of this concert is to provide solace on that day for people living in the building. I wish more of them had come to Carmen, but that's water under the bridge.
One of the women in the audience even asked me if I had sung at the Met!!! That's the type of audience I need to find more of. People who love classical music but don't know all that much about it. My friends, unfortunately, are only going to come to these things to hear me and be supportive. If they want to hear music, they know, in this huge city full of free events, where to find it. I think next time I do something big I have to find a new marketing strategy, and the market is not going to be the people who come to the chamber music series at the church, it has to be a different segment.
One great thing that happened is I made friends with a lovely soprano (actually, she had sung Micaela's aria at one of the living room events where I sang the duet from Carmen with my tenor, and she had actually been my first choice for Micaela) and we are going to work on the Aida/Amneris duet together. I am dying to sing that again. I know I sing it very well; the last time I sang it in public I didn't because I was in a room where the air conditioner had not been cleaned properly.
Technically I continue to make huge breakthroughs. (I hesitate to write about technique here because I can say one thing works and there will always be someone telling me to do the opposite.) I finally (think I) know what to do to open my mouth and sing a high B flat off the cuff. It really is about lowering my larynx as my teacher always said, but I can't do that (apparently) by yawning or anything else that's "gentle". I have to push it down by making a (silent) "woofy" "h" sound and then sing the note. Most of my problems with high singing (I finally figured out) are the result of my having an involuntary "gag" reflex that kicks in. My teacher said a lot of people who start singing when they're older have that problem because the muscles that make a big pharyngeal space are not flexible in older people. These are not muscles that people use who are not singing, unlike abdominal muscles, which some people who are not singers do use.
In any event, I need to find something asap to ward off post-performance depression. It hit me particularly hard after Carmen because I thought the concert producer was angry that I didn't bring in more people (and I was deeply disappointed by this - see previous paragraphs). Also that month was the month of "Little Miss Conservatory's" senior recital and that was what everyone in the choir was buzzing about and I was aware that people who wouldn't have been caught dead at any concert I threw together went to see and hear that.
So next up is to look at the Bach piece we are singing for Reformation Sunday and see if it is part of a larger work with an alto solo. And pick something for Advent.
To finish on an upbeat note, here are some pictures. The one in the church is of me singing "Erfreute Zeit" and the other is of me and the lovely soprano, before last night's concert.
The place was full, so even though only one of the people I personally invited actually came, I was not disappointed by the turnout. The purpose of this concert is to provide solace on that day for people living in the building. I wish more of them had come to Carmen, but that's water under the bridge.
One of the women in the audience even asked me if I had sung at the Met!!! That's the type of audience I need to find more of. People who love classical music but don't know all that much about it. My friends, unfortunately, are only going to come to these things to hear me and be supportive. If they want to hear music, they know, in this huge city full of free events, where to find it. I think next time I do something big I have to find a new marketing strategy, and the market is not going to be the people who come to the chamber music series at the church, it has to be a different segment.
One great thing that happened is I made friends with a lovely soprano (actually, she had sung Micaela's aria at one of the living room events where I sang the duet from Carmen with my tenor, and she had actually been my first choice for Micaela) and we are going to work on the Aida/Amneris duet together. I am dying to sing that again. I know I sing it very well; the last time I sang it in public I didn't because I was in a room where the air conditioner had not been cleaned properly.
Technically I continue to make huge breakthroughs. (I hesitate to write about technique here because I can say one thing works and there will always be someone telling me to do the opposite.) I finally (think I) know what to do to open my mouth and sing a high B flat off the cuff. It really is about lowering my larynx as my teacher always said, but I can't do that (apparently) by yawning or anything else that's "gentle". I have to push it down by making a (silent) "woofy" "h" sound and then sing the note. Most of my problems with high singing (I finally figured out) are the result of my having an involuntary "gag" reflex that kicks in. My teacher said a lot of people who start singing when they're older have that problem because the muscles that make a big pharyngeal space are not flexible in older people. These are not muscles that people use who are not singing, unlike abdominal muscles, which some people who are not singers do use.
In any event, I need to find something asap to ward off post-performance depression. It hit me particularly hard after Carmen because I thought the concert producer was angry that I didn't bring in more people (and I was deeply disappointed by this - see previous paragraphs). Also that month was the month of "Little Miss Conservatory's" senior recital and that was what everyone in the choir was buzzing about and I was aware that people who wouldn't have been caught dead at any concert I threw together went to see and hear that.
So next up is to look at the Bach piece we are singing for Reformation Sunday and see if it is part of a larger work with an alto solo. And pick something for Advent.
To finish on an upbeat note, here are some pictures. The one in the church is of me singing "Erfreute Zeit" and the other is of me and the lovely soprano, before last night's concert.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
On Sexism
I rarely make these sorts of posts here (I think the last one was on same sex marriage) but I have been having thoughts on this subject for a long time, so....
It was fairly recently that I realized that the industry I worked in all my life (and that my mother worked in before me) - the janitorial, clerical, and scheduling aspects of publishing - was a predominately female one. (It is also one that is gradually disappearing, thanks to technology, which is another subject.)
A number of years ago I went to a book group at the Unitarian church that was discussing Cranford. The group was mostly, but not only, women, and was even more predominately made up of people over 50.
The woman leading the group spoke about the poverty of "genteel" older women (she was referring to women a generation older than I - I was born in 1950), many of whom lived in rent regulated apartments on Manhattan's Upper East Side, and many of whom, barely surviving on their Social Security, ate at the church soup kitchen. According to the group leader, most of these women had had jobs in publishing, jobs that paid very little, at organizations that did not provide pensions (now most of them have 401ks, but they didn't then). What she also said, which resonated with me, was that these jobs were never meant to provide a comfortable salary; they were jobs for "bookish" women as a stopgap between college and marriage, or for wives to work at for "a little bit extra". So for most of these women the years went by, no husband appeared, and they fell into poverty.
My own situation is not that bad. First of all, because of my interest in and aptitude for dealing with complex interpersonal situations, I was promoted into management, which pays slightly better. And the last two companies I worked for provided 401ks, one with a hefty employer contribution.
But what was an eye opener for me was realizing the extent to which my lack of interesting and engaging work stemmed from the attitudes toward women and girls when I was growing up, that were just in the air.
My mother prided herself, above all, on "being an intellectual." Likewise, her expectation for me was that I would be brainy, well-read, well-educated, and well-informed. It wasn't until decades later that I saw the importance of the word "be". Women were about "being", men were about "doing". I have noted more and more that one of the highest compliments one can pay a person is to say "she is very very good at what she does." I don't recall hearing this comment until fairly recently. People might have said "she is a good doctor" or "an exciting painter" or "a very special kind of teacher", but that was because medicine, teaching, and making art are important things. Most things that people "do", particularly for a living, are not all that important. They are a means to a salary, which is used to subsidize what really matters: family, friends, and enjoyable leisure.
I think the ingrained idea of women as doers began with the generation born from 1970 on. I mean there were plenty of doers in my generation, but it was not the norm, even for intelligent, well-educated women (and in those days "well-educated" meant a liberal arts BA from a good college, nothing more), so it was no source of self-deprecation not to be one.
As I enter the last third of my life, I often feel heartache that I have not done and don't do anything that is interesting (either to do or to talk about), certainly not in New York where superachievers are as numerous as cockroaches.
The other day, I realized that I did what women were supposed to do when I was a young adult. I chose "being in love". Today the media are full of articles about the "planned" marriage. I hear young (and by "young" I mean those people born after 1970) talk about self-actualization in a partnership, parenting, money, sex, but never about "being in love". It sounds almost quaint, like a mild mental illness that didn't used to be thought of as one, but now is.
When I was 25 I fell in love with someone (who happened to be female) whom I saw as exciting, bold, and slightly dangerous, and who was, of course, much older. A charming ne'er do well who knew her way around Lesbian Bohemia (and various corners of the visual arts world) and had no time for such bourgeois things as keeping a job or maintaining order in the home. And she was in love with me. I was a pretty girl who liked pretty things; not something easy to find in the 1970s Lesbian community. Eventually I sort of grew up: I worked my way up the ladder in publishing (never a chosen career), learned how to clean and decorate an apartment, how to cook, and how to plan our leisure time the way I planned a publication's production schedule. In many ways we had a wonderful life. We traveled, had lots of friends and lots of pets.
Things are hard now. The city is full of Gen Xers (now both men and women) with high powered careers and mates chosen the way you would buy a house or a car, and that is who you see. That is who owns the conversation about what it means to be a person. That is who writes the OpEd pieces.
So I chose love. Now, love means holding the hand of someone 80 while she struggles to walk. Buying groceries. Doing laundry. Arranging social services.
I'm an old fashioned girl. I don't have a proud answer to the question of the millennium: What do you dooooo? But I have someone who tells me she loves me (even - still - that she is in love with me) every single day.
It was fairly recently that I realized that the industry I worked in all my life (and that my mother worked in before me) - the janitorial, clerical, and scheduling aspects of publishing - was a predominately female one. (It is also one that is gradually disappearing, thanks to technology, which is another subject.)
A number of years ago I went to a book group at the Unitarian church that was discussing Cranford. The group was mostly, but not only, women, and was even more predominately made up of people over 50.
The woman leading the group spoke about the poverty of "genteel" older women (she was referring to women a generation older than I - I was born in 1950), many of whom lived in rent regulated apartments on Manhattan's Upper East Side, and many of whom, barely surviving on their Social Security, ate at the church soup kitchen. According to the group leader, most of these women had had jobs in publishing, jobs that paid very little, at organizations that did not provide pensions (now most of them have 401ks, but they didn't then). What she also said, which resonated with me, was that these jobs were never meant to provide a comfortable salary; they were jobs for "bookish" women as a stopgap between college and marriage, or for wives to work at for "a little bit extra". So for most of these women the years went by, no husband appeared, and they fell into poverty.
My own situation is not that bad. First of all, because of my interest in and aptitude for dealing with complex interpersonal situations, I was promoted into management, which pays slightly better. And the last two companies I worked for provided 401ks, one with a hefty employer contribution.
But what was an eye opener for me was realizing the extent to which my lack of interesting and engaging work stemmed from the attitudes toward women and girls when I was growing up, that were just in the air.
My mother prided herself, above all, on "being an intellectual." Likewise, her expectation for me was that I would be brainy, well-read, well-educated, and well-informed. It wasn't until decades later that I saw the importance of the word "be". Women were about "being", men were about "doing". I have noted more and more that one of the highest compliments one can pay a person is to say "she is very very good at what she does." I don't recall hearing this comment until fairly recently. People might have said "she is a good doctor" or "an exciting painter" or "a very special kind of teacher", but that was because medicine, teaching, and making art are important things. Most things that people "do", particularly for a living, are not all that important. They are a means to a salary, which is used to subsidize what really matters: family, friends, and enjoyable leisure.
I think the ingrained idea of women as doers began with the generation born from 1970 on. I mean there were plenty of doers in my generation, but it was not the norm, even for intelligent, well-educated women (and in those days "well-educated" meant a liberal arts BA from a good college, nothing more), so it was no source of self-deprecation not to be one.
As I enter the last third of my life, I often feel heartache that I have not done and don't do anything that is interesting (either to do or to talk about), certainly not in New York where superachievers are as numerous as cockroaches.
The other day, I realized that I did what women were supposed to do when I was a young adult. I chose "being in love". Today the media are full of articles about the "planned" marriage. I hear young (and by "young" I mean those people born after 1970) talk about self-actualization in a partnership, parenting, money, sex, but never about "being in love". It sounds almost quaint, like a mild mental illness that didn't used to be thought of as one, but now is.
When I was 25 I fell in love with someone (who happened to be female) whom I saw as exciting, bold, and slightly dangerous, and who was, of course, much older. A charming ne'er do well who knew her way around Lesbian Bohemia (and various corners of the visual arts world) and had no time for such bourgeois things as keeping a job or maintaining order in the home. And she was in love with me. I was a pretty girl who liked pretty things; not something easy to find in the 1970s Lesbian community. Eventually I sort of grew up: I worked my way up the ladder in publishing (never a chosen career), learned how to clean and decorate an apartment, how to cook, and how to plan our leisure time the way I planned a publication's production schedule. In many ways we had a wonderful life. We traveled, had lots of friends and lots of pets.
Things are hard now. The city is full of Gen Xers (now both men and women) with high powered careers and mates chosen the way you would buy a house or a car, and that is who you see. That is who owns the conversation about what it means to be a person. That is who writes the OpEd pieces.
So I chose love. Now, love means holding the hand of someone 80 while she struggles to walk. Buying groceries. Doing laundry. Arranging social services.
I'm an old fashioned girl. I don't have a proud answer to the question of the millennium: What do you dooooo? But I have someone who tells me she loves me (even - still - that she is in love with me) every single day.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Erfreute Zeit!
Yesterday morning I sang one of my all-time favorite church solos: the Bach alto cantata "Erfreute Zeit" (loosely translated as "A Happy Time").
I love singing this piece for a variety of reasons. First, it has a virtuoso violin accompaniment and is, in fact, more of a duet for voice and violin than a solo. I sang it in the summer of 2011, sans violinist, because that was the summer that my beloved violinist friend began his rapid decline (he was 88) and was no longer able to see the music (or remember it from one day to the next). Second, it is an object lesson in the fact that you don't have to have a high voice to sing something flashy (something that triggers a gut level "wow"! reaction from listeners). (Here is a link to the version by Angelika Kirchschlager.)http://youtu.be/Dpj5N9lTnHM Finally, I love the piece because it is happy.
I had a really happy day yesterday. It is the kind of day I wish I could have more of. Singing, in a situation where I don't feel I'm competing with anyone, and in which, in that moment, I can excel on my own merits. Getting acknowledgment (I got compliments, Facebook posts, and even applause, which is almost unheard of for a church anthem.) And then, when my inner diva is satisfied, enjoying other people for their gifts and their friendship, and letting the day wind down by doing something cozy with my SO, or even at home in my bed with my little Siamese cat (yesterday I did both).
I find these moments of happiness very hard to come by (the glorious ones, not the quiet ones; the latter for me are much easier to find). So should I be damned for this?
After the suicide of Robin Williams there has been a lot of talk about depression. People, at least in the circles in which I move, understand depression the way they understand cancer or diabetes. Unfortunately, according to both my therapist and on online screening test, I am not depressed, so people write me off as having a bad attitude. I don't think that is true either. I think (this was a term my therapist used) I am suffering from "affluenza", in other words, as I wrote here I am in a "toxic environment".
So I need a way to find more "Erfreute Zeit" moments.
On September 11 I will be singing Handel's "O Had I Jubal's Lyre". That can be one of them. And then there will probably be a Christmas concert.
I love singing this piece for a variety of reasons. First, it has a virtuoso violin accompaniment and is, in fact, more of a duet for voice and violin than a solo. I sang it in the summer of 2011, sans violinist, because that was the summer that my beloved violinist friend began his rapid decline (he was 88) and was no longer able to see the music (or remember it from one day to the next). Second, it is an object lesson in the fact that you don't have to have a high voice to sing something flashy (something that triggers a gut level "wow"! reaction from listeners). (Here is a link to the version by Angelika Kirchschlager.)http://youtu.be/Dpj5N9lTnHM Finally, I love the piece because it is happy.
I had a really happy day yesterday. It is the kind of day I wish I could have more of. Singing, in a situation where I don't feel I'm competing with anyone, and in which, in that moment, I can excel on my own merits. Getting acknowledgment (I got compliments, Facebook posts, and even applause, which is almost unheard of for a church anthem.) And then, when my inner diva is satisfied, enjoying other people for their gifts and their friendship, and letting the day wind down by doing something cozy with my SO, or even at home in my bed with my little Siamese cat (yesterday I did both).
I find these moments of happiness very hard to come by (the glorious ones, not the quiet ones; the latter for me are much easier to find). So should I be damned for this?
After the suicide of Robin Williams there has been a lot of talk about depression. People, at least in the circles in which I move, understand depression the way they understand cancer or diabetes. Unfortunately, according to both my therapist and on online screening test, I am not depressed, so people write me off as having a bad attitude. I don't think that is true either. I think (this was a term my therapist used) I am suffering from "affluenza", in other words, as I wrote here I am in a "toxic environment".
So I need a way to find more "Erfreute Zeit" moments.
On September 11 I will be singing Handel's "O Had I Jubal's Lyre". That can be one of them. And then there will probably be a Christmas concert.
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