I'm really tired. I'm making muffins, though, and they're taking a while to make. This is probably because my muffin tin only holds six muffins.
Sometimes, I think I'm taking longer than others to learn about life, and how you're supposed to handle it.
I spoke to a wise person tonight, someone who could look in from the outside, who could tell me things I couldn't see.
One of the things was this:
It may may be difficult, but try to be grounded in a base of love. The way people act is about them, not about you. Remember that no matter how people might make you feel, or how you perceive their actions, everyone on earth is a human being; everyone is doing the best they can.
I can't really follow that up with anything else, except to say that I will try to live by this.
In other news, this site will be moving soon. After many amazing years of hosting my blog on his own website, Ben is rightfully branching out, as am I. Check back for updates.
I have been hedging. Since I got back on Sunday, just before midnight, in a rather zombified state, I've found lots to do besides writing. Most of these things involved bed. Another big one involved surviving the first day of camp - though I still have to survive nine more, heaven help us. The rest? I briefly practiced tenor last night. I watched two episodes of Merlin on Hulu, which has arrived to summer TV in a timely fashion, just after the awful-but-entertaining series Legend of the Seeker ended its first season. Merlin is not much better, so far, and it's not as fun. I have some hope, however, that it will keep me entertained while I'm practicing lip slurs. But I digress. You want to know about the competition.
I played well. It started rough. The weather in Aarhus, combined with my first experience traveling overseas, gave me the worst dry-mouth I've ever had. If you're a brass player, you know that this means death to the high range. After an uncomfortable beginning, however, I managed to pull myself together, and gave what I think was a really good performance. The winner, a sweet guy from Hungary named Martin, deserved his prize. He played beautifully, and I don't grudge him at all. Observers of the performance - Don Lucas, Doc, Matt - told me that I came in a pretty clear second place, though I might have won if I hadn't missed some notes in the opening. As far as style, musicality, and intonation, Don said, I was definitely the best candidate.
So that's that. I'm disappointed, clearly. But I'm not devastated. I have one more year to enter the ITA Competition, and there are other competitions that I've begun to consider for next year. At the risk of sounding like an America's Next Top Model candidate, I did get this far. This isn't, like, the end. And while it's hard to tell people who ask that I came just short...well, I don't have an end to that sentence. It really is hard. "Maybe next time," with a shrug of a shoulder, is such an empty phrase. "You tried your best," sucks, too. I played second-best at the international level, and even though I'd rather have played first-best, I don't want people feeling sorry for me. I just want them to be proud.
That's why I've been hedging. There are things in my heart that I know, about how I played and what happened and how I feel about the whole thing. It's this strange mixture of elation and disappointment, of longing to do it all over again, of joy even in defeat. It's worry what other people will say, because of how it will make me feel, and how it will make me view myself and my own abilities. It's a knowledge that, as a player, I am getting to where I want to be, but I'm still, even now, not quite there. But the getting there, I'm discovering, is the wonderful part.
But you can't say all those things when people ask, "How'd it go???" with a look of excitement and anticipation on their friendly faces. You just shrug, you say, "I played well, but I didn't win the prize this time," and you don't tell them about the wonder of the process, the unforgettable experience of just being there, in the place of your dreams, nearly at equals with the people who dominate your field; you don't tell them about your real victories, like that one note in the second movement, drawn like a bow over the liquid notes of the piano, swelling over the audience like a sigh, langorous, melting, beautiful.
It's disgustingly hot outside, and the Procrastination Fairy is back in full force, albeit with rather limp, tired wings. My air conditioner is on in full force, and the apartment simply will not cool down fast enough. It's pointless to open windows, because there's no breeze. And there won't be a breeze. Walking outdoors feels like stepping into a blinding, steaming sauna. This is, apparently, typical for Southern Indiana, and will just get worse. Last year, Jeff said, was a mild summer. Sheesh. Half training in July should be fun.
ARGHHHHH! It's 4:36. I'm exhausted as all hell after my failed attempt to sleep. Got into bed at 7, fell "asleep" at 9, tossed and turned until 4:15, gave up. And today isn't even a real weekend. I actually have (nonmusic-related) work stuff today, which makes me want to throw something. Hard.
I only want to get back into bed, but I can't do that. This time in a few days, I'll have just finished playing a bunch of high notes. I hope this concept feels less repellent then than it does now. With pitch darkness outside, and no sound I can hear other than the keyboard and a few pre-morning birds, I don't want to do anything at all.
It's 8:39 AM, and I have been up since five. I've been trying to phase myself into Denmark time, so I went to bed at 8:30 last night, the earliest I've gone to bed without being sick since I was in Elementary school. I didn't sleep well, predictably, but waking up this early was a lot more pleasant than I had anticipated. Since I wasn't waking up for a gig or a flight, I had (and still have) hours in which to accomplish things I would ordinarily put off until the Procrastination Fairy took a vacation. Think about it: no one's up that early. You can't talk on the phone, you can't practice. You can't even watch TV, because you (I) canceled the cable. You've finished the second book of the Dune trilogy (not nearly as good as the first, sadly), and it seems that there is nothing left to do but be productive.
So I cleaned the kitchen, renewed my car insurance policy (even called a supervisor to belatedly compliment the insurance agent who handled my November car accident - what a great guy!), washed a ton of dishes, put away the last of the remnants from the previous apartment, caught up on some emails, and took a shower. I haven't eaten breakfast yet, and I'm tempted to make banana bread with some leftover brown bananas.
I should start making this a habit! It won't be hard, a week from now, when I'm standing in front of a class of kids at this summer's camp, thinking it's 11 PM when it's actually 4. Shudder. I'm not looking forward to that.
Plans for today: Practice. Buy (or borrow, hopefully) a voltage adapter. Play through the concerto with Lenny. The Evansville Freedom Festival is this weekend, and they're charging fifteen smackers to get in, so I'll not be going. That's lame of me, I know, but that's fifteen dollars that might get me a delicious snack in Aarhus, so I'm saving it. Tonight: Into bed at 7:30, 8 PM at the latest. This is a very strange and exciting time.