Settling for Inaction

Hello world!

Question: when's the last time you played a board game? 

If your answer involves Candyland, that's just too bad.  Board games are awesome distractions for kids, but they seem less and less enticing as we get older (and wiser?).  I guess some adults do like chess though, right?  But I got turned off to that one at an early age; my older brother is a bit of a prodigy, and I was dragged to tournaments as a kid.  Having to be silent in a room full of creepy men gets old fast when you're a bubbly seven-year-old girl.  Seriously. 

But I digress.  I'm asking in order to lead seamlessly into mentioning the game Settlers of Catan.  I was introduced to it a year or so ago, and I've found it an awesome way to pass a few hours with two to five friends.  (It would be more awesome if I weren't so cutthroat.  I tend to get really, really pissed at other players during heated battles over the longest road card.) 

During one memorable five-player game, a friend was lost in thought on his turn.  (We call that "winning the longest turn card" [read: taking forever to make a move].)  We decided that he must have an elaborate scheme in mind.  He assured us otherwise with one of the wisest lines I've ever heard: "Do not mistake inaction for contemplation."

Genius.

I was reflecting on that difference this afternoon during an eleventh step meeting.  The leader picked a reading from the 12&12 involving the difference between determining God's will by yourself and checking in with others before you act on a thought or situation.  (Disclaimer: I was raised staunchly atheist and never refer to my higher power as "God" except when shorthand is necessary.)  The discussion following the reading wandered a bit from there, and it ended up being very insightful for me.

More than anything else, I got a renewed feeling of acceptance out of the meeting.  I think that we value action over contemplation as a general rule.  Conjure up some dictionary of inspirational quotes, and you'll surely find that doing tends to be high-fived over thinking.  Absolutely no citation there, but you get my point.  We have this assumption that there is always something that can be done about those obstacles we face.

But I need to be reminded more that there are situations in which I'm completely powerless.  I need to be reminded not so much that I can change certain situations as that I cannot change others.  I need to stop valuing action over contemplation.  And I cannot mistake powerlessness for uselessness.  There are times when thinking and not doing is far more admirable than vice versa.

[side note: I took a break from blogging yesterday to clean my room.  I felt compelled to read today's entry from the Daily Reflections book for no particular reason--I never read it!  And the topic was exactly what I'm writing about...coincidence?]

I'll leave you with a quote from my favorite story in the Big Book, "Acceptance was the Answer":

"[...A]cceptance is the answer to all my problems today.  When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation--some fact of my life--unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at that moment.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God's world by mistake.  [...] I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes."

Take care!

Gratitude for Gratitude

Hello world!

I've been busy/distracted from blogging lately.  I had midterms.  I've put some effort into independent work.  I recorded some cool samples.  Nice.

The most awesome distraction I've had lately is my awesome visitor.  A friend from high school is now a graduate student in English one state over from where we grew up. (I have to say, the academic study of literature is neither my specialty nor my cup of tea, so mad props to her!  That my college distribution requirements are set up in a way that I can take music instead of English is quite delightful.)

Sure, it's wonderful to have a friend come out to visit so we can catch up in person.  But her visit is far more significant for me than just an opportunity to hang out.  

This won't surprise you: I screwed up a LOT of friendships while drinking.  I distanced some friends just by being self-centered, disconnected, not really caring about others' lives, etc.  Others I broke apart by being outright nasty.  Most of all, I hated talking to friends who knew me when I was a good person.  I felt judged by them; well, more than anything else, I couldn't help but judge myself and the empty shell I'd become. 

And I've accepted losing contact with people I care about as being one of the many consequences of my actions when drinking.  It's not that I don't care or don't feel responsible for these broken relationships; rather, I've learned to respect the wishes of once-close friends who no longer want me in their lives.  It hurts sometimes.  I have plenty of ninth step amends to make there.

But then there's that rare friendship that began before I started drinking that's actually far more significant now than it was before I tried disconnecting myself from friends.  These friendships end up on my gratitude lists more often than not.  (Have I mentioned gratitude lists before?  I must.  I will.  Later.)  I can't explain how important these friends are to me.  There's honestly no reason for them to have stuck by me over the years.  But they have.

My visitor is one of those.  She sees I'm different from the old, pre-drunk me.  The one she was friends with before.  And she sticks around anyway.  We make time to catch up on the phone pretty regularly.  We support each other emotionally.  We talk about real things.  Like, not just celebrities and pop culture and manicures.  Which is great for me, since I don't keep up on the latest celebrity news and I never keep my nails pretty.

I just realized that I haven't ever expressed to her my sincere gratitude to have her in my life.  I will do that as well.

But here's the best part.  It's going to sound really egocentric.  That I can be grateful for her is almost as important to me as actually having relationships with people like her.  Every once in a while, I realize that I'm growing emotionally and that I actually have something to offer newcomers in sobriety.  And gratitude is possibly the most significant sign of my emotional growth.  I've learned to make lists of things/people I'm grateful for and why I'm grateful whenever I feel good, whenever I feel bad, whenever I feel resentful…!  Try it.  Nothing is more effective for cutting down righteous self-pity.

Meta moment: I'm grateful to be grateful.  

I feel good.  Know what?  I'm off to make a gratitude list.

Music as my Language

Hello world!


A few friends have asked me over the last few months to introduce them to the music that has changed my life, and I'm going to attempt to tackle that question in not-too-much-detail here.  So the content of this post will be a little different from usual.  Hopefully you'll enjoy!


I really mean the bit about music changing my life.  I don't know why, or how, but as long as I remember, music has resonated with me (pun not intended) in ways that nothing else has.  There's cool literature out there about the ways others react to music (I love Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks!).  Long before I picked up my first instrument, piano, at age 10 or so, music expressed emotions, concepts, and structures better to me than anything else.  That includes conversations, body language, facial expressions, literature (I was always a voracious reader as a kid), and art, which I also loved.  I remember deriving that feeling of pure bliss out of singing and playing the xylophone together in elementary school music class--not exactly the best source of refined voices!


Playing the piano from the very beginning gave me a true high that I would later seek with drugs and alcohol later, to no avail.  The rush I felt from creating even the simplest tunes on my family's upright was inexplicable, and remains so today.  At that young age, my mind had already begun to cycle between racing thoughts and unreasonable exhaustion, between the mild highs I couldn't describe and small lows that I wished would stop pestering me.  I had no idea that these swings were abnormal.  But I did realize that music was an effective therapy for the tumult that tormented me.  It was the first avenue of true self-expression that I ever discovered, and remains the most effective that I have found to date.


And the more pieces I played, the more my emotions became entangled in them.  I vividly remember the first Romantic piece I played on the piano, the first time I played the solo part of a concerto with a live orchestra, and the first time I discovered goosebumps on my arms while playing viola in an orchestra rehearsal.  Even today, there are pieces of music that I know and love that make me choked up every time I hear them.


Possibly the greatest disappointment from taking mood stabilizers is that they hinder my emotional connection with music.  (They also prevent the crazy manic moments in school that I believe contributed to previously outstanding academic performance; my mind raced in school in a way it can't anymore.)  It's a price to pay.  I'll be honest: for me, it's not a small price.  I'm sitting on my dorm room futon listening to pieces of music that used to literally bring me to tears, and all I feel is that the music is beautiful.  Definitely not overwhelmingly so.  It's beyond a huge bummer.  But in return, I don't cry uncontrollably over small disappointments in life, don't have crazy hallucinating manic episodes, and have managed to chug through addiction.  I'll take distance from music over persistent suicidal ideations any day.  (Somehow, I actually am doubting myself as I type this...how insane!!)


So here's a (relatively) short list of those pieces of music that have shaped my life.  So, so many more are out there.  Read the whole thing if you like, or skim, or check out the bullets, whatever you like.  Know that these pieces are more a part of me than the words that describe them.  (Note: when I list a recording, it doesn't necessarily mean it's the best out there, just the one that I thought was decent enough to download!)

• JS Bach, Goldberg Variations (You MUST listen to the somewhat controversial Glenn Gould recordings.  Both of them, recorded in 1955 and 1981.)  For years of playing piano, I avoided Bach like the flu shot.  It might be good for you in the long run, but it's boring at the time and all you have to show for it is pain in your arm.  But I had to admit (however begrudgingly) that I was completely spellbound by the Goldberg Variations at first listen.  (Musical lore claims a great history for the piece.)  Plus I've always had a soft spot for theme-and-variations (see the Mozart below).  The Aria and variations each present a variety of challenges for the pianist in terms of emotional connection and technique.  A smashingly good time to play, and a religious experience for me to listen!
• Mozart, Piano Sonata No. 11 in A, K. 331 "Alla Turca", I Tema (I recently switched to the Alfred Brendel recording)  This was my maternal grandfather's favorite Mozart sonata (yes, Grandpa had a favorite...tells you something about my family!).  I was encouraged to play the sonata early on and took to it a way I never expected; playing Mozart, like playing Bach, always felt like eating lima beans to me (gross).  Variation IV (check out the score if you like) floats me to another world.  I actually caught myself in a resentment against Brendel for not taking the first repeat--I want to hear the beginning twice, dammit!
• Beethoven, Piano Concerto No. 5 "Emperor", Op. 73, I Allegro (I'm still searching for a favorite recording; I like this Pollini recording).  Don't get me wrong, this whole concerto is awesome.  But there's something about the orchestra's first statement of the theme that is gloriously triumphant.  The last few piano chords before it are nearly torture for me--the anticipation is overwhelming!  There's some amazing orchestration and flashes of solo flair throughout the movement, and the culmination of the two at the end is well worth 20 minutes of attention!
• Beethoven, Symphony No. 7 in A, Op. 92, II Allegretto (I like my Bernstein recording).  An amazing fugue.  The principal theme is deceptively simple; still, even at first listen, you know that the simple cello/bass line will explode into something amazing.  And it does.
• Schubert, Fantasy in C "Wanderer"(I first heard this piece on a video recording by Orion Weiss, I should find a link to it).  Playing this piece is a blast.  Seriously.  The first page is so addictive that I would sit down and play it over, and over, and over again, without moving on.  (Side note: I ended up playing in a masterclass with Weiss a year after I first heard him playing this piece.  Coincidence?  Surely.)
• Schumann, Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54 (Huge vote of confidence for the Philadelphia Orchestra recording, same as Grieg below).  The way Schumann transitions directly into the third movement using both quotations from the first movement and foreshadowing the Rondo's main theme is divine.  I even wrote one of my junior independent work papers on this transition and the first statement in the third movement.  Yup.  A semester dedicated to 10 seconds of music.  I'm obsessed.  Those ten seconds embody true glory in a way that no words can.
• Grieg, Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 16 (I absolutely love my Philly Orchestra recording, same album as the Schumann).  I dedicated my senior year of high school to this concerto.  I entered a couple concerto competitions with this piece, won them, and performed this piece with two different orchestras (one was the youth orchestra that I played principal viola in).  I developed a problem where I would get so hopelessly intertwined with the music that I'd lose a conscious connection with my surroundings.  Other instrumentalists in my youth orchestra were thanking me for choosing this piece because their parts were amazing as well.  I loved watching my cellist friends rock out in their expressive thematic bits.  (I did other stuff that year too, I suppose.)
• Brahms, Variations on a Theme by Haydn, Op. 56a, I (I own the Royal Philharmonic recording, conducted by Andre Previn).  One of the first pieces I ever played in an orchestra.  I had been playing viola for only a few months and could barely read the alto clef, but I vividly remember being consumed by some magical moments in this piece despite my confusion.  The final variation has a grouping of four hugely triumphant measures (on pages 62-3 in this score) that gets me every time.
• Brahms, Symphony No. 2 in D, Op. 73 I Allegro non troppo (I own the Berlin Philharmonic recording, conducted by von Karajan).  I named this first because I'm listening to it now!  I played this with my youth orchestra in high school.  The lullaby tune that we all know and love is excerpted from the first movement; it's a truly magical moment.
• Tchaikovsky, Violin Concerto in D, Op. 35, I. Allegro moderato (I own this compilation of Jascha Heifetz recordings.  He is the violin boss.  No joke.)  The beginning of the piece is pure tension for me.  I know what's coming.  The violin showy exposition, then the theme.  Yes, THE theme.  When the orchestra chimes in to replay the theme, I have to keep clicking on iTunes to go back to the beginning of that section.  The trumpets are rocking out at that point--amazing!  I actually used to get so annoyed with the "filler" between statements of that killer theme.  I've had dreams about it.  I kid you not.
• Prokofiev, Toccata Op. 11 (My piano teacher swore by the Martha Argerich recording).  The Toccata is physically challenging to play; the beginning has to be played with both hands on one key, where each keystroke is calculated precisely to keep the piano hammer oscillating at the exact frequency to hit every note.  This may sound weird, but I credit this piece with opening me up to electronic music.  It's the first classical piece I ever played that bent the melody=pitch relationship--rhythm and timbre are far more the focus here.
• Gershwin, Rhapsody in Blue (I first fell in love with the Michael Tilson Thomas recording, and now I can't listen to any other).  It's an American classic.  Moreover, it's catchy.  This recording has the most fantastic clarinet soloist, too.  I have always had a problem with jazz (I don't know why), but its intersection with classical form here is irresistible.
• Shostakovich, Piano Concerto No. 2 in F, Op. 102, II Andante (I love this recording by Yefim Bronfman).  In my high school days, I experienced inexplicably overwhelming emotions from the simplest things.  This movement would get me every time.  It still does affect me, honestly, although I don't listen to it as frequently anymore--partially because I can't get swept away in its beauty the way I used to.  For me, it always represented the intersection of the pure innocence of early life with the inevitability of death.  I'm realizing now that it's probably not normal for a young teen to be preoccupied with death, but, hey, I'm just being honest about what I felt!

What about other (non-classical) music?  In all honesty, it's the classical genre that really inspires me.  But I can name a few pieces of other genres that I find myself obsessing over from time to time.

• "It's Gonna Rain" by Steve Reich.  Read about Reich's composition of the work.  It's stunning to think that something this cool was done on magnetic tape!  I vividly remember my first listen to this piece--where I was, what I was procrastinating from, etc.  I was completely overwhelmed by the impossibility of its rhythmic attributes.  For further reading, check out writings on Deutsch's sound illusion work; her writings on the speech-to-sound illusion are, in my opinion, spot on.
• "Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.  Another American classic, in a completely different way than Gershwin's work.  Every time I hear this song, I find myself belting out the lyrics (which is unfortunate for those around me, since I can't sing).  This song epitomizes (at least for me) the idea of rocking out.  They clearly felt their music.  And I do too.
• "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC.  Hear me out before you roll your eyes.  We all know the saying "don't bore us, get to the chorus".  I argue that this is one of the few songs in the history of popular music in which the verse is catchier than the chorus.  Think about it.
• "Start Me Up" by the Rolling Stones.  My pitch for this song: the V7 chord is accented on the downbeat, followed by the I chord on the second (less accented) beat of the measure.  Nobody does that.  V7 always leads to an accented, downbeat I.  Pretty awesome.
• "Reservoir" by Vibrasphere.  They use some really awesome analog equipment that I've used in the past.  More than anything else, the song features a two-note melody that gets stuck in your head without you realizing it.  Wow!  Besides, it's possibly the first electronica song I was introduced to that really resonated with me (sorry about the pun).
• "Illmerica" by Wolfgang Gartner.  My all-time most played track on iTunes.  I saw Wolfgang live last year and it was a religious experience (somehow).  I was a little worried about going to a gig like that (booze and ecstasy!), but I had such a blast!  I was sure to call my sponsor and other AA friends before I left, just to make sure I could call anyone for help if I felt uneasy.  It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution, which helped me realize that my sobriety is far stronger than even I realize.

So.  That's a little insight into my mind.  Scrolling through this finished post, I realize that it's way longer than I envisioned, but writing it felt awesome for me.  Oh, and I hope you read it, too.

Until next time!