It's About Time

We homeschooled, my boys and I, through some of the primary school years. The reasons were varied.  I wanted to spend time with my children, to ensure that their individual needs were being met, and to have some control over the information and ideas they were exposed to at such an impressionable age.  But the biggest reason was I wanted freedom. Being told what to do and when to do it was oppressive to me; an affront to living our lives.  The intent was to be in sync with our natural rhythms and impulses.  Not to avoid doing work, but to do it when we were in the best state to be successful.  Just like when I would try to get up and exercise at 5:30am I couldn’t do as many repetitions with the weights as I could a few hours later.  Sometimes math is easy, and sometimes it looks like arbitrary unintelligible symbols.  At times ideas would flow for stories or art projects, other times the conditions were better for an excursion in the garden. Wearing pajamas we snuggled up on my bed with history books, retaining the information as if it were the plots of our favorite bedtime stories.

Five years ago with a divorce impending, I had to send my children to school and I accepted a job in a call center.  A position that required that every minute of my shift to be planned and accounted for, down to the time you can get up to go to the bathroom.  It was a difficult transition for all of us.  But I needed a job, newly single and a recession starting. Not long after, I was promoted to the person in charge of the schedules.  The person who hates being told what to do and when to do it, now creates the schedules for over a hundred people and monitors the results in real time.

The upside is I've learned the value of a schedule; learned that most of the world runs better if there are people where they are supposed to be and engaged in the tasks that are expected of them.  But these times still need to be bookended in freedom.  Openended time where we are living in the moment and following the path that we are drawn to. Playing, exploring new interests and talents.  I'm looking forward to the day when I'm completely in control of my schedule again.  Making the most of my time as I see fit.

Rushing

With an invisible guitar on my lap, I tried to move the fingers of my left hand as quickly as possible. It was only a minute before I felt my muscles start to cramp and fatigue.  Then I looked at down at the stage where Alex Lifeson of Rush, at age 59 had been moving his hands even faster...for almost 3 hours. Not only were his fingers moving ridiculously fast, but they were also landing exactly where they needed to be. And although he is capable of that, perhaps the most interesting part of his playing is that he can also use restraint and pauses. Musical negative space. Behind him was his band mate Neil Peart, nesting in metallic ring of percussion instruments. Neil didn't appear to be playing the instruments; rather he was a part of them. There was something in his eyes that made it look like he was in an alternate reality, experiencing the music in a private way disassociated from the thousands of people watching. Conversely, Geddy Lee was ever-present. Big smiles, peering out over tinted oval glasses, connecting with the crowd.  Moving all around the stage and hitting impossibly high notes.   

There is nothing like watching mastery—in anything really. I had a similar feeling a few weeks ago while at an air show. The Thunderbirds were performing. In machines whose very existence is a tremendous human accomplishment, the pilots push the limits even farther. In close formation, rushing at top speed, the six F-16s move as one. Their lives depend on it. Some people had earplugs in, but to me the sound of the jets added to the experience.  The noise and the vibrations reverberated through our bodies as the Thunderbirds made their passes, reinforcing the power that these pilots were harnessing. Creating beauty in this great feat of strength, endurance and timing.

More In Tune

“So I keep waiting for a glowing review of my waiting room,” said my son’s guitar teacher referring to the relatively dismal description of the old waiting room from the post In Tune.  (However I will take this opportunity to admit that I don’t believe that post adequately conveyed the fact that I think that a bleak waiting room actually is appropriate for the whole starving-artist-being-true-to-their-vision vibe.  So I may have mistakenly given the impression that I didn’t like it there.  I did.)  He was kidding, since it’s not so much a waiting room as a cozy corner of his studio.  I think of a waiting room as a place where you are just trying to find ways to pass the time while you…wait.  Whether it is the dentist office, the DMV, a courthouse--they usually all have bad art, a funky smell, magazines you would never subscribe to and stale air.  But the truth is instead of a place where you are waiting for time to pass, the waiting area for my son’s guitar lessons is now a place where I can sit and enjoy just being.  On the coffee table are magazines that I have spent my hard-earned money on, yet I don’t need to look at them since there is so much else to take in.  If I could ask a genie for one wish it would be to add 4 more hours to each day, I dole out my time jealously, yet I don’t consider the 30 minutes in this studio a waste of my time. 

A one room Cedar-shingled structure that fits right in with the rocky Maine landscape it sits on. Comfy furniture that isn’t fussy enough to have to worry about, an impressive array of guitars and audio equipment, windows letting in natural light, and photographs letting in memories.  And of course a fridge.  I liked this teacher when we were taking lessons at the other location, but I like him more now.  It makes sense.  When you see a Great Horned Owl soar over you through the trees or a seal poke his head out of the water in the surf, it is significantly more spectacular than seeing the same creatures in a zoo.  No matter how carefully the zoo was designed to mimic their homes.  Natural habitats give our true essence the space to come out and play.  To let people see what makes us feel happy and in tune with the life force.