I didn’t want to write this post. I’ve been putting it off. I’m too busy, too many others things going on, and so I have neglected this as if it were a chore, something draining, and I just didn’t feel like doing it. But now that I’m writing I feel great. I love writing! Why was this so hard to begin?
Confession: I never want to teach voice lessons. I live in constant hope that someone will cancel or reschedule. There are days I might even say that I dread teaching. And yet I never have a bad time doing it. When I’m with a student, there is an energy and a joy in the room if we are doing it right, and I end the lesson feeling fulfilled and content. I would hate to miss a single one. So why doesn’t my soul and mind remember that before the next one begins?
Although I definitely hate rehearsals. If I never had to go to another rehearsal again, I would be in heaven. Nothing worse than getting home at night and realizing that I have a rehearsal to go to. Seriously? Now I don’t have time to eat, I won’t be seeing my family at bedtime, and I have to drag my exhausted self off to another job and pretend to be pleasant and alert. And whoa, wait, rehearsals are fun, aren’t they? I get to make music with other humans! What a privilege. I get to see my friends, make jokes, create art and sonic beauty, what’s not to love? I will often end a rehearsal exhausted, but very rarely unhappy. I definitely don’t hate them.
What is wrong with me? Why do I put off everything that I love? Which is everything! Nothing is ever as bad as I think it will be, and most of the time it isn’t bad at all; it’s excellent. But I can’t bring myself to want to begin it. Thank goodness for external forces, or I might never do anything. It all seems so daunting and so…much. But not the doing; just the starting.