My Story

I watched a movie tonight: It's Kind of a Funny Story. Yes, that's the title. It's a movie about this sixteen year old kid who discovers he is suicidal and commits himself to a mental hospital. It's a movie about learning to accept yourself for who you are, and not be afraid of your scars. I watched this movie tonight and I learned a few things about myself in the process.

One, I know I'm not perfect and I'm going to screw up.

Two, I will get depressed sometimes and I will always have regrets.

Three, I don't have to let these facts hold me down.

I don't have to be perfect. I just have to be me. When I screw up, I just need to accept it and move on. I can't let my fears and my scars and my past mistakes (and future mistakes) commit myself to my own personal ward. I need to break free and accept my human imperfections and my OCD/perfectionist tendencies as one part of myself.

There were a couple more things I learned from this movie.

One, I am talented and unique.

Two, I have family and friends who love me and support me.

Three, I can let loose, read, skip, laugh, breathe, and live.

Don't let your mistakes or your fears hold you down. Life is worth living. It really is.

Live the life you have imagined. ~ Henry David Thoreau

My Year's End

Christmas is just around the corner. The new year will follow soon after. 2010 is quietly coming to a close. It was an interesting year. Somehow, it was one my most difficult years but also one of the most rewarding.

Many lonely nights I sat in my car trying to convince myself that driving home is not the right answer. Moving away from everyone I know. What was I thinking? It doesn't make sense really, what I did. I left everything. My family, my friends, my support group, my job, my teachers, my sister's home-cooked meals, and even my parent's Wii. It was all left behind so that I could, what? Eat mac n' cheese every night and live in a shoe box? No. It was left because it was my cushion. It was my comfort zone. Having all those things created this buffer around me so that I never had to think about anything. I never had to figure out who I really was. I moved here to tear off the mask and look in the mirror. It's the scariest thing I've ever done, but I would never grow without coming to grips with that stark reality. This is me. This is me. Oh my goodness, this is ME! I'm awkward and clumsy but I'm also talented and driven. I'm not afraid of who I am. I'm not afraid of who I could be, or who I will be. The future is vast and unimaginable. Full of choices and possibilities; full of failures and triumphs. But now I'm not so afraid of the failures that I'll ignore the possibilities. I'm not afraid of putting my soul on paper for fear that someone will reject me. Of course I'll be rejected. But not by every one. Not every time. And I know now that it will always be worth it to put yourself out there instead of hiding in a corner, afraid of what people might think. Scaring yourself into being someone you're not.

2010. It was a year for facing fears and for new beginnings. It was, overall, a year for going to the world and saying, here I am. Take it or take it because that's your only option.

Merry Christmas, my dear friends. Merry Christmas.

My Opportunities

A few months ago, I went to a church picnic. I was still trying to find the right church for me and was checking out different churches around town. Another Sunday rolled around and I went to this new church. New to me anyways, they happened to be celebrating their 128th anniversary that day. I heard there was free food at the celebration and I NEVER pass up free food so away I go to join in the party. They have this little information booth where you can enter a free raffle for a iPod or something (it seems like all raffles these days are for iPods). I start talking to the guy running the raffle and tell him I'm new to the area and am interested in joining this church. I ask him what kind of programs they have here and he directs me to Maggie, the choir director. I hadn't told the raffle guy that I was a musician, but this is the person he introduces me to. She asks me if I'm musical. I say, "Well yes, I'm a percussionist." At this point she starts screaming and hugging me and jumping up and down in circles. (Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.) It turns out the church owns a pair of timpani and they've been looking for a timpanist for almost two years. In that instant, I became a member of the church, a member of the choir, and their own personal timpanist.

So I bust out my practice pad and start going to choir rehearsals. During my second or third rehearsal, a fellow alto tells me that our pianist is a composer. But not just any composer, he was absent from rehearsal that night because he was rehearsing his new musical at one of Denver's most prominent performing arts theaters. So I build up some courage and catch him after one of our rehearsals. I start with, "I hear you're a composer." "Yeah." . . . Ok, now what? I'm totally fumbling the ball here. Just pick it up and run! "Uh, I kinda compose too sometimes..." Eventually I'm able to spit out that I would like him to look at my score and give me feedback. Of course he's a swell guy and is not nearly as nervous as I am and is happy to look at it.

Tonight I went to my favorite park to finish one of my favorite books: The Complete Guide to Film Scoring by Fred Davis. I read about three pages and suddenly, mixed in with the other joggers and dog walkers, there's this guy sitting on a park bench playing the congas. I start wondering if I should go talk to him. I mean, obviously he has his own congas so he's probably connected to some other musicians. Maybe he could be a connection. But seriously? You want to walk up to a stranger on a park bench and just strike up a conversation with him? Yeah, not really. But I decide that if he's still there by the time I finish my book, then I'll go talk to him. This was a favorable agreement. I had thirty pages left to my book and as my sister will tell you, I am a VERY slow reader. There was no way he would still be there. But once I get down to ten pages left I start counting down each page. Eight pages. He's still here? Six... Five... Oh my gosh he's still here. Three... Two... I give up. I read the last page, put my shoes back on and walk directly toward him.

"Having fun?" I ask. "Yeah, yeah" he replies with an accent that reminds me of the Jamaican Boblsed Team. I continue to shock myself by sitting on the bench next to him. I tell him I'm a percussionist too. He asks me where I play. I told him I'm not really playing right now (except for timpani in church) but that I'm actually working on becoming a composer. I hold up my book so he can see the front cover. His voice goes up an few octaves as he starts yelling "No way!" Again, not quite the reaction I was expecting. But, as before, there's a reason for the excitement. He's a film maker.

Every man is the architect of his own future. Go out and build yours.

Quote #5

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

My Saturday

I told my mom once, I think there are more dogs in Colorado. She replied, maybe people here just walk their dogs more. I've never known a city to be so active. Everyone is always outdoors: playing, riding, walking, jogging. Pedestrians always have the right of way (I think this goes for the entire state) and there are so many cyclists that they have their own lane. The sky is nearly always blue, it hardly ever rains, and the clouds change shape every few minutes. This city has 39 parks, 4 lakes, and a 5 mile long trail that runs along the river. It has dog parks, recreation centers, public pools, and gelato sold in almost every shop (to counteract the activeness of our city).

Today is Saturday. And what a glorious Saturday it is. This morning I took my pug to the dog park where he ignored every dog he saw and stayed right by my side, wondering why I was forcing him to interact with any species besides homosapien. I gave this up after a while, dropped him off at my apartment, and went to one of my town's many parks by myself. My park of choice is really just a big yard. No, it's not the yard for someone's mansion, it really is a park. It even has a paved trail around it's borders, although the park is rather circular in shape so I wonder if you can get dizzy if you run around it enough times. It also has one large shelter that is used for concerts and jazz festivals. But for the most part, it's just one big, green, grassy yard. I brought my book, walked past the trail and into the yard a few feet, laid on the ground and read. There were times back home when I would go to the lake and lay in the grass to read, but I got a lot of strange stares, and only did it a few times before I gave up. The thing about this place is, I wasn't the only one. There were six or seven people scattered around the "yard." Laying down or sitting, reading or sleeping or otherwise just thinking. Some were in the shade of large tree, enjoying the light breeze. Others wanted to soak up the sun and delight in its warmth. On top of that, people would walk to the park from their houses with their dogs or friends, and just, walk. Around the park. Just for the joy of being outside. I saw five or six people who came there to jog and exercise (I never got a chance to ask them if they ever got dizzy). There's nothing special about this park. You can barely even see the mountains above the trees. Why are these people leaving their couches and going to this bland park? Now you may be thinking, duh? This is what people do, right? They go to a park to be outdoors, to enjoy the weather, to play with their dogs. Yes, I agree. But this town, this rather small town, has 39 parks. It needs 39 parks to satisfy all its outdoorsy residents. 1500 acres of parks and open space.

It's no wonder I've changed since I've moved here. How can you not change when you see all these people enjoying their lives so much? How can you not change when you actually take the time to stop and smell the roses? Or in my case, stop to feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your face. My mom got me a mug the other day. (I happen to love mugs for those of you who don't know) This one said, "Do what you like. Like what you do." And I had to ask myself, why not? Why not go out and do what you love? Why not enjoy each sunny day? Why not stop to listen to the rustling of the leaves? To the birds singing? Why not climb a mountain? Why not travel to new places? Why not get up and explore this beautiful world we live in?

Someone once said, "The present is yours. Do with it what you will." Don't settle for anything less than your true potential, and always take time to enjoy the sunshine.

Quote #4

Without ambition one starts nothing. Without work one finishes nothing.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

My Ninety-Three Days

Ninety-three days. I've been in Colorado for ninety-three days. Has it been worth it? Ninety-three days away from family, away from friends, away from everything I know. My human interactions have been reduced to skyping and texting and some very long phone calls. I keep trying to go out - to do something I like to do, something I would normally do. I've gone out to eat by myself, I've gone to the movies by myself, I even tried to go to a concert by myself. All things I love to do, but they're the most miserable activities if you have no one to enjoy them with.

Tonight I went to "Rhythm on the River". It's a three day event in my new hometown with food venders, duck races, and three different stages where you can watch anything from dance groups, choirs, concert bands, country, rock, irish, bluegrass, and even a "strolling accordian/harmonica/djembe group". I knew this was something I'd enjoy so I got off skype, and headed to the river.

You know you're in Colorado when there's a sign in the parking lot for Free Bike Valet Parking. I laughed at the sign and walked along the St. Vrain River with high hopes for this event. It was a great place. Lots of food, people, tents, chairs, and a country cover band playing on the stage. I strolled around, talked to some vendors, signed up to win a free iPod, and then I left. There was no one to enjoy it with me. There was no one I could sing along with, get root beer floats with, or sign up for the duck race with. This event should have been fun. I should have loved it. I would have loved it. If I had someone here to love it with me.

I got home, laid in bed, and cried. Why am I here? Why am I STILL here? Is it worth it? Ninety-three days. What have I done in ninety-three days?

I've gone hiking. I've gone hiking at Chataqua in Boulder, and I've done four hiking trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. I've been to Alberta Falls, Gem Lake, The Pool off Cub Lake, and I've climbed to the top of Deer Mountain. I've explored the towns of Longmont, Boulder, Lafayette, and Estes Park. I've explored the St. Vrain Greenway walking trail, Golden Ponds, and Northshore Lake. I've gotten my own apartment. I've read Charles Dickens' Our Mutual Friend, Jane Austen's Emma, and J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. I've eaten at new restaurants like Pinnochio's and Dickens' Tavern. I've eaten Indian food for the first time in my life. I've taken my dog to a dog park. I've jogged a half-mile. I've gone horseback riding. I've gotten yet another person to fall in love with the score to Blood Diamond. I've learned half of a new Beethoven sonata on the piano. I've studied Dvorak's 6th Symphony and Stravinsky's Petrouchka. I've started writing a passacaglia for string quartet. I've started transcribing Path to Heaven from the score to Kingdom of Heaven and am arranging it for marimba quartet. I've started working on a jazz band piece based on the Nat King Cole Trio's Sunny Side of the Street. I've been working on a theme and variations piece for full orchestra. And I've written two cues for a promo video for a student TV show. I've saved enough money to go white water rafting. I've joined a church and will be playing timpani with their choir at Sunday masses starting this fall. I've found a food kitchen where I can volunteer on weekends. I've asked my sister to send me the locked picture of a film she recently produced so I can use it for practice.

I'm a new person. I have energy, I have passion, I have drive. I'm not as scared anymore. I have more self confidence. I'm not worried about weight or what people think about me. I'm not freaking out about letting people hear my music. I'm not afraid of writing music. I'm not afraid of putting myself out there and staying true to myself and my music. A quote from one of my favorite movies (don't bash the movie if you know what it is) says "Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game". I've embraced that. I know that I will be rejected. I know that I will be torn and hurt and bleeding on the inside. But that's part of the game. That's part of life. I can't let that keep me from going out and doing what I'm here to do.

So these ninety-three days. Has it been worth it? Yes. Am I lonely? Yes. Am I going to stay and keep pushing towards my dream? Most definitely.

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

I miss you, my dear friends. I miss you.