Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Just scattered diary stuff

So many people are talking and saying so many things, that I stop talking, and listen only. Consume only. And even don’t think my own thoughts all that much, just react to other people’s thoughts.

Ah. So the solution must be to stop reading and listening to other’s thoughts once in a while (not stop completely, of course) and start writing about my own—add to the conversation, contribute, produce, don’t only consume. But then there are even more voices in the fray. 

And it’s not like I have no faith in the value of my own contribution. I’m sure my contribution would be lovely and fine. But not that far above most educated people’s contributions. And so many educated people with such good thoughts are already contributing.  

I don’t really have faith in the value of my contribution in the current context of blogs articles social media posts videos podcasts lengthy comment sections subreddits everybody’s conversations ringing in my eyes and ears and brain.

The thing is, most people have a valuable contribution to make to some conversation, somewhere. And the conversations are all everywhere.

I’m mostly thinking of word spaces, but art spaces seem similarly cluttered. Fuck, actual space is cluttered. Too fucking many people in the world. It’s exhausting.  

It’s possible that I have a need to be the only one at something. I’m a niche-finder, and there aren’t really that many unoccupied niches. So possibly I should abandon niche-hunting? Abandon the hunt for recognition? It’s not like I have much hope of being recognized as anything special anywhere, at anything. And I’m not saying that in a depressed way, necessarily. But the part of my life where I was chasing ambitions is over and I’m slowly realizing I need to figure out what to do now, what to do next.

What do I do with my gifts? I know I have gifts. It’s actually all I have, really. Well, I have survival. That’s what my life is mostly aimed at—working for the man who gives me insulin for free. He’s not a bad man, ok? There are much worse men. They’re mostly politicians, I guess.

Aside from survive, what do I do now? It’s fun that my life is ahead of me, but also depressing. I don’t see any uncluttered space to grow into. I’m very entitled, to think that I should get that.   


But this is all the wrong question, the wrong orientation to the world. Well, maybe not WRONG exactly, but not helpful. Because maybe it doesn’t need to be about what does the world need? Which space is open and waiting for me to fill? It’s about—what do I need to do for me to be whole? What is it that me at my best is doing, when I’m in flow and fulfilling my reason for being? And what comes about is incidental. It might receive recognition and accolades, and might be so many undiscovered piles of dust, but what does it matter to me, if while I lived I really lived. (She said after writing several bars of music.)

Thursday, January 4, 2018

The Thing To Do With Your Intense Emotions

is to encode them in micro-phrasing. The most intense ones for the tiniest movements--this voice moving from this note to that one, this little two-note dissonance. Then they are well-hidden and you can continue to keep your shit together. And it makes the best music. I like the instruments to say the craziest shit, AFTER the text has been declamed. And then it's even more covert. 

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

My nation

Sometimes you hear a thing in passing, on the radio, in an interview, that’s so true that it becomes part of you, even though you can’t really remember who said it or what the conversation was about. The etymology of bits of knowledge that change you, being able to trace them , seems particularly white, a white person thing. Like, if I insist on knowing who said it, and being able to trace where they got the idea, then I’ve bought into the white, wig-wearing European idea that those people therefore own the knowledge, and I only got it from them—I don’t own it myself.

But when it hit me, in that moment, when it was transmitted via various electronic means, and when it reached a bottom dwelling microbe in my soul, and changed it, and started to grow and transform me, well, all of that means it’s mine now.

With deep bow to the people and forces that brought it.

But the idea is this: the rocks trees and fungi are all my nation, are also my grandfathers and grandmothers.

Ok, the credit belongs to the Lakota, and the transmitters were Doug Fabrezio and Alexandra Fuller and the internet and all podcast technology.

But despite being a city kid, and also an adult who has lived almost my whole life on the human-made scum hovering above the earth’s actual crust, where all other creatures live, I can still recognize that, whether or not that truth is in fact true for me, it really ought to be.

A right nation, a good nation, would of course include all elements of the ecological system. The glaciers. The turtles. The fungus that keeps the desert sand from breaking up into individual granules. The fungus on the tree trunks. All the individual bits of life that create our world, the whole intricate network.

It’s not profound, it’s basic. It’s a tragedy that it took me until 37 to hear this idea, and believe it, and try to own it.  

Monday, October 30, 2017

Further ramblings

(The first two paragraphs I intended to be a social media post. But then I backed down and didn't post it, because it's my own fucking business. I don't need a random 500 or so near strangers (or worse, family) commenting on my inner spiritual life. Fuck.)

Maybe you could tell, or maybe not, but over the last 5 or 6 years I lost my faith in Mormonism. It’s not something I have been public or candid about with very many people, but recently I decided it might be good for me to be a little more my real self on the outside.

It’s been a long, slow process, and I’m still in it, of course, but the basic gist goes like this: after many years of guilt, shame, perfectionism and depression, I decided something about Mormonism was contributing to these things and I gave myself permission to take a break from the church. Almost immediately the constant weight on my mind started to lift and I started to feel more free on the inside. I didn’t know how to reconcile this with my long belief in Mormonism’s truth claims, and so I didn’t. But for the first time, instead of prioritizing church doctrine and trying to force it on myself, I prioritized myself and did what felt better to me.   

(End of social media post. Beginning of further ramblings.)  

“Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” 
--Howard Thurman

So—I think this is true. And despite a lifetime of trying to find the thing that’s me, to do the thing that I am meant to do—my mission—I’m still trying. I haven’t found it-- Or, haven't spent enough time with it, or had enough trust  in it, to make a significant dent. 

I think that growing up in a fundamentalist religion is behind that, because I’ve only been free in my soul a few years now. Mormonism gives you so many imperatives about your life and the purpose of your life that you simply aren’t free to explore. So now that I am free to explore, I feel… yes, I do. I feel right now that I am on the way. I am excited about some things I’ve done today. I contacted a singer friend with whom I am going to work to compose a set of Emily Dickinson settings. I emailed the Houghton Library at Harvard for permission to use the texts. I am imagining a way of working, a process, that will work with my lifestyle, that will tap some of my strengths as a person, and that will result in writing a body of work I can be proud of. And this process I’m imagining is very individual.

Before, I would try to put myself into some pre-existing narrative about music careers: something involving academia, visible, resume-worthy accomplishments, achieving steps on a ladder that others have climbed. And, it hasn't worked that way for me. Not yet. Academia was a bust for me, for so many reasons. My involvement in various local choirs has also been a bit of a bust, partially because there are so many other people in them. People. Also, let's be honest: choirs are culty.   

But I see a way to be successful in my own individual way. And I guess my point for this writing is that, in order to do that, I have to be comfortable in my own skin, which meant leaving the religion of my childhood. It also means believing in myself more strongly than I compare myself to others. A belief in the value of my own inner world that withstands the wrecking ball of other artists' bios. 


Yeah, and this is also me telling myself that it’s ok that I’m 37 and still trying to figure out some BASIC SHIT. It’s ok. There are good reasons for this. And I'm still alive and moving forward. So, whatever.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Pain and joy.

Two weeks ago I ran 8.5 miles. Last week I ran 9.5 miles. Today I ran 10 miles. Right now I'm eating beans and rice and HOT.

All of these things are a little new, and they all give me this incredible endorphin rush.

With my long runs, about the last mile or mile and a half, I reach a point where my legs and my body generally are really done -- exhausted. But I know I'm not going to stop -- I have to finish the run. And the incredible thing is, I know I can keep going.

I'm not injured; my blood sugar is fine; my body is healthier, possibly, than it's ever been whilst running. So all of those things make keeping going an option for me, when a lot of times in the past, I'd reach a similar exhaustion point and not be able to keep going. When we first moved to Salt Lake, I signed up for a marathon and got to about 10 or 11 miles and had to call my husband to come get me because I couldn't get home. I was too exhausted.

But the last few weeks, when I've reached this point, I can't think of a time in my life when I've felt more exhilaration. It's ... measured. Because I'm exhausted. But I'm at the edge of what I know my body can do. Pretty soon, it will be something my body has never done before. And there's nothing like that. It's amazing and motivating and inspiring and I always have all these interesting thoughts I'm sure I'm going to remember and write down and which I very quickly forget and have never written down.

Maybe someday soon I will write them down. Because I think I'm addicted to running a lot of miles now.

(Ok, eating spicy beans and rice is not quite like the running high. But it is also it's own kind of exhilarating, and I think it's not a coincidence that I had what I would call my first ever joy-filled endorphin rush from spicy food (it was kadai paneer) in the midst of a significant mileage increase. Understanding the joy of pain.)  

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Having kids

I haven't. I'm 37 and have no kids. Twenty, ten, even five years ago, I would never have guessed I'd be child-less at the solidly middle age of 37.

I'm surprisingly ok with it. And so, it seems, are lots of other people of my generation. In 2012 a poll revealed only 42% of college-age adults planned to have kids in later life. That's down from 78% in 1992.

Wow! So, is humanity going to die out? Or just the middle- and upper-class white people in industrialized countries who are leaning in this direction?

Either way, says my internal Ted Kaczyski, that will be great. (One more reason I can't let anyone else ever read this blog, AMIRITE.) Yeah, also my internal Derrick Jensen, who, as far as we know, hasn't yet sent any bombs in the mail or led any protest dam bombings. He might though, because he believes civilization ("This Fucking Culture") is really bad for the natural world and needs to self-destruct--the sooner the better. And I'm a person who gets his point. A lot of people read Kazcynski's "manifesto" (dissertation) and thought he made a lot of great points.

Less people having babies means way less stress on our natural resources. Which could mean that humanity may be lucky enough to fall off gradually, as opposed to a dramatic, global-warming induced extinction event.    

But I do wonder about a sort of Jungian collective unconscious response to being so surrounded by people and our own industrial jungles. It's not that ..nurturing or receptive to life at all, let alone human life, despite our having created it out of our heads for ourselves. We have fake goals and fake rewards and do fake work for fake progress. And we call it civilized, all the while destroying the soil, water, and infinitely intricate species networks upon which we've built. So maybe the collective unconscious/mother earth in all of us is responding by noping right out of civilization. Modern life is not conducive to humans, so stop creating them.

Ok, so, head-nod to all the obvious, conscious ways modern life has most recently made having kids really difficult: the health insurance situation in the US, the loads of student-loan debt our generation has, the high cost of housing and low growth of wages. I'd say these are the top obvious reasons I haven't had kids.

Possibly industrial civilization wrote it's own demise when it invented oral contraceptives. And maybe that's what's really behind right-wing conservative opposition to women being in charge of their own reproductive choices. They know it will shrink human population and somewhat loosen the strangle-hold of patriarchy on the earth and its resources.

Sunday, September 10, 2017


What does it even mean to work for something?

I keep thinking about all my former high school classmates – so many of whom are living these incredible lives. Doing incredible things, having brilliant careers. Or raising kids. AND raising kids. Being significant.

And I’m every day wondering, what can I do in this hour to make my life worth it? How do I use my me-ness to make a dent in the world, a nice useful one, a bettering one?

It’s crazy, because I grew up with this idea, this great question of my own personal significance (“I must make the world a better place!...Somehow!”), and I still have no answers to it.

I’m rolling around ideas of activism, political, environmental, social. I’m wondering if the St. Mark’s job was my great chance. But no, I know it wasn’t. I do actually still feel quite confident that the future I envisioned there—a constant battle, a digging into the dirt and getting out only dirt—was not for me.

So what am I going to do? How am I going to dare?

I can do whatever I want. I can follow, in my free time, whatever pleases me. This is the gift of my current life. I’m not obligated in any of the ways I was previously obligated. I’m not tied to doing anything with music or art that I *must* do, or am getting paid to do.  

That is the choice I made walking away from St. Mark’s. And it’s not just Chris’ take on it – but being there, doing church music, would have confirmed my already strong tendency for doing music out of duty.

And I really want to get away from that. I’m still not sure I’m capable of getting away from that, but I have a clearer path out now than I’ve ever had in my life. I am gainfully employed, the diabetes is taken care of (while civilization lasts) and in my free time, I can do what I want.

So far, I’m finishing up the trumpet and soprano piece I wrote for the Ballet thing. For Jared.

I’ve signed up for a half marathon. Running is a great thing for me right now. It makes me happy and healthy and I like it.

I don’t actually need to have a great plan. I can do the running thing for now, and finish the trumpet thing. And then see what comes next. But the thing is, I do need an answer for the nagging anxiety about significance. Or maybe I don’t need an answer, maybe I need to shut it up. Maybe I need a charity to give to, to shut it up.

Ok, next up! Charities I’ve been researching:

International:    Child International


                Rescue MissionSL:
                                Sponsor a local person in meeting a specific obstacle to self-sufficiency

One thing that’s actually really great about music is that you are free to be completely personal.
I’ve been thinking about putting things on my blog that.. I don’t know – are too personal to ever make my blog public. I like the idea of making my blog public. Or at least sharing it with a slightly less limited audience than my current audience of one (Michael). But then I will feel very hampered, and like I can’t really say all the things I need to say. And I’ll say them anyway, and then walk around with serious complexes, thinking everyone will know all my issues. (ON THE OTHER HAND THERE ARE NUDE PICTURES OF ME ON THE INTERNET SO WHO REALLY FUCKING CARES, ACTUALLY.) And come to think of it, putting my nudies on the internet was liberating.

But my nude brain. I mean. It’s a little different, ok.

Well, my point was, with music, I can mean exactly all the things in my brain, and NO ONE WILL KNOW. But they will feel it. Possibly.