3.08.2010

I'm a musician... doesn't anyone understand?

Do I even understand? Let me say it again... I ... am... a... MUSICIAN. Yes, I play piano (fairly well), I play bassoon (also fairly well), I have attempted to play guitar (not fairly well) and I can get through scales on a few other wind instruments. So why am I working behind a desk?

That is a good question.

When I was just out of college, I knew I wanted to do one of three things with my life. Work in the performing arts (either right away or after getting a MA in Arts Admin), teach music history/appreciation at the college level and make it halfway interesting (something many professors fail miserably at) or become a Music Therapist. I still think I was incredibly lucky to land a job at Walton Arts Center in the programming department just a month or so out of college which allowed me a chance to try my hand in one of those three areas.

Okay, so it's not really a desk job, or it wasn't really a desk job. I used to get my hands dirty doing artist hospitality for oodles of famous types. I used to run artists around town in my little Honda Civic (ask me about the time Ira Glass sat in my front seat for a whole 20 minutes). I used to greet artist's managers upon their arrival to the theater, find stuff they needed, made everything happy and great and then do it all again the next day. I used to do that stuff. Now I sit behind a desk. I do lots at my desk. I talk to a lot of people. I work with local non-profits and educational groups on concerts and events. I manage a very busy calendar for a very busy performing arts venue. In fact, I learn a lot, every day. I really do like my job. However, I miss the hands on.

Or at least I tell myself that. I have to stop and ask "Erin, do you really miss the hands on or is there something else, something way back there, that you miss more? Perhaps it's the music? Erin, do you miss the music?"

Yes. I miss the music.

In fact, I miss the music so much that watching students learn music, watching someone perform music, just listening to music brings me to tears. My fingers ache to play a tune on the piano. I'm itching to pull out my bassoon and blow. I'm dyeing to lay pages upon pages of black and white sheet music in front of me and get lost in a forrest of musical notation.

Is it time to mark working in the administration arm of the arts off my list and look towards another area? That idea scares me. It scares me down to my core. I'm not sure why - I miss college and have been wanting to go back ever since I left it. So what scares me? Am I afraid I'll find the Erin I lost years ago?

Perhaps. Hopefully she's still there and hopefully she's patient, because change like this takes time and I'm not quite sure this Erin is ready to go that direction.

4 comments:

morgaine24 said...

I know how you feel about the music thing. I played violin from second grade all the way to college. moved out of town moved back year and a half later. my aunt stored my violin in the garage bow got ate by bugs and it now needs the pegs replaced because they slip and dont hold the strings:-( sucky choo for me I miss playing to my fingers ache to pick up a bow and play to feel the strings under my fingers.

idyll hands said...

Go get that violin fixed and give it a go! I finally broke down a bought a bassoon a few years ago after Yo Yo Ma told me to (seriously, in a roundabout way he personally told me to - long story). While I don't play it all of the time, it feels so good to have it back in my hands.

DancingMooney ♥ said...

I have all these big fancy ideas of things i'd like to be doing with my professional time, and sometimes I try them and sometimes I get too scared to try them, and I don't... but sometimes those things I either tried or didn't try keep creeping back up on me, and I can't help but wonder if there is a reason these ideas keep coming back into my head.

I say fuel the fire... when you are ready. ♥ and if you decide you're not ready... wait until you're ready to try again. ♥

Laurie Marshall said...

Do NOT let yourself get to be 44 without doing the things you really, really, really want to do. Or even 35.