Daily routine

Since I last checked in, the fallow period I mentioned has blossomed into a very busy time indeed. I was lately reading an essay by Herman Hesse, wherein he speaks of that desire for refuge, a place to be at peace. It doesn't end as you would expect; in fact he rejects the idea completely, saying, in essence that this desire for a calm and quiet place is actually a destructive force in his life.

Still thinking about the ramifications of that; a refuge, a quiet place, has long been a dream of mine as well- and an elusive one.

There are now times, though, in my daily routine, when I find a moment of calm, and I'll let you in on them. First, the half hour I spend in my bed, ostensibly meditating, but really just thinking, and following my thoughts. I feel nonetheless that it is a better way to start one's day than jumping right out of bed (a habit that I had almost all my adult life).

Then, I spend a half hour with a coffee or two, writing pages in a journal. Now that the internet has been a major distraction, it is hard to just focus on that one activity, but once I do, I find it flowing, and eventually a kind of calm sets in, and I don't want to stop writing. But I do, when it feels right, and get on with my day.

It's not a refuge, but a routine; one that I have come to value and miss if by chance I don't get to do it that day.

I'm enjoying cleaning the kitchen too... my Mother, wherever she is, would be gobsmacked.

These three things are comforting, and I guess make me feel grounded in a way I haven't felt often in my life. What comfort do you, Dear Reader, find in routine?

Wide open

A rare occurrence last evening: our neighbors, Russ and Angie, were over with their 5 year old son, Matty. It's been 25 years or so since we had that kind of spirit in our house, and it is always overwhelming: the energy, the enthusiasm, the inquisitiveness!

A person of that age is a "sponge", so they say, but the word is inadequate. The curiousity, the dynamism of wanting to try everything, touch everything, see everything. So inspiring and exhausting, for not only are you their guide and mentor in the excursion into the objects and experiences contained in your house, which are all new to them, you also need to set limits on what can be allowed in their explorations. Fortunately we lived through Hurricane Travis (our son and second-born), and have a lot of experience with enthusiastic, fearless young people.

It was a joy to show Matty the piano:  how the pedals work, what the hammers do, how to play "twinkle twinkle", how to guide a pick along the strings for a special sound.

Kids that age are wide open, and what happens to them between that age and their late teens and adulthood is a sad, sad, mystery. We all know, or have heard of those who, even in their adult years, have kept this sense of wonder. I can still access it at times in a limited way, when I am able look at something with an unjaundiced eye, and taste of the wonder of it. But for most of us, the adherence to rules, and the million compromises we make in order to become "productive members of society" and "grown-ups" stop up that font of joy that we had free access to in our youth.

Herman Hesse (I think it was) proposed that we spend part of every day in quiet contemplation of a tree, or some such object in nature. Having done this a few times I can testify to its healing properties. It's a way to re-frame our experience, to step outside the adult who says: "I see a tree", barely acknowledging it as real; reducing it to a statistic, and not the wondrous miracle that is any tree, large or small.
In what other ways might we re-connect to the capacity for wonder, for joy in our adult lives?

Fallow time

Many years have passed since my last post, and so much life lived. Since then, I became a full-time professor at Université de Montréal, then a tenured one, and now am in my first ever Sabbatical year. That I ever would find myself part of the academic bourgeoisie was, at the start of my career, inconceivable, since even back in the 80s, "common knowledge" was that they were no longer giving out these posts.

But here we are, and I am enjoying the "fat of the land", as it were, and will continue to do so for another year or two at least. This year of research and relaxation has already brought much time for reflection on where I am headed in my few remaining years.

The "year off" began with a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, from Porto, by the interior route. I love the time on the trail, where the activities are listening, observing, using all the senses really, and thinking your own thoughts. I get a lot out of solitary reflection while walking. I read somewhere that your thinking is of a higher quality when you are walking, and I think this must be true. In a age of distraction, we need time to reflect and just "think our own thoughts"

This week is a week off after a busy four days of concerts and rehearsals. I continue to play, conduct, arrange and sing etc. during my sabbatical, which is a joy; I may retire from teaching at a school, but I doubt I will voluntarily retire from making music in some form. I count myself lucky to be able to do a job I love.