Leaving Music To Find Balance

 
This post will be more meaningful if you read my two previous posts first. Also, musician friends: This is not meant to discount or belittle the extraordinary amount of dedication, hard work, perseverance, and love it takes to be a great musician. I believe music is a noble pursuit that adds an incalculable amount of positivity into the world.

I've spent lots of time reflecting on why I decided to completely change paths in life and all but leave what I'd been doing so intensely for five years. It took a while before I could truly understand and articulate why, but the process of this increasing clarity was illuminating for me. When I decided to discontinue my Master's in music in 2010, I basically just knew I could (and should) do more with my life. I got to the point where I felt like all I was doing was going to school to the practice hallways, getting my bass and all my gear, unpacking everything into a closet-sized room, and slaving away towards a distant, seemingly out-of-reach goal. I think every musician (and other artists) feel this way at one point or another: the feeling that your art and your work won't be appreciated enough, and the joy you get out of it isn't quite enough to keep you going. I became concerned when I started to feel this way. After all, I'd gone years with total focus and positivity toward my certain, music-filled future. It's hard to say what each factor was that contributed to my decision, but my primary reason for leaving was a feeling of intellectual stifled-ness, or being intellectually stifled. I felt hindered, impeded, held back from being able to pursue other interests because music took up all my time and energy. Not everyone knows this feeling, but musicians do. It's the I-can't-actually-relax-because-I-need-to-practice feeling. No matter where you are, what you've already accomplished on a given day, or how much you've already practiced, the ever-looming, ominous feeling comes back. You MUST practice! It makes you feel like an abnormal person sometimes. "You should travel to Europe sometime." "Yes, but what about my bass? I can't just not practice. And what about keeping it humidified?" Etc., etc. [I forgot to mention this in my previous post, but not only did I leave Cincinnati as soon as I could, I also turned down three summer music opportunities: The Chautauqua Music Festival in New York (for which I auditioned and earned a $3,000 scholarship), Pierre Monteux again (turned down another scholarship), and a chance to play opera in Italy (yes, I even turned this down)].

Quite honestly, I began to grow weary of this constant mini-struggle. I began to read more about history, particularly Ancient Greece; I wanted to know more about politics and our government; I wanted to start being more of a normal member of society who didn't have to stress out about practicing all the time and who could go do things with a clear head. As I said earlier, I knew I wouldn't leave music for good, but I knew I couldn't maintain the life I'd been living.

About seven months after leaving Cincinnati I enrolled in four social studies classes at Metropolitan State University of Denver. I needed these classes to get into the teaching program at CU Denver as a teacher candidate with a social studies focus. This was after I'd studied for the Social Studies Praxis test (nationwide teacher test), which required many books and many hours. The test covers everything you need to be proficient in to teach social studies: U.S. history, world history, civics, economics, psychology, sociology, and anthropology. Luckily, I passed that test in the fall of 2010. To some these classes may have seemed like a burden, but I was really looking forward to taking some fresh college classes. I took Colorado History, Constitutional Law, Macroeconomics, and Ancient Greece. They were all great classes: I learned a ton, was challenged, and felt accomplished after earning good grades in them after being solely a musician for so long. Ancient Greece really changed my perspective on life, and I'm forever thankful that I took that class and for the professor, Mr. O'Bryan.

He taught us about everything Greek, and after a few classes I knew that this was the kind of intellectual stimulation I'd been craving. The Greek notion of arête, as discussed in the previous post, was an incredible discovery for me. The level of thinking that this ancient society reached, and is fortunately preserved and still accessible, is truly astounding. You could argue that the world we live in as we know it would not be the same had the Greeks not existed, at least the Western world. Arête is roughly translated to being the best you can be, excellence, human excellence, being virtuous, moderation, and balance. The Greeks sought arête in many aspects of life, from art to architecture to the entire idea of being human. The Greek notion of moderation and balance in life is one that resonates with me. Can a devoted classical musician be balanced in life? Yes. Is it difficult? Yes. To me, very difficult.

Mr. O'Bryan once told the class something along the lines of, 'The Greeks believed that a great flute player, for example, one who is only a master of flute and nothing else, is not an example of arête. Being a great flute player would not make you a great person. Arête is achieved through balance in life.' This example, coincidentally and fittingly about a musician, really made me think, and it brought up questions that affirmed my decision was right for me. What does being a great bassist really mean? What does it say? What impact does it have? Should I attempt to be the best bass player I can be, or the best overall person I can be?

Of course, phrases such as "the best person" are very subjective, and furthermore, we must think of it in the Greek sense with "best" being one who achieves arête (moderation, balance, excellence). Another key piece of arête is the struggle of body-passion vs. mind-reason (want to do vs. ought to do; desire vs. duty). This is one of the greatest conflicts Greek thinkers labeled when discussing arête. And arête is of course in direct contrast to hubris, or excessive arrogance. So, balance in life, something I'd already been striving for, was made that much more important after learning about arête. Are you tired of that word yet?

In the large scheme of things, and after learning more about our world, both past and present, why should I do only one thing in life well? Can I do more? Should I? Why? My teacher education program instilled in us the idea of privilege. We are all privileged. If you are reading this, on a computer or a smart phone, you are privileged. People who share my socioeconomic status and those who are even higher are among the most privileged people on earth. For the most part, we all have a car, a phone, TVs, computers, nice clothes, food, shelter, water, and access to education and medical care. You've probably heard of "First-World Problems." Well, I'd say a lot of the problems we face are just first-world problems. We aren't worried if we'll eat later today, or if we'll be warm enough at night. To me, with my privilege and access to education, I choose to make the most of that and I want to be a lifelong learner. This is a big part of why I went into education. I absolutely want to make an impact and help young people learn and more importantly, learn how to learn; but I also know that teachers learn as much as students do. People say to me, 'Wow, you must really like school if you want to teach after being in college for so long.' And I say, "Yep, I do."

This past year and a half or so, starting in January 2011, I started making progress towards balance. I was in school, working on the weekends (not always fun, but part of the balance), playing with an orchestra once or twice a week, and finally being able to relax with people I enjoyed being around. As student teaching starting becoming more demanding, I adjusted accordingly and shifted balance more heavily towards lesson planning and doing my own research (mostly about world history -- good stuff). For almost two months I was going 7 days a week in a continuous cycle: teaching, orchestra, work, homework, planning, a little sleep, and repeat. Despite this wacky schedule, so many positive things happened during this time. The students at DCIS taught me more than I thought possible, I made connections with great people, and I finally got to play some real músia clásica de España, Joaquin Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez.

Even still, I always think back to music. Music teaches you to manage your time, to set goals, to plan your actions, to work with people, and to work with yourself. I would not be as successful a student in social studies or education if I weren't a musician. A current goal of mine is to learn Spanish so I can be a more effective teacher in Denver. I'm currently working towards moving to Spain to teach English, learn Spanish, and see Europe. It's quite a process, but I'm trying. When I talk to my friends who are still dedicated to music I feel happy for them that they're doing what they love, and I feel happy that I made a decision that was right for me. Some people told me I was brave, and some thought I was making a huge mistake. Either way, and touching on another Greek thought, no matter what outside influences affect you or may guide you, you are the one who ultimately decides what you do in life.

The Greeks and Arête

Alright, now that I've told my story about my life as a classical musician and how I (mostly) left it, I'll explain why I left it. But first, you must understand arête. This is a great piece by S. Snyder. 

Arête: The Greek Idea of Excellence

By S. Snyder

Quick! What's the point of going to college? Don't think about it; just answer with the first thought that comes to you.

If you're like most people, you probably said to get a job. That's not surprising. It's what the majority of students and many parents see as the point of a college education. And certainly it's an important aspect that shouldn't be dismissed, but it can't in itself be the main reason to go to college.

After all, people get jobs without college degrees. Ah, yes, comes the response, but the goal is to get a good job. And I respond: "Define good." Now at this point, someone usually says something like "Good equals $5,000,000 a year," which means that for him or her earning a lot of money is the reason for going to college.

But this can't be the ultimate reason either because money is simply a means to acquiring something else, and as a means it can't also be an end. Let's face it: a billionaire on a desert island is unlikely to be satisfied sitting alone on the beach with his suitcases full of cash.

Okay, so maybe the point isn't money. Maybe we go to college to get the good jobs that earn us the money that buys us the things we need to be happy. So, in the end, maybe the point is happiness. But this isn't it either, because it's quite possible to be happy without a college degree. In fact, some say ignorance is bliss, which suggests that people without degrees are happier than those who have them.

You know, when it comes right down to it, the only reason for going to college that makes any kind of sense is the fuzzy notion that college might somehow, in some strange way, make us better, and that being better is a worthwhile thing in and of itself. After all, we expect college-educated people to think better, to express themselves better, and to understand the world around them better. Indeed, if students aren't in some way better after four years of education, we usually say that college was wasted on them.

Now step back and think about this for a minute. The idea that it is possible to better ourselves is rather an astonishing assumption. So far as we know, house cats, horse flies and hippos do not assume that self-improvement is a worthwhile activity. But human beings do. They make this astonishing assumption about themselves. And guess what. It is also the assumption upon which the entire structure of education in Western civilization is based.

In our society, we tend to believe--without any hard proof, mind you-- that we each have a potential that we can and, more importantly, should work toward realizing. In fact, most people agree that the best of us are those who strive to lead lives of excellence, who seek to perform at the peak of our abilities no matter the circumstances.

But where did this idea of an individual human potential come from? It can't have come from Christianity, a religion that views human nature as innately flawed and unable to perfect itself without divine assistance. After all, the aim of life in Christianity is not achieving excellence; it's salvation.

No, to locate the source of our belief that we can be better, we have to look to the Greeks, for they developed a concept known as Arête. Putting this word into modern English is difficult. Some translators use the word goodness, others excellence and still others virtue. However we translate it, though, it seems to mean something like "being the best it is possible to be."

Moreover, the Greek notion of a human arête changed over time. In the Iliad, an epic tale emerging from the distant Greek past, it is a term associated with warriors who exemplify bravery, fierceness and physical skill. Characters like Achilles or Hector represent a nearly perfect realization of humanity in a war-like, tribal society.

In The Odyssey, a slightly later epic, arête is used to describe Odysseus, who combines the warrior-hero's courage with wit, cunning and resourcefulness. Arête is also used to describe Odysseus's wife, Penelope, who demonstrates that even misfortune and sorrow can be suffered with excellence.

And lastly, the Greeks provide us with still another manifestation of arête : Socrates, a very new and different kind of Greek hero. Socrates was a real person, a Fifth Century BCE Athenian who has come to symbolize for us the life dedicated to the pursuit of moral and intellectual excellence.

Last time, of course, I told you that this class was a seminar in which we would explore two thematic questions. To remind you, those questions were

What is an educated person? In other words, what do they know? What can they do? How should we define one? And just as importantly, am I
one?

And what responsibilities do educated people have to society? Do they have any? And if so, what are they?

Found at http://faculty.grandview.edu/ssnyder/470/Arete.html