Music Major Confession: Practicing is very likely number 2390 on my list of things I want to do at any given moment. During school, I force myself to get it done, and I really have enjoyed it. But the second school lets out, the pressure's gone and I'm outta there. As President of Music Majors Against Practicing, it makes me really respect music majors who actually ENJOY practicing, even during break.
Basically, what I decided today that I am really really really really bad at practicing during Christmas break. I think I've practiced twice, total, since school got out. And for just an hour at a time.
It's whatever. I think I'm just going to sit back and enjoy my break. Saxophone causes me a lot of stress--while I LOVE being a part of Synthesis and the sax studio, while I enjoy playing in general and I do want to get better at it and eventually earn a performance degree with it, it's something that I'm not naturally driven to do.
As a music major I often feel that I am obligated to love practicing and to sell my soul to my instrument. But look, I'm not going to do that. I may be the laziest music major at BYU, and that's pretty pathetic considering I have had so many incredible opportunities this year, as a freshman, that some people never have in all their years at BYU. (Maybe that's not true. But still, my freshman year has been quite incredible.)
Really, though, all pessimism aside, I think my qualms with practicing just go to show that when it comes to playing the saxophone and other wind instruments, I don't do it for myself. I don't enjoy playing for myself, but I enjoy playing it for other people. In a band, in an audience, even to someone standing in a practice room to hear what I'm working on. I don't think I would ever "just get better" at saxophone to have the personal satisfaction of having done so. But I would work at it to lend my ability to a section or an ensemble or to a given performance--those are the things I love about it.
And--I don't know. Maybe that's how I landed myself in Synthesis on my first attempt, or in Wind Symphony, or a concerto competition. I love to play, but I never feel like I love it enough. I understand that I will probably never have adequate dedication to my instrument to really go somewhere or be somebody. But I like it alright, and if it serves Heavenly Father or His children in some small way, then I am going to keep doing it.
After christmas break is over, of course. ;P :)
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Weirder Than Yours.
The following is a record of a super weird dream I had last night. No judging.
So it all started in my bedroom. I was technically in Wyview, but my room looked just like home in Orem. One night, a strange lady came in while I was sleeping, woke me, and informed me that I was her captive and that I had to turn my alarm clock forward every morning before I left for the day, and not disfigure the apartment in any way, or else she would "come for me."
So I did so. Except the next morning when I set my alarm clock forward an hour, I tried doing it in the dark and was pushing all sorts of buttons. It turned on some music, which eventually I stopped, but behind the bookcases just outside my room, something was repeating the music I had accidentally played. I ran upstairs, hoping the echo didn't penetrate walls, but it did. So I ran.
Me, Brianna, Bradley, and Brevin ran outside to a large field. No where to go, no clue what to do. This witch lady who had made me her "captive" had apparently made the planet Earth her captive as well, and she was draining all the colors from our world. As Bri, Brad, Brevs and I stood in the open field, gaping at the damage the witch was doing and becoming frightened that she was taking over the world, suddenly an old man appeared, and said,
"Hello, I'm the Doctor!" in a British accent.
The old man proceeded to use his sonic screwdriver to make a long trapeze bar appear just in front of us, and so one at a time we each grabbed the bar, flung ourselves under and up, did a couple backflips, and landed just beside The Doctor.
Then the scene changed. The Doctor, Brev, Brad, and I were on bikes, with Brianna walking beside, in the North complex of Wyview. We were headed to south Wyview where The Doctor lived, and headed there quick before the witch could get us. We rode to the Wyview gates and turned South. But Bradley got there too long before the rest of us and had turned the wrong way. We never saw him again.
Brianna, Brevin, I and The Doctor continued on our way to his apartment. We passed the multipurpose building, which was a "safe place," from the witch. I made note of where it was, and made note of the small tunnel covered in leaves standing just beside. We never actually made it to The Doctor's apartment.
Instead, I was determined to teach Brevin the path from my apartment to the safe place, in case he wanted to play there by himself. On his bike, I gave him directions to the other side of the tunnel, told him to stash his bike inside, then make a dash for the building. When he went, however, he peeked through the vines and saw a bunch of rowdy teenagers right there. He dashed out of the tunnel and hid behind a tree, but the teens (who were apparently working for the witch), saw him. He got on his bike and pedaled away, eventually outrunning them. This is where Brevin discovered that he had a special ability--while the witch could drain colors, Brevin could put them all back!
Before he could do so, however, the scene changed again. I was at North Wyview again, and my mom and I were set up at a small cardboard table in the middle of the sidewalk. We were doing crafts. We were using scarves and dummy heads as models to make hats. In the course of our crafting, we needed some safety pins. I remembered that I had a bunch of safety pins in the backseat of my car from when I took all the silly bows off my homemade ugly sweater. I ran to my car to collect them.
It took me several trips. On the last one, a bunch of teenagers (also rowdy, but not evil) had pulled up in their cars on both sides of me. Just to my left, however, was a sea-foam green car that was totalled, and teenagers were using another car to repeatedly ram into the backside of the totalled car. I did not want them to hit me by accident, so I pulled up my sassy pants and told the girl in charge that she needed to move her car out of the way so I could move MY car to the other side of the street, away from the gang party. She rolled her eyes but complied, saying it's only "hitting something that's not moving."
As if to prove her point, when I was backing out, she decided to stand right behind my car so I would hit her. I did so. Just to be a brat, and I stuck out my tongue at her as I finished backing out and drove over to the other side of the street. I pulled up right next to a cross-dressing football team having a pizza party.
I jumped out of my car, prepared to apologize and possibly get in a fist fight with the girl I hit, and that is exactly where my dream ended, and I woke up.
Bizarre.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So it all started in my bedroom. I was technically in Wyview, but my room looked just like home in Orem. One night, a strange lady came in while I was sleeping, woke me, and informed me that I was her captive and that I had to turn my alarm clock forward every morning before I left for the day, and not disfigure the apartment in any way, or else she would "come for me."
So I did so. Except the next morning when I set my alarm clock forward an hour, I tried doing it in the dark and was pushing all sorts of buttons. It turned on some music, which eventually I stopped, but behind the bookcases just outside my room, something was repeating the music I had accidentally played. I ran upstairs, hoping the echo didn't penetrate walls, but it did. So I ran.
Me, Brianna, Bradley, and Brevin ran outside to a large field. No where to go, no clue what to do. This witch lady who had made me her "captive" had apparently made the planet Earth her captive as well, and she was draining all the colors from our world. As Bri, Brad, Brevs and I stood in the open field, gaping at the damage the witch was doing and becoming frightened that she was taking over the world, suddenly an old man appeared, and said,
"Hello, I'm the Doctor!" in a British accent.
The old man proceeded to use his sonic screwdriver to make a long trapeze bar appear just in front of us, and so one at a time we each grabbed the bar, flung ourselves under and up, did a couple backflips, and landed just beside The Doctor.
Then the scene changed. The Doctor, Brev, Brad, and I were on bikes, with Brianna walking beside, in the North complex of Wyview. We were headed to south Wyview where The Doctor lived, and headed there quick before the witch could get us. We rode to the Wyview gates and turned South. But Bradley got there too long before the rest of us and had turned the wrong way. We never saw him again.
Brianna, Brevin, I and The Doctor continued on our way to his apartment. We passed the multipurpose building, which was a "safe place," from the witch. I made note of where it was, and made note of the small tunnel covered in leaves standing just beside. We never actually made it to The Doctor's apartment.
Instead, I was determined to teach Brevin the path from my apartment to the safe place, in case he wanted to play there by himself. On his bike, I gave him directions to the other side of the tunnel, told him to stash his bike inside, then make a dash for the building. When he went, however, he peeked through the vines and saw a bunch of rowdy teenagers right there. He dashed out of the tunnel and hid behind a tree, but the teens (who were apparently working for the witch), saw him. He got on his bike and pedaled away, eventually outrunning them. This is where Brevin discovered that he had a special ability--while the witch could drain colors, Brevin could put them all back!
Before he could do so, however, the scene changed again. I was at North Wyview again, and my mom and I were set up at a small cardboard table in the middle of the sidewalk. We were doing crafts. We were using scarves and dummy heads as models to make hats. In the course of our crafting, we needed some safety pins. I remembered that I had a bunch of safety pins in the backseat of my car from when I took all the silly bows off my homemade ugly sweater. I ran to my car to collect them.
It took me several trips. On the last one, a bunch of teenagers (also rowdy, but not evil) had pulled up in their cars on both sides of me. Just to my left, however, was a sea-foam green car that was totalled, and teenagers were using another car to repeatedly ram into the backside of the totalled car. I did not want them to hit me by accident, so I pulled up my sassy pants and told the girl in charge that she needed to move her car out of the way so I could move MY car to the other side of the street, away from the gang party. She rolled her eyes but complied, saying it's only "hitting something that's not moving."
As if to prove her point, when I was backing out, she decided to stand right behind my car so I would hit her. I did so. Just to be a brat, and I stuck out my tongue at her as I finished backing out and drove over to the other side of the street. I pulled up right next to a cross-dressing football team having a pizza party.
I jumped out of my car, prepared to apologize and possibly get in a fist fight with the girl I hit, and that is exactly where my dream ended, and I woke up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bizarre.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Ask Me What I'm Doing
p.s. I'm not actually over thinking anything right now. I just like the picture. How's that for irony?
Friday, December 21, 2012
Confession #2
I'm a composer at heart.
When I was six I started making up my own little melodies on the piano, and these little melodies were half the reason I wanted piano lessons.
Played at the very top of the keyboard, this is the first song I ever composed (with words below):
"Hip, hip, for roses
Quite enough for you
For when I was not married,
I was in love with you."
I was so excited with this song, that I made up more and more songs and melodies as I finally began to take piano lessons and learned how to read and write music. Around the time I was 10, I wrote maybe 30 songs. They were cute little pieces, with titles like "The Woodpecker Song," "I'm Confused," and "Gypsy." I wrote duets, sonatas, theme and variations, whatever I felt like writing. I composed to my heart's content.
But as I learned even more about form in music composition, and my technical abilities became more refined, composing became harder. I was thinking of longer ideas, hearing more than an 8 measure melody with accompaniment, I was hearing three minutes of music with form and direction and a story that meant something. It's hard to coax it all out.
Hard as it was, once in a while, I succeeded. In seventh grade, I wrote "Imagination" and submitted it for Reflections. It was no masterpiece--two chords total, alternating back and forth the entire piece, and pretty simple melody and variations. But it was 3 minutes of music, and by far the most complex piece I'd ever written.
In 8th grade, I came up with several other ideas, one of which actually took shape three years later, during my junior year. I called it "Night," after the book by Elie Wiesel, because to me it tells the story of the holocaust--particulary the mystery of contentions stirring, the fiery train rides to concentration camps, the forsaking of hope, and finally the distant memory of everything since passed.
I've also completed "Take Wing," a happy little tune in F, and "Song for Sharalyn," which I wrote over the summer. "Trapeze" is one I haven't actually written out, but that I have completed. Besides that, I have several other musical ideas that I mess with from time to time. The thing is, with the way I compose, it kinda just has to come to me. I can't sit down and "write something," because I only write what I am pleased to hear. And so, I mess around with ideas and wait as they cook in my musical subconcious, until they're finally ready to emerge and make something out of the silence.
Even so, it is one of my greatest musical desires to be able to freely compose. It is sometimes frustrating having to wait so long to find a good idea and to figure out how to develop it. It is sometimes discouraging to compare myself to other New Age composers like David Lanz and Jon Schimidt and William Joseph who hold these legacies of composing great things at young ages. I wish more than anything to just be able to spit out music like people can spit out words in a fight. I have the ideas--but not the ability to become a vehicle for these ideas to make it into the world.
Which is why I just need to continue to work at it, and it's also why I just decided to take a composition class next semester. :-)
When I was six I started making up my own little melodies on the piano, and these little melodies were half the reason I wanted piano lessons.
Played at the very top of the keyboard, this is the first song I ever composed (with words below):
"Hip, hip, for roses
Quite enough for you
For when I was not married,
I was in love with you."
I was so excited with this song, that I made up more and more songs and melodies as I finally began to take piano lessons and learned how to read and write music. Around the time I was 10, I wrote maybe 30 songs. They were cute little pieces, with titles like "The Woodpecker Song," "I'm Confused," and "Gypsy." I wrote duets, sonatas, theme and variations, whatever I felt like writing. I composed to my heart's content.
But as I learned even more about form in music composition, and my technical abilities became more refined, composing became harder. I was thinking of longer ideas, hearing more than an 8 measure melody with accompaniment, I was hearing three minutes of music with form and direction and a story that meant something. It's hard to coax it all out.
Hard as it was, once in a while, I succeeded. In seventh grade, I wrote "Imagination" and submitted it for Reflections. It was no masterpiece--two chords total, alternating back and forth the entire piece, and pretty simple melody and variations. But it was 3 minutes of music, and by far the most complex piece I'd ever written.
In 8th grade, I came up with several other ideas, one of which actually took shape three years later, during my junior year. I called it "Night," after the book by Elie Wiesel, because to me it tells the story of the holocaust--particulary the mystery of contentions stirring, the fiery train rides to concentration camps, the forsaking of hope, and finally the distant memory of everything since passed.
I've also completed "Take Wing," a happy little tune in F, and "Song for Sharalyn," which I wrote over the summer. "Trapeze" is one I haven't actually written out, but that I have completed. Besides that, I have several other musical ideas that I mess with from time to time. The thing is, with the way I compose, it kinda just has to come to me. I can't sit down and "write something," because I only write what I am pleased to hear. And so, I mess around with ideas and wait as they cook in my musical subconcious, until they're finally ready to emerge and make something out of the silence.
Even so, it is one of my greatest musical desires to be able to freely compose. It is sometimes frustrating having to wait so long to find a good idea and to figure out how to develop it. It is sometimes discouraging to compare myself to other New Age composers like David Lanz and Jon Schimidt and William Joseph who hold these legacies of composing great things at young ages. I wish more than anything to just be able to spit out music like people can spit out words in a fight. I have the ideas--but not the ability to become a vehicle for these ideas to make it into the world.
Which is why I just need to continue to work at it, and it's also why I just decided to take a composition class next semester. :-)
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
The Problem With Doing Nothing
I don't enjoy doing nothing. But I don't remember how much I don't enjoy doing nothing until I do nothing and realize that there will never be enough of nothing done. And the reason is, there is an infinite amount of nothings in the universe to do, and so when you do nothing, you do nothing because there are simply too many nothings to do. And this doing nothing fills you with nothing and so you find yourself at 3:04 pm having done nothing and wondering why you feel filled with so much nothingness.
I then ask myself the question, "why on Earth did I decide to do nothing in the first place?"
And the answer is, because I thought that doing nothing would be doing something. And once I did all the nothings I could move on to the somethings, but that just hits on the whole problem with doing nothing: Nothing is never something. And if you want to feel good, you gotta do something.
So here goes something. (stay tuned)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Quote of the day:
"He's a teenage boy. It's in his job description to do crazy, epic, insane things on a daily basis." ~ Me after Bradley ran through the snow barefoot to retrieve the borrowed wax paper from neighbors and mom freaked out.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Closure
is when there is still so much left to say, but you no longer feel like saying it.
Not because you've given up,
Not because it's not worth it (though it isn't),
But because you realize that regardless of the words that could be said or the things that could be done to smooth it all over, you will be happy either way.
And that's just the point: you're happy.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Oh, Happily Ever After,
..........Wouldn't you know? Wouldn't you know?
Oh, skip to the ending.
Who'd like to know? I'd like to know!
Author of the moment, can you tell me,
do I end up, do I end up happy?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Here's a secret you've never thought:
They don't take place at graduation or on the medal stand or at the finish line,
Not after the perfect game or the winning shot or the performance of your life.
There are times in our lives where we are just so full of happiness and love and joy that we think nothing could ever compare, and sometimes we feel sad that those times have passed, have gone. We might think we've missed it, the Happily Ever After, and we are just "ever after" forever.
But really, we just have to remember that "Happily Ever After" doesn't mean "the end."
It means "the beginning."
So tell yourself to stop dreaming about the good times that long since passed. Stop wishing for those long-awaited days to just come sooner. Your happily ever afters aren't defined by any one moment, but rather, by all the moments in between. It's the string on a strand of Christmas lights, holding all the good parts of your life together, growing longer and longer as you live until it reaches the ultimate happily ever after: eternal life.
So for those who are waiting for a happily ever after to be found: you've already found it. Keep living the right way and you'll begin to see it more and more as you do.
And for those who think they've already accomplished a happily ever after and have nothing left to live for: You're not finished yet, and there's so much more out there for you to experience. Happily Ever Afters never end, so don't let go.
And for those who don't think it's possible for happily ever afters to be out there: don't give up. It's there, right before you, and it's in all the moments of your life through and in between the ones you'd like to call "big" or "important." It also comes from within you. It's within you, within me, within everyone.
In every storybook, the "happily ever after" always comes at the end. But it's not really the end; it's the beginning. It's the story itself, just wrapped up into one little sentence. And it doesn't just make the difference, it is the difference.
I believe in Happily Ever Afters.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Love is Radioactive
They say love never dies. That deep down, any love you've ever felt or any hopes of love you've ever dreamed, still exist. And I believe them, whoever they are, because I believe that love is radioactive.
That's why you still hold on to that girl you crushed on in second grade or that boy who kissed you in the rain. That's why you'll always love the someone who broke your heart and remember the someone who let you break theirs. That's why breakups still hurt and butterflies never go away, and even though we fall down so many times, we get back up and keep going. It's all for the sake of love.
Of course, we try to forget. We always do. It's human nature to hide your pain between layers of dirt whenever someone breaks your heart. But no matter how deep you dig, it will never be deep enough. Because deep down, beneath the soil and rocks and clay, that love--that radioactive mess of hopes and dreams--still burns. And as far as principles of physics go, we know that radioactive materials will decay little by little, even when there are only two atoms left, and then one. After that, the quantum particles of the lonely atom will start to break down until millions and millions of half-lives are passed and it's almost all gone but never completely, because that's not how the universe works.
Each and every one of us seven billion people living on the Earth has buried our love at some point in our lives. And I think it'd be safe to say that the Earth relies on the love we create, and that is why it preserves a portion of it day by day. That radioactive love we make is the reason why the flowers are so beautiful and the grass is so green and the snow is so white in the winter. Our world needs our love, buried in the dirt or sand or rocks for mother Earth to use as fuel to keep on living, to keep on dreaming and becoming. We need our love, too.
So after millions and millions of years, the world has become so full of true love and fake love, of lost love and found love, of happy love and sorrowing love and tough love and unconditional love and romantic love and unrequited love and brotherly love and lovely love and every other kind of love, of so many different kinds of love that maybe we'll say it's all just radioactive love, and that one day all that love is going to reach critical mass and light up this whole world in glitter and flames.
And I want to be there when that happens.
Because even when it's all over and only dust and dreams remain, love still just might.
And after all, love is what I live for.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Superpowers
In every book or movie in which a character possess magical or otherwise extraordinary ability, there always comes a point in the twists and turns of the plot where we find out exactly what it is.
In Harry Potter, the moment of truth comes right at the beginning. As Harry is on vacation with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, a large man named Hagrid breaks down the door to personally deliver the fateful letter inviting Mr. Potter to join the magical realm of wizards and learn magic at Hogwarts.
"You're a wizard, Harry."
"I'm a what?"
Harry soon discovers that all the strange things that have been happening around him--owls delivering millions of letters to his house, talking to snakes, and making glass disappear--are part of the fact that he has magical blood. Harry Potter is a wizard. And that is what makes him special.
In Fablehaven it is much the same. Used to living in a world of mythical creatures, fairies and demons and centaurs and satyrs, Kendra saves her grandparent's secret reserve for these magical beings time and time again. As the interbook plot thickens, Kendra starts to exhibit extraordinary abilities such as seeing in the dark and recharging magical objects. These abilities don't go unnamed:
"Kendra, you are fairykind. . . .Fairykind are known to radiate magical energy in a unique way." says the Sphinx.
And so another heroine becomes more than a person, becomes someone with a gift, a talent, a superpower, if you will.
Examples are many:
Percy Jackson is the son of an Olympian.
Anakin Skywalker is "the chosen one"
Frodo Baggins courageous takes the ring across the land on a quest while
Vin and Kelsier execute powers and abilities with their mistborn traits.
In every book, every story, every life ever recounted--no extraordinary thing goes undiscovered. If there is any good, it is exemplified. If there is any superpower, it is glorified. It makes us as readers wish we had superpowers, too.
But here's a secret.
We all do. And unlike fantasy, in real life, talents and gifts aren't discovered that way. We may never know the extent to which we are extraordinary. We may never realize that we are special at all. But in fact, we are. And we each have superpowers.
The ability to live and breathe and love and laugh is a superpower.
The will to dream and believe and choose to make things happen is a superpower.
In Harry Potter, the moment of truth comes right at the beginning. As Harry is on vacation with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, a large man named Hagrid breaks down the door to personally deliver the fateful letter inviting Mr. Potter to join the magical realm of wizards and learn magic at Hogwarts.
"You're a wizard, Harry."
"I'm a what?"
Harry soon discovers that all the strange things that have been happening around him--owls delivering millions of letters to his house, talking to snakes, and making glass disappear--are part of the fact that he has magical blood. Harry Potter is a wizard. And that is what makes him special.
In Fablehaven it is much the same. Used to living in a world of mythical creatures, fairies and demons and centaurs and satyrs, Kendra saves her grandparent's secret reserve for these magical beings time and time again. As the interbook plot thickens, Kendra starts to exhibit extraordinary abilities such as seeing in the dark and recharging magical objects. These abilities don't go unnamed:
"Kendra, you are fairykind. . . .Fairykind are known to radiate magical energy in a unique way." says the Sphinx.
And so another heroine becomes more than a person, becomes someone with a gift, a talent, a superpower, if you will.
Examples are many:
Percy Jackson is the son of an Olympian.
Anakin Skywalker is "the chosen one"
Frodo Baggins courageous takes the ring across the land on a quest while
Vin and Kelsier execute powers and abilities with their mistborn traits.
In every book, every story, every life ever recounted--no extraordinary thing goes undiscovered. If there is any good, it is exemplified. If there is any superpower, it is glorified. It makes us as readers wish we had superpowers, too.
But here's a secret.
We all do. And unlike fantasy, in real life, talents and gifts aren't discovered that way. We may never know the extent to which we are extraordinary. We may never realize that we are special at all. But in fact, we are. And we each have superpowers.
The ability to live and breathe and love and laugh is a superpower.
The will to dream and believe and choose to make things happen is a superpower.
Music and dance and sports and art and engineering and history and math are all superpowers.
To be able to love other people--family, friends, even strangers--and to connect a web of relationships throughout the entire globe is an incredible superpower we too often underestimate.
And even better than all these, is the greatest superpower of all: The light of Christ. It exists within each of us, makes us more than who we can be. If this isn't the definition of a superpower, what is?
Though we don't know everything and we don't always discover the extent to which we are amazing; though we aren't witches or wizards or jedis or fairy kind or demigods, we are something even better. We just have to trust in whatever that could be.
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