Monday, December 14, 2009

I think I keep this blog so I can remember what happened a year, 2 years ago. I read memoirs and biographies, and marvel at how sharply and how skillfully writers can bring distant memories and dialogue to life. While I, on the other hand, have to stop writing this and scratch my head for a moment and think what was I up to this time last December?

Oh yeah, I was right in the middle of Medea rehearsals. Okay, good. Brain's not totally fried yet. Although alcohol isn't helping. According to J, I turn into a goldfish when I drink, with a lousy 7-second memory that causes me to repeat stuff endlessly. Played some music at a private party on Friday, the drinks were flowing, and all I could do when I stumbled home was rhapsodize about the "melt-in-your-mouth" roast beef. Over and over. Poor guy has to listen to my slurred speeches about beef while mercifully, I forget all about it until he teases me the next morning. That can't be good.

This musician's life is a hard one, I'm telling ya. I'm caroling every other day, which is great in that we're performing at old people's homes and they love it. But it's killing my voice, which is both phlegmy and husky right now, an unattractive combination. And the band stuff is killing my liver, because my bandmates drink like fishes. Hey, I got a free trip to Montreal, though. Can't believe that's already over. I love that city. This time, the weather was perfection, I flew in two days before our concerts and I walked miles, soaking in the atmosphere of a city so unlike Vancouver. One day I basically walked for seven hours, with the odd stop for delicious meals along the way. St. Denis and St. Laurent. Vieux Montreal. Atwater and Jean Talon Markets. Outremont. I stumbled through conversations in my very basic French and wanted to move there immediately, become fluent, and spend my day in a haze of bagels, cafe-au-lait, and working the odd theatre or music gig alongside friendly and gorgeous Francophone men.
Much, much later...
I started writing this entry days ago, thinking I had loads of time to finish it, when lo, both computers in our little house were struck with what I can only assume is a machine version of Swine Flu, and screens were dark for the first time in... well, a long time. Mine is still refusing to switch on right now, so I'm typing this on J's MacBook Pro, which has a fried logic board. Which means that it's basically been lobotomized and can perform simple tasks like blogging and emails, but if J asks it to download video, it says duhhh and drool drips down the screen and then it shuts off. Merry Christmas, J! Guess what you're buying yourself for the holidays?
I'm so glad it still sort of works, though, because have you ever tried blogging on an iPod Touch? Not recommended.

It's been an intense few weeks, actually, and I'm still not sure how to blog about it. Huge feelings in my heart: fears and love and sadness and joy and confusion and despair and hope. Fall is always such a busy time for me, but all that work's ending, and it's hard not to get blue at all the No Mores in the air:
no more caroling (in a few days)
no more playing trumpet in the Winter Spectacular pit band
no more Winter's Tale
no more Redboot Quartet (at least for months)
no more awesome friend (off to a cooking gig for 2 months)
no more mom (also away on a job in the new year)

Into the void of the new year: fears and possibilities and maybe even some kind of re-birth. Or at least, a re-boot.

The friend who's leaving said to me in Montreal that she hoped I could learn to live my life all the time like I do onstage, by which she meant: big, fearless, powerful, confident. And it is just hitting me for the first time in my life, that not to live a fearless life would be the worst thing I could ever do to myself. It is so hard for me to live like that every day, to turn off those nagging voices of self-doubt and fear and criticism without being in an altered state or onstage. It is so hard to re-program your brain to stop sabotaging yourself.

Amanda, at Tumble Dry wrote so beautifully recently about how at some point, it is unforgivable to keep doing those bad things to yourself: eating that extra greedy bite, smoking, not taking the time to do the important things, - whatever your own personal failings are. It is unforgivable because we all owe ourselves more than that. Here's what I'm trying right now:
running every other day, rain or shine
accepting compliments gracefully, without self-deprecating excuses
eating less, and eating better
starting conversations with people I want to get to know
saying what would I do if I had no self-doubt? And then acting as if I didn't.

Right now I am so filled with sadness: the rain is pouring down for the 1000000th day in a row, I feel lost and worried and tired, so many things are ending... but inside there is a spark of hope: I can make changes. I can create new opportunities. I can learn to be fearless.
I have begun to make changes. It would be unforgivable to stop making changes.

This could be an amazing new year.