It all starts with that first breath of crisp air. The quiet mornings with fewer bird songs. The announcement from Starbucks that the Pumpkin Spice Latte is back (sad, but true). 🍂
These are our cues that Fall is here, and with it comes the thrill of the new.
For some, it’s a new school; others, a new job or city. For most of us, it’s new routines and perhaps some new school supplies (because you’re never too old). 📓✏️
This month, I found myself doing a few things I don’t normally do.
First, there was the inspiration to write a few short poems on the back of my boarding pass on a plane-ride south. When I came home, I pulled the texts out of my bag in between lessons one afternoon and sat at the piano, sketching them into a few short choral pieces (more to come!).
Then there was the invitation to play with the Music Educators’ Wind Ensemble at Eastman for a reading of a new piece. I sat behind the piano on a Tuesday evening - counting measures and trying to come in on time - and participating in a collective, shared experience that I don’t normally have the privilege of being part of.
A hush came over the room as she spoke. Soft piano music accompanied her words, covered by the sound of fan noise—a welcome breeze on a warm summer night.
It was Thursday evening, the last day of Music and Worship Arts Week at Lake Junaluska. We were gathered in the chapel, the open stained-glass windows ushering in the night air.
“I’m learning as I get older that it’s simpler and simpler day by day,” she said with a smile. Her voice was kind and inviting.
“There’s a flow of love that started when the stars began, and every morning we get a chance to decide to live into that love and then ask, ‘What's mine to do?’”
It was a typical Monday afternoon.
My 2nd-grade student came bounding into the room, full of questions and things to tell me since I’d seen him last.
He sat down on the bench, eager to play an arrangement of “Sweet Molly Malone,” a piece I suggested last week might be good for our end-of-year recital.
Slowly, he made his way through, wincing out loud every time he missed a note. When he finished, I complimented him on his thorough practicing this week and offered a few suggestions:
Do you hear what I hear?
It’s true in any good conversation, whether we’re gathered around the dinner table or the table in the conference room; sitting in the living room for book club or a committee meeting: you talk and then you listen. You take turns. It seems simple enough, right?
But so often, we find ourselves focused on what we’re going to say next. We fixate on sharing our own ideas and opinions, offering the *best* solution, and planning what we’re going to say and how to say it, like we’re being interviewed.
Change.
It’s something we all face - change in address or job title, relationship status or identity, eligibility or health.
Big or small, change is often associated with inconvenience and uncertainty. Sure, the novelty of something new can be exciting and a welcome change of pace from the life we’ve been living, but deep down, there’s still something unsettling about it all - stepping from the known into the unknown.
