These entries are written for musicians who have faced injury. Injury not only strikes our bodies but our identities too. By sharing my story I hope that other hurt musicians will feel part of an increasingly vocal community and will be motivated to seek the tools necessary to heal and flourish again at their craft. I believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel for every musician facing injury. Yet there is no magic wand. It’s up to you to be the expert in your own recovery process.
The story of my eight year journey continues in this next instalment. If you aren’t caught up please read Part 1: Exposition.
Unless you live on a deserted island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean you will be well aware of recent developments in American politics. I’ve been struggling to figure out what to make of it all. As a left-leaning, liberal artist it’s obvious how I’m reacting. Indeed, most of the people in my circle feel the same way. We share a collective anxiety about the future. A downside of being creative is that my imagination is on steroids most of the time. All that said, that’s not what I’m writing about today. The past 48 hours have reaffirmed for me why I do what I do.
Musicians don’t always come from musical families. My uncle Leif, on my mother’s side, was a trained baritone, guitarist, and music teacher, so I knew the music gene was in there somewhere. But my parents were not trained musicians, though they liked listening to Elvis, John Denver, and the 3 Tenors, and my mother did enjoy singing and playing the autoharp.
This fact didn’t hinder my dad, when they met with a new piano teacher who wanted to know more about the parents.
Something that I don’t mention in my personal bio is my experience with my first piano teacher.
When I was 5 my parents enrolled me in a local music school which they had thought was an extension of the Royal Conservatory of Music. Though the name was similar it was everything but, as we discovered over the next couple of years.