I’ve spent a good deal of the past several years thinking about starting over, beginning again, wondering where to begin or when to begin or how to begin. And of course, this is a good time of year to think out loud about beginnings.
Many years ago when I was living and working in New York, one colleague of mine, during a conversation about being a musician and about practicing, said to me, “we have to start again each day, don’t we?” One of the best things about my life in music is this opportunity, this imperative really, to practice what the Buddhists call beginners mind, to approach each day with an attentiveness and inquisitiveness. I’m not always very good at this, but the mere act of coming to the horn each day for a warm-up feels like a starting over of sorts, a kind of blank sheet of paper. This was amplified for me after the injury I experienced in 2017 as I was forced to begin again in a profound way after extended time off. I’ve continued over the years to experience this due to circumstances that were chosen (the birth of my second child; our move to Chicago) and unchosen (injury and its complications; the pandemic). I’ve often felt myself to be in a prolonged holding pattern, wondering what I could or should be doing. It has been a time of big life change and hard stuff mixed in with the joyous and exiting stuff—just the way a good life should be I suppose.
(As an aside, what makes a “good life,” and the idea that it may not be about avoiding as much pain/discomfort as possible, is explored in depth in Miroslav Wolf’s book A Life Worth Living. In addition to reading the book, I also listened to Kelly Corrigan’s podcast series about the book where she discusses it with Kate Bowler, another podcaster/author I adore, and the actress Claire Danes. Yes, I adore her too. I loved all of it and am still re-listening to parts of it.)
This past year I’ve had the opportunity to gain a little momentum, thanks to the encouragement and support of my husband and my parents and others in my community. I took work that felt out of my post-injury/post-Covid comfort zone, plunging ahead despite feeling not quite sufficient. It has been equal parts uncomfortable and growth-inducing. The self-doubt was real, yet I did get through (even enjoyed it!), and I have gotten stronger.
But the quotidian interruptions to progress and smaller setbacks keep happening, and I am having to readjust my mindset and expectations all the time. How many times do have to be reminded that this (both horn playing and life) isn’t like going up a staircase, and it never will be? I am a fluid being in fluid surroundings. Life just happens and I have to figure out (almost always with help) how to respond.
I know that my Musician’s Well community is a group well acquainted with beginning again—starting to play after injury, or with adjusted expectations/abilities, or starting something new outside of performing life. There are so many ways to begin again, and so many ways to recover. And as Sean Mullen (the rector of St. Mark’s Church in Philadelphia, my beloved former parish) said recently in a beautiful sermon on the last day of the year, “there is always another beginning to hope for.”
Happy New Year to all of you, especially to those of you who are feeling the fatigue of re-starts amidst circumstances you may or may not have chosen. May we be able to hold all of it—both the stress and the possibilities, and be able to find a little bit of rest and stillness in the moment whenever we can. And may we find some lightness in the knowledge that there is always another beginning to hope for.
