the challenge of playing the violin

I was having a conversation with a friend about music nearly a month ago, and it's stuck in my head ever since.

We were talking about how classical music is such an inaccessible activity, in that it takes so long to learn how to do it, or in some cases even to learn to appreciate it. [Not to mention the fact that most people find it full of social and economic barriers.] Normally, in such a case, one would immediately suggest (and in fact my friend did suggest) that we should make it easier to play and appreciate classical music. Why should instruments be expensive? Why should lessons be expensive? Why can't we have free online videos showing you everything you need to know? Why do we need to use instruments that are incredibly difficult to play? (Violin is a hell of a challenge, but there are computer programs that, with only the mobility of your mouse hand, you can use to create melodies, harmonies, counterpoint - a whole symphony.) Actually, what's so great about playing an instrument at all? Isn't the goal to *make music*? If you can make beautiful music on a simple machine that's easy to learn and operate, does that accomplish the same thing?

It amazed me how stodgy I immediately felt when my friend suggested that a big advance in the world of music would be easy-to-learn, easy-to-play ergonomic instruments. I mean, I'm no stranger to the fact that violin is not ergonomic - I have an S-curve in my spine because I've been playing virtually every day for the last 17 years of my life. I've gotten tendinitis, and I've pinched nerves in my fingers. So what's so great about this awkward, expensive piece of wood I play with all the time?

I have to ask myself if I'm only defending it because I'm used to it, and I would feel annoyed if suddenly the next generation of musicians attained a level of music-making after months that I only reached after years of hard technical work needed to even be able to approach serious music. And on some level I think that *is* the case - working very hard to be come even a passable violinist feels something like a badge of honor to me, and I like the challenge. I do concede that more ergonomic instruments probably wouldn't be a bad idea. But that's not the whole story.

Starting from the top, I feel there IS an intrinsic value in learning to play an instrument, as opposed to having a computer or other electronic device play the music you compose (whether in real-time or not). The connection between instrument and musician is, after a while, almost seamless, and the instrument becomes practically an extension of your body. Sure, it's awkward, but so are bodies to a large extent - we just get used to them. The important point is that instruments are unintelligent and unsuspecting (despite being crafted with incredible skill), and have no preconceptions about what music is. They are tools that become virtually attached to you, and like hands, with enough skill, they can do practically anything. Personally, it seems especially beautiful and poignant to struggle to eke out a beautiful noise from a 100-year-old piece of wood and a stick full of horse hair. With a computer, it's waiting for your input in a pre-determined form. It already knows what music is supposed to be. You can't fool around with it. And, although I suspect technology will fix these problems in the future, computers are not capable of producing even a fraction of the tonal variation of a violin (or anything else), are very difficult to improvise on, and don't let you spontaneously make music with other people. Yet.

Then there's the aspect of connection to all the others who struggle with the same instrument - and to the composers who first imagined the music we are struggling to play. How cool is it that some guy 300 years ago conjured up an entire concerto in his head, and these days we STILL struggle to bring that dream to life? It's such an intimate and meaningful experience to try to realize somebody else's dream, especially in the medium of music, where you infuse your own personality in to every single note. If we could all accomplish it at the touch of a button, would that diminish it? I feel like it would, but I'm not sure. Maybe it would simply mean that we would be incredibly fulfilled people. Or maybe we would find that only in the sincerity and hardship of trying to understand one another do we become fulfilled.

[Note to self: this is a seriously good question for debate. If we all understood each other perfectly, would we all be happy? In the past I have asserted that total understanding disallows hatred entirely - and I still believe it - but this assertion has also been based on my knowledge that we will never completely understand each other in every possible way. What if we all were in *perfect* understanding?]

Lastly, we get to the nitty-gritty stuff. Why are instruments and lessons (particularly when it comes to violins) so expensive? Why can't we learn from books, websites and online videos? This is the information age, after all! This I have more concrete answers for, and I think at least one of them is important. The less important part first: violins (good ones, not student ones) are expensive because they take about 200 hours each to build, and so far nobody has been able to factory-build a good quality violin. They just require a ton of personal attention. Lessons are expensive because playing the violin is an extremely complicated skill which takes (yet another) extremely complicated skill to convey. Good teachers are rare and therefore very valuable.

Now the important part: we can't learn from books, websites or online videos because as far as my experience goes (and also the experience of all the other serious violinists I know), it is *not possible* to accurately convey the concepts needed to play the violin without being physically in the same space. I say "violin" because I can't really speak for other instruments - but I suspect that the same goes for any instrument at a high level. Of course, it is possible to get *somewhere* by watching a video or reading a book. It's not that it's entirely impossible to figure out the instrument. But the violin is playable on many, many levels, and in order to become what my teacher calls "a real artist" (where people judge your playing by how much it moved them, not by how complicated it looked for you to do and how much you must have practiced), you really, really need somebody to move the angle of your wrist 5 degrees and tell you to stop twisting your left shoulder and maybe put down your left first finger a millimeter to the right. You need somebody to demonstrate for you, to fix your technique in real time, to show you how to use the violin in the most extraordinarily efficient way possible - and most of all, to push you to the absolute limits of your musical understanding. This type of guidance is not available through any medium other than plain old-fashioned sitting in a room together and trying stuff out. Even super-hi-res video conferencing doesn't work. You gotta have 3D. You gotta have somebody to actually place your fingers where they should be. It's a kinesthetic endeavor.

And that might just sum up what I love most about the violin, and what makes me so resistant to the idea of super-accessible music making. What else is there these days that actually requires you to meet with a master, one-on-one, and try to do the impossible? What else takes 40 years to get good at? What else connects you with a whole world of other questers who are desperately trying to awaken something that a guy centuries ago imagined?

And is there anything as magical as taking out a funny-shaped, hollow wooden box, drawing some sticky horse-hair across it with everything you've got, and finding, in the end, that somehow you *have* managed to communicate something meaningful to other people?

idiocy

Yesterday, I managed to put both contact lenses in the *same eye* without noticing. (For the record, the second one goes in just fine; it doesn't feel much different.) I stumbled around my room for a while, feeling off balance, and then tried to read an email on my computer and realized I was absolutely unable to focus at close distance and was completely unable to make out the words. It took me much longer than I'd like to admit to figure out what was wrong, because without the ability to focus close up I couldn't see that both contacts were in the same eye....

making friends

So the thing I'm making friends with - yeah, it's a thing, not a person - is my own stomach. It seems a bit odd to only get friendly with your own internal organs at the age of 21, but what can I say... it's taken me a while.

Funnily enough, I don't think I've ever written publicly about this issue, which is odd because I've been dealing with it since I was 11. I suppose most of the time it's inconvenient or embarrassing to discuss, and nobody wants to hear about anybody else's stomach problem. (Additionally, the responses I get if I mention it are usually exactly opposite of what would be useful for me, not that it's any body's fault.) Not great conversation material. So if you don't know, I'll sum it up smoothly: my stomach is unpredictable, uncooperative, and generally causes me trouble, and the trouble is only compounded by my rather severe phobia. (However, the two problems are so intertwined that from here on out I will refer to them only as my general stomach problem.) The problem has ranged anywhere from a vague sense that I ought not to do handstands after eating (on my best days), to extreme pain and inability to eat for upwards of several weeks. The effect that it has on my life also varies a lot - these days, I don't have to think about it all the time, I can eat most foods, and I can do most activities. I still don't run or swim or sleep within several hours of eating, but that inconvenience is easily circumvented by planning when I'm going to run/swim/sleep and then not eating (duh).

But there are still bad days - even now. When I wake up feeling sick for no reason, or when I eat 3 bites of lunch, can't eat any more, and am immobilized for the rest of the day. If I get in to a patch of bad days, life suddenly becomes more complicated - I can no longer go anywhere without bringing a whole host of items (I think I am the world expert at curing stomach aches that have no apparent cause) with which to rescue myself from uncomfortable situations (like being at a meeting with 3 professors and being unable to concentrate long enough to form a proper sentence). It's awful to step out the door in fear, with the sense that I need a backpack full of rescue "tools" just to walk to the store or something - but it's a LOT better than getting there without it and suddenly needing those things.

It's not that I haven't tried to medically cure myself of this annoying bum stomach. I've seen at least 6 medical doctors about it, been poked and prodded and tested for a zillion things (no conclusive tests), talked to at least 8 psychiatrists, tried 6 major drugs, and tried at least 12 different natural stomach health products. While I've learned a lot, and I've picked up some "tools" along the way, none of these people or products has really done anything for me.

So, what the hell is wrong with me? Conclusion: nothing. It would appear that it's... "just me"**. Now, one might argue that this chronic nuisance is not something I should just accept - I've certainly been encouraged to try every possibly avenue of treatment - but frankly, the only one left is surgery and I'm not willing to go that way. So if I'm not trying to fix myself any more, I better start picking the good bits out of the lot - and that's what I mean by "making friends".

Now, I think that in general, the worst part of it is behind me, which makes the whole deal easier to make friends with; I don't think I'll ever spend another month desperately trying to eat a quarter of a banana while losing weight at a fast pace. I don't think I'll ever collapse outside the hospital again, or lie on the lawn outside the house for 3 hours until I feel well enough to get inside. I've got more control now than I ever did then, and heck - maybe someday I'll kick the whole problem.

Last year, a baffled psychiatrist told me that since I apparently can't be cured, I might start trying to figure out how this whole problem benefits me. A few weeks ago, I was at a talk by a Zen master, Thich Nhat Hanh, who themed his entire talk around an opening meditation: "Breathing in, I am aware of my whole body. Breathing out, I smile at my body". So, the signs are everywhere, and it's time to get thinking: just how does my little friend, my stomach, benefit me?

Well, for starters, it does sometimes do exactly what it's supposed to, so score 1. When it's misbehaving, it gets me to slow down and realize that I must sleep, eat well, and take care of myself. Because of it, I now know a jillion things to suggest to anybody who needs help with a stomach problem. I know what it's like to feel stuck in a pit, unable to dig one's way out of the wrong perception that life will never be easy or cheerful again. Because of my stomach, I've met some of the most accomplished meditators of the modern world and had a chance to ask them questions. I've learned a lot about the brain and how fear works. Perhaps above all, I've learned that when I see somebody sitting in a meeting looking distracted or unhappy, there are a thousand ways in which just being there, sitting in that chair, could be unimaginably hard for them. Actually, even if somebody doesn't LOOK distracted or unhappy, it still might be hard.

So.... hey buddy. Yeah, you, Stomach. I know you're tryin' hard. I'm getting someplace, I really am. Thanks for all the hard work. You can be quiet now. I'm paying attention.

**What exactly is it about me that causes this? For opinions from disparate sources, including my mother, a Buddhist monk-doctor, and my aunt, ask me.

Maverick the Muffin

I couldn't stop laughing... That's her food dish she's sleeping in. And ballooning out of. And even better, I saw her deliberately settle down in there.

boy, they've got everything on the 'net these days

I think I've been called "oversensitive" by most of the people I know - sometimes disparagingly, sometimes affectionately. Most people who know me well have observed that I have a really hard time in crowds or cities - spending any extended period of time in such an energetic environment leaves me physically shaky and weak. I've always described it as the "sponge" effect - I soak up what's around me to an insane degree. I plug my ears when loud things happen, like braking busses or jackhammers. In virtually any party situation, I can interact with the crowd for some limited amount of time, after which I always need to unwind, and retreat to my room to sit in the dark. I am completely unable to watch violence or tension on TV or in movies; during these scenes I usually plug my ears and shut my eyes; even when watching completely tame shows I find myself tense and stiff and really on the edge. Even if I *like* watching them, they do me in.

These weird traits have been interpreted in various ways. I think some people think I'm kind of faking it, like a lot of middle school girls fake being afraid of bugs just so they can all squeal in "fear" at the sight of one, which in some twisted way connects people socially. Others see it as a very negative thing; the result of my not watching TV as a child. Still more feel they have to be very careful around me, for fear of "setting me off" - that's not a great way to say it, but many of my friends do realize that I notice and respond to little things VERY quickly.

Well, it turns out there's actually quite some information about people like me. It's all over the web - search for Highly Sensitive Person or Intuitive Empath, and you can look through lists of traits that describe me in a nutshell. Most surprising of all was this site, in which the essayist also describes herself as a "giant sponge", a description I've never heard anybody else use.

I'm pretty suspicious, generally, of hokey spiritualist personality descriptions, in which the page seems sincere until you get to the bottom, and then they tell you that you're "most like the Elephant/Cockroach/Spiny Lobster" or "destined to be psychic" or "exhibiting extrasensosupranaturalistic mental techniques" or some other weird mumbo jumbo. In those cases the writer is usually somebody who has adopted an Indian pen name, puts a lot of sentimental .wav music files on their site, and has a picture of him or herself engaged in a little-known religious practice.

The author of the article linked above is an MD. She also asserts that people's bodies "are made of flesh and blood, but they're also composed of energy fields", and a section of the article is about Energy Vampires, who drain intuitive empaths of energy. Does this sound believable to you?

Think carefully. Personally, I have enough experience being *me*, complete with Issues in all their glory, to realize that a strict modern Western medical perspective is not enough to explain why I often feel the way I do, even though I am neither physically sick nor clinically depressed. But I find it incredibly irritating that people who try to explain these emotional tendencies and traits often use language like "Energy Vampires", which in most peoples' view robs the thesis of any credibility. This woman describes me very well, which by its very nature is bound to mean something to me - but her book categorizes people in to boxes like Drama Queen, Sob Sister, and Blamer. Why, once you've liberated a few confused souls from thinking they are incurably weird, must you go on to further categorize? Identification of a trait, articulating it so that you can state who you are to those who care about you, is important. Knowing that you are a Sob Sister, while your neighbor is a Drama Queen, and therefore you two really can't quite relate, is NOT.

I know, and my friends know, that the way I feel is CLEARLY influenced by the way people around me feel, to a very profound degree, and that I easily pick up on how people are feeling. It is also true that the more people there are, the more influence pours in, and I tend to get overwhelmed. But this doesn't have to be mystical, folks. It doesn't need to involve vampires. By describing it, you don't have to make a religion out of it. It's just how some people are.

introducing Emily

This is Emily. Isn't she darlin'?

Getting her to play nice with Maverick has been hard, though. Or rather, getting Maverick to play nice has been hard. This is not entirely unexpected; introducing new rats to each other often takes time. One accepted strategy is to put dabs of perfume on the rats so as to mask their scents, and then introduce them in neutral ground. It's taken 4 days of doing that, but the two girls finally are able to stay in the same cage without fighting.

They have, however, constructed separate nests in far opposite corners of the cage. Ha!

UPDATE: They now sleep next to each other (aww), but they still fight over sunflower seeds.

dryness

Boston is dry. Extremely dry. I sound like a frog in the morning, my throat hurts if I speak for more than 5 minutes. My hair looks suspiciously as if I have been hanging out with a Van de Graaff generator. My lips are split and sting horribly if I eat salty things. Even my hands are cracked and itchy. I've been drinking at least 2 liters of water per day, but it just doesn't seem to help... And there's no better way to appreciate how much your face hurts than to bike around Boston when it's 12 F, at night, in the wind.