Why You Should Just Do That Certification

Today I wrote my last music theory exam; through the Royal Conservatory of Music (RCM). Though I should mention that by last, I mean the last level. Who knows whether I will have to write it again. It all depends on the mark I receive.

Either way, I realized today I've been studying music for over 17 years.

Being musical since the 17th century - circa 1997

Some would say all of that entirely pointless. It's another pile of papers. It's following the dogma of an old system about following rather than creating. Especially because I have yet to challenge the Accredited Royal Conservatory Teacher exam which allows me to officially teach as a RCM member. And that, at least in Canada, is how 90% of music students want to be taught, the other 10% are just causual adults players or beginning children who have parents who don't care about sticking their kid in that system yet.

A part of me agrees that all those years were utterly and entirely pointless. After all, the sad thing about society these days is you don't many prospective job offers, let alone recognition, without a piece of paper from a larger institutional body that declares you as sane, intelligent and generally fit to do whatever job it has said you can do. That bothers me as an individual who frankly would rather hang out in the back corner, as far from the center stage as possible, because it just perpetuates the negative image people have of Introverts.

In short, unless you can stand on a soap box or show off obvious fame (which "always" implies expertise, though I know just as many famous individuals got there on no intelligence, even as there are some famous people who got there through legitimate hard-work, dedication and talent), you are considered incompetent. Cue being passed over as another faceless, boring individual who a potential employer doesn't care a flip about.

So why should you bother doing any certifications period? Especially as an Introvert? Or perhaps you are an Extrovert who loves the trades, or IT work but you are terrible at taking multiple choice exams?
Are you bad at your job? Are you any less enthusiastic and motivated? Are you any less willing to learn and practice?

No.

So again I ask, why should you bother getting certifications? Here are Four Reasons You Need to Agree to Before you Certify for a Certification Attempt:


1. You will learn a new skill


This is by far the most practical though valid of the points but unless you can say yes, to the folllowing four, keep in mind there is little reason to get that certification. After all, a skill is only as useful as one that will be used. Whether eventually for a job or in another aspect of your life. For example, bearing in mind I have no idea if I will ever be a fully RCM qualified teacher as I frankly have a million other things I wish to do, my music education has broaded my understanding of it and thus my pleasure and enjoyment of it. It comes up as an area that has taught me many life skills as well as being a point I can use for discussion through other skills, like right here in this blog.


2. You will have to practice your weaknesses.
3. You will meet new people doing the same thing.


Numbers 2 and 3 are also important because there will always be an aspect of weakness in whatever certification you are doing, whether it is a written portion full or memorizing or being quick on your feet in terms of reaction time, say for something like a National Lifeguard Certification. Plus, people. If the certification is getting you out of your comfort zone but is up the alley of your interests or job, then meeting people means making connections that could help you with anything from forming simple study groups to potentially having a connection through an employee to an employer.


4. You will be trying. Trying is better than doing Nothing.


Yes, this is perhaps the most airy faerie or cheesy reason, but honestly, 99% of times out of 100, to root of your reason to not do something will probably be a fear of failure. With certifications that is almost as bad as being told you're incompetent to your face because it's between you and an institution, not just you an an employer or teacher. (Then again, any teacher who says you are terrible should get their bottoms right out of that position immediately).

When faced with whether or not to do a certification, don't put it off. Just try. Give it a shot. Yes, you may fail. It happens. A lot. But whoever told a baby they fail when their learning to walk and they keep falling over?

Nonetheless, if you do find yourself coming against failure after failure after failure. Yes, perhaps then you do need to reassess why you are doing it and what it will actually mean for you in the long run, both practically and emotionally but I'll save that for a later post.

Do you think certifications are worth the effort, especially if you fail the first or second try

Moony.

How to Make Good Days

Today was a good day. Though you might have already guessed that. Bad days do not coincide with much more than me feeling miserable and burrowing from the world with a book in front of my nose and an inordinate amount of negativity and snark to anyone who brushes my metaphorical (and literal) shoulder. (Though I can't stand shoulder brushes on good days anyway).

What constituted my good day was, after the morning work/school chaos, getting the entire house to myself for the next three hours. Absolute heavenly bliss. The only sounds were the ones I chose to make. I got to finish reading the amazing Tom Stoppard play "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead" and then mull over the Meaning of Life while staring at the cracked paint ceiling (there is a whole universe of stories up there).  My wrist is finally healing to the point I can play mildly intense piano pieces and I ended up in musical flow which lasted for 45 minutes before I had lay on the ice and ibuprofen.

In short, I had a brilliant morning. And to anyone reading this, yes there was a point to me possibly boring you with all the things I did earlier today.

You're good sort of day might not have anything to do with existing in a quiet space where you get full control of the type and volume of sound produced, mine however, does. I've always wondered if my oddities/issues could be explained by various psychological labels, beyond that of an extreme Introvert but then again who's to say I even have problems? Maybe I am just a nasty grump who gets irritated by people easily and finds touchy/loud children to be especially upsetting? At least, that is how people who occupy a significant portion of my life see it. Thereby I continue my process of believing myself to be an abnormal and potentially bad person who doesn't get to have tidy psychological explanations for drastic mood swings and extreme sensitivity.

Maybe you have or do feel the same? Maybe?

Well, regardless of where you are on the spectrum of what society deems normal, what society labels as abnormal and what society labels as just unpleasant individuals who cannot get along with others, I did want to share how I am working on making Good days out of my larger portion of Bad days.

A Bad day for me? 

Cue a blare of little kid television shows, the bass to all other sounds. Over that, lays the shrieking/shouting of two year olds and a four year old. Now add an augmented melody of any person trying to stop or tame that chaos. The drum beat of this symphony of chaos comes in the form of the general noises of shutting doors, cupboards, dishwaters, dryers, talking, cat meowing, or stair-stomping that comes from having nine other people under one roof. Add the piccolo solos of other people practicing their music or blasting from their computers/iPods, and there I am; hiding in my room at every interval to escape it. (And that's not even really Bad, just an everyday one).

Well, except for the constant interruption of being yelled at to let out a cat, crying downstairs somewhere, to watch little children inside or out, to deal with whatever issue is not getting resolved, or to come help with whatever current cleaning project needs to be done (because spring cleaning doesn't end until winter, and then you get winter cleaning).

A Bad Day: A bit like this endlessly repetitious and overwhelming image of ivy. Except less pretty.

Alright. Fine. So it doesn't seem half so bad as I read it back here on my laptop, however, at least to me it's all together too loud and too busy. Like headache inducing extremely.

Give me a tidy list of things to be done, or very direct orders, and I'll happily do them around other people. Ask me to navigate the same things without a tidy list and in direct fire of the chaos of nine other individuals; not happening. I'm going to hide in my room. 

I'm still horrible at the whole, making those Bad days good, or trying really, really hard to keep the Good days good. (The post-naptime, pre-dinner time is probably the most difficult time of the day, aside from attempting to wake up in the morning). Nonetheless, as the overused saying goes, nothing and no-one is perfect. If it was, we'd all be in a play, following a predetermined plot line that allows us nothing but heads, no matter how many times we flip the coin. Cheers to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for that new perspective (Reference). And even then, in a play, we have utterly no control, and thus, that is why, despite having Bad days, at least we have the power to make them better ones.

So what do I do to make my Bad days better or keep my Good days, happy?

I go through a series of steps; starting with one or all of the following four options throughout the day. Call them my coping mechanisms.

1) I imagine. A lot. Sometimes I'm wandering through a thick forest with fog pinpricked by shafts of sun. Other times I'm floating through the sky in a hot air balloon or dirrigble. Because everything is better with steampunk. Sometimes I'll imagine my characters and think about what they might do next. Other times I just have to imagine little dancing numbers and do something mundane like counting in French.

2) I hum a random melody in my head or it's really bad, I'll sing under my breath.

3) If I'm near proper music, I'll turn it on. If I'm doing it to drown out other noise it'll usually fall some category of epic, metal, or steampunk; though I never quite drown out the other noises otherwise, I'd give myself a headache. If I'm doing it to fall asleep however, the music will probably be a soundtrack or Baroque/Romantic piano music.

4) If the above fail, or I know it's going to be a bad day that isn't going to turn sunny any time soon, I'll wear ear plugs for the day (and still manage to hear everything going on anyway, but it's less headache inducing).

To actually make the Bad day a better one, along with the coping mechanisms, you need to find and hold on to the things which will make you happy. For me, as you probably have guessed, those things that make me happy revolve around a lot of solo time. I might do things such as:

1) Writing and finishing something in a short period of time (like writing prompts or these blog posts).

2) Grabbing a fanfiction prompt from Tumblr and writing, or reading what someone else wrote.

3) Editing the multiple year backload of photographs, fiddling with Photoshop and perusing DeviantArt.

4) Going for a walk or going to the gym.

5) Eating chocolate.

You'll notice with those five things, I did not include lliterary reading, writing longer works, poetry, watching movies, tv series or anything that I need to give my full, uninterrupted attention without impulsively shouting at the person/thing interrupting my flow. Those above things are short, shallow or silly  (in the case of the fanfiction or chocolate) but give instant, quick gratification that later help in self-reminders (or sign-posts as I like to call them) when I find myself labelling the day as one of my "Bad" ones because of all my negative lash-outs and how people respond to me in turn. Instantly, the "Bad" day, looks brighter and I try to hold in any further irritation.

It doesn't always work. A lot of the time it doesn't. Lately, I've really failed at not having Bad days, but I put it down to the rhythm and schedule I got used to in the past two months, being turned sideways by my mom taking on a gardening job. Meanwhile I still remain an unemployed creative person who really should just leave for England to live for a while, as I've been wanting to; without planning things to the tiniest detail for once.

So in that, and those lists (of sorts), all I can say about how to make Good days, comes from a character in a movie who has since become my Good day avatar with her catch-phrase of "just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." In other words, carry on wayward child of the universe, keep trekking, get through the day, but make sure you don't miss the sign-posts telling you how long you have to travel, the places you could go, or what's coming up ahead.

Also, sometimes, all you have to do is step outside, take a deep breath, bend down and touch your toes (or at least do the latter bit if the weather's bad).

In the end. Making Good days is all about noticing the sign-posts the universe makes for you and making a few of your own (like eating a bar of chocolate).

Currently snacking on dark chocolate with almonds.
Moony.

Don't ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, encourage a Rambler

Today marks a New Day. A Lemon-Squeezed Candy Crown Day. The sort of day that makes one think of the following street-side attraction located somewhere in San Francisco (I think)...bit of a blurry trip that one.

Be Aware. Silly Hats Don't Care.

Lack of caution in this instance might initiate an explosion of silly hats. On the other foot however, too much caution might initiate an explosion of the following; a mosaic which is really just an artist's way of saying "organized insanity." (This is especially evident in those which take the trouble to point out different directions you might feel like trying as seen in the image of a Greek side-street below):

Which path will you take? A Conveniently Labelled Spot of Five Choices for your Patronage.

Perhaps if you can just take caution somewhere between the flavour of a potato and a peppercorn we can move on and I can explain to you just what the monumental moment of Awesome was which occured today.

As an Introvert (who also suffers from an acute fear of meeting new people). I don't get out very often. When I do, I do with people I know. Sort of like my own personal army of minions who do all the heavy lifting of introductions and mindless "how-do-you do's." (A social construct I still cannot bother to figure out the reasons behind).

Today I went out. I went out times a double chocolate cake. I went out to a writing workshop wherein I was one of two who sat with our local library's writer-in-residence and spent two hours working through the nebulous bits I had brought which I had no clue as to what I should constructively do with them. (That's the problem with spontaneous inspiration, you end up with writing which has no pre-concieved audience or forum).

At first I was flat terrified. I got better. Especially once I very carefully relinquished the pieces I had brought; a short story of which I had just completed an hour earlier and three poems that had been scribbled off on my tablet over a few days of bath tub soaks. (I have a case. It is quite safe. Well, as safe as I want it to be. Therefore, it is safe).

A nebulus vista? Maybe? The resident writer kept using the term after I dropped it.

The girl who was there with me read the poem while our resident writer read the story. She sounded enormously intelligent and had obviously been dropping in for every workshop the resident writer has been offering, plus emailing him for extra help. Yet, she loved the descriptions I used and had next to nothing to say, except a title suggestion. I asked her if it made sense because I have a tendancy to ramble. She said it did. (Later when we went over a memoir outline she was working on, I realized I know a lake's load more about writing techniques/methods/styles than she which made my usual lack of self-confidence have a moment of "oh. I do actually know things"). I felt like I had found kindred spirits at this point. Which I had. Writers. We are right together. Naturally.

The writer in residence asked to see the poem as well. After reading it he proceeded to antidote lecture me about how rambling was actually in vogue and if I had heard of a poetic style called ghazal. I had not. Nor had I heard of the journalist he recommended I read as reference toward my story's topic, a man by the name of Ryzard Kapuscinski and the book, "Another Day of Life" which apparently deals with the same concept I wrote my story on, except in Africa while mine was loosely sci-fi by being set on a nearly dead Mars. Also, he adored the ending. I just want to take a moment here to remark on the irony of spending so much brain juice and time on certain things which then usually end up okay or excellent, and then, those times you rush something off and they always get declared as superb. Irony.

I had mostly let him talk through the whole period, first when he went off on anecdotes to assure me that so long as I was respectful (how can anyone not be?!), my stories that mash Raven and Coyote next to Anansi, Eris or Monkey was perfectly alright. Then, when he went on about rambling, he definitely did so himself.

Sometimes I wonder if Maui painted that (on some Athenians house).

The case, in the point of all this exposition, is that I have finally had someone tell me it is okay to ramble so long as you know when to stop. (This realization equates to a moment of Awesome by the way). I grew up on Lemony Snicket and devoured Terry Pratchett. I still do. Douglas Adam's is one hero of many and I strive to follow Lewis Carroll's fictionally placed maxim "imagine six things before breakfast."

I have always made it my purpose to befuddle. A pasttime which derives partly from pure amusement (because I do love a good confounded face) and partly to determine whether an individual is intelligent enough to be worthy of association. Or, at the very least, whether or not they can put up with me waxing on ridiculous rambles and reconstructions of facts to fit my experimental purposes. I sawed a rubber duck in half with a butter knife once, just for the sake of a poem I was writing. I had a lot of plastic residue. It was the modern day version of sawing a human in half with barbed wire.

Oops. Apologies for anyone reading who has one of those tender stomachs. Moving on...

As much as I like to befuddle people, the world is honestly asking for it. Like the silly day-to-day interactions I mentioned earlier when meeting new people. Then again, many people have admitted to the ridiculousness of asking how a person is without actually stopping to listen, let alone here the truth. One most people don't think of (well I have yet to hear it), are fractions.

Fractions are xonstructs of the human brain which allow said brains to create what should be, according to humanity, the exact same product. A bit like a car engine assembly line. The problem however is that fractions involved, in the instance where they are most often used, substances and the word substances harkens more to chemistry than mechanical acuity. Thing is, because cooking is chemistry (yes that is what I was implying, in case I was being too obtuse), nothing comes out exactly the same. Everyone, even if they follow the recipe down to the same strength/speed/length of mixing, the same number of seeds, grains, fruits...whatever, the results might be similar but they will never ever be as exact as the mass produced constructs of factories.

Hence why I dislike fractions. Why follow something exactly that will not turn out precisely as some other person made it. Especially when you can take the general idea, mesh it with someone else's idea and perhaps a pinch of your own knowledge/preferences/experiences and make something that fits you. Not to mention the second way is more fun and certainly more freeing when you live like a student. Same goes for buying retail clothing. I do. Yes. But I have a goal to one day be able to sew my own clothes. (Though that day needs to somehow fit around my stuffing of reading, writing, reading, exercise, writing, piano, reading and writing into the hours, out of 24, not spent sleeping). 

Only a museum can make octopus's look mathmatically straight.

Anyway, so I like experimenting with things that are nonsensical. Like hanging upside down on red monkey bars at the tender age of ten and telling every kid that passes that "mayonnaise is 5% milk." I hate mayonnaise. Always have. But at the time it sounded like a true fact because I included milk, which every kid knows makes you grow big and strong. What followed was a lot of kids seriously thinking about the health benefits of mayonnaise. I still think it sounds rather pithy but who's going to take me literally nowadays?

That was grade five. Now, ten and some years later I am still a rambler of things most normal individuals consider nonsense. Today howevever, today, my rambling was recognized, not as silly humour, or utter rubbish, but a valid writing style that can be used to great effect, so long as the writer knows when to stop. So in honour of the individual who opened my eyes to the fact there are plenty more opinions than those of my peers in Writing Departments, English professors, or any one who has been inflicted with my work at some point. I'll actually name the indidual who has made me realize, in more than just my head, that as a writer, so long as I can create a compelling conflict, torture some characters and begin and end in a manner satisfying to tale tongues, then however I do so is up to me.

The great inspirer and imparter of the moment of Awesome goes by the name of Harold Rhenisch. You may find his contemplative, insightful and rather humourous blog, full of lovely photos, on the following address: http://haroldrhenisch.wordpress.com/

I must ramble my way off to the millions of writing projects that might amount to more than taking up harddrive space upon this realization they might actually be acceptable to esteemed venues like the CBC along with my favour Analog.

Always rambling. Nebulously.
Moony.

Thought of Thursday

I like challenges. I live for competition. It has led to some dangerous family Scrabble games and brutal soccer showdowns. It has led to me comparing myself to everyone under the sun since the age I had enough consciousness to do so. That said, challenges can be healthy and since I haven't been the healtiest in terms of being kind to myself I figure the best way to do it is to challenge myself to write about some sort of meaningful quote I dig up for every Thursday.

So with that, welcome to the first Thought of Thursday and today's thinking quote. This week I jumped to goodreads and turned to my authorial hero, the one and only father of fantasy *epic swell of music* JRR Tolkien. Since I've been blabbing vaguely about "fear" lately, here's a rather fitting quote from one of my favourite female characters of Middle Earth. Éowyn.

"What do you fear, lady?" [Aragorn] asked.
"A cage," [Éowyn] said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire."
- JRR Tolkien (Return of the King)

A cage. Would anyone want to be in a cage? Whether literal, or in the case, very much a figurative sort of object, no one wants to be trapped. This is one of the things that I adore about Tolkien's Middle Earth. So many events, people, actions, words, all still apply quite strongly to today.

What world is beyond the window?

Yes, there are certain points when you can tell terribly that he was writing from an early 20th century white, English male, professorial perspective, such as with his tendancy to have only male characters, like "The Hobbit" or that his famous trilogy has Arwen sidelined to the Appendices. She doesn't even actually appear in the plotline itself except on brief mentions. Éowyn herself is refering to how women in her culture are meant to stay at home and keep the fort strong and safe until the men come home from whatever valour-filled expedition or war they went off on.

This is just touching the rather obvious, and yet, if you dig into "The Silmarillion," "The Unfinished Tales" and the reems of notes that often contradict, contradictions, in the twelve volume "History of Middle Earth" (HME) you find powerful female characters and so many intricate details, I learn new things every time. I am planning a post on the conversation between the wise woman Andreth and the elven lord Finrod about mortality/immortality from the HME Volume 10, "Morgoth's Ring" (in case anyone actually cares...). Anyway, in this brief, off-side rant about one thing people bash Tolkien for, just keep in mind his time period and that he wrote Middle Earth as a mythology for England in the style of the epics of Norse mythology.

Anyway, in Éowyn's quote about fearing cages, I see today's world, and I know it is something many people fear. I certainly do. The fear of being trapped somewhere or in something we do not want to be trapped into. Whether it is a job, a relationship or a general lifestyle. Somewhere there is something we are not happy with that we cannot get out of. We feel we are meant for better and greater things. We dream and daydream. We make lists. We compare. We make more lists. Resolutions. Goals. Read self-help books and chart our progress with lines, graphs and so much math it is like people want to be back in high school math class, falling asleep at a desk or hitting their forehead in the desperate hope the answer might leak out one ear like water does after going swimming.

Is life just a series of notes to hop to?

So right there is the easy relatabilty to Tolkien's world and characters, despite it being "fantasy" and in a culture and time period far removed from ours. Easy enough right? Good, because next I want you to take a moment and think about your definition of "great deeds." For Éowyn, a great deed was being a part of a great battle, preferably facing down and defeating a terrible enemy. She did in fact end up doing that as the one who defeated the Witch King but then, she gets a bit sidelined when she and Faramir meet in the Houses of Healing, fall in love and get married. I always wonder what sort of wife she would be. Would she be content to stay in Ithilien while Faramir acted as Steward and advisor to King Elessar? Maybe. She did do a great deed. Then again, maybe not. Not like she got a medal.

So what is your definition of a great deed? Mine is this: a great deed is an accomplishment I have been striving toward and that which recognizes the effort I have put in toward achieving said accomplishment. It is a definition that is both simple but hugely self-centered. I know most of society says great deeds today are ones which make a different to humanity at large, they are ones which are for the larger social good. To that I say, I am an Introvert. I don't take well to parading my face in front of crowds, let alone speaking to them. I have no need of being recognized by society as some fantastically great person worthy of a Noble Prize. No, I just want to accomplish something that is important to me personally and whether or not anyone else sees that accomplishment and recognizes the effort I used to achieve it, great, but at heart, I need to recognize and cherish the accomplishment for it to matter.

Caring for other living things. Is that a great deed?

 If I don't stop and recognize the accomplishment then it is just a piece of paper. Like my recent degrees, achieved in the space of five years. Few manage even one in five years. I pulled off two. It was something I wanted to do so I did it. Not as well as I could have. There were certainly moments I am not proud of. But in the end I did it. At the end of it all though I realized parts of it felt hollow. That is because I achieved those things with the recognition of other people in mind. I fell back into the social fault of needing others recognition to feel validated. Which is, to turn back to Éowyn and her desire to do something great and not be stuck where she would end her days in regret, what I believe even Éowyn fell into in part. After all, she achieves the great deed but then ends up in a rather typical situation of marriage. Is Éowyn as guilty as some of us with being caught up in our respective culture's ideals of what makes for a meaningful life? (Then again that is where fanfiction is brilliant because it addresses the whys, wherefores and aftermaths of things like the marriage of Éowyn and Faramir).

Following that train of societal influence and expectation I wonder: Do we even need to "great deeds?"

My mom for example, recognizes society cannot keep going down the path of consumerist waste that it is on. However she has no grand ideas of enacting good changes for the population like one of my brothers, no, instead she is just concerned with her immediate family and self-awareness. She wants to have a life on a self-sufficient farm. To her, a great deed is more about doing the best for her family than changing the lives of humans somewhere else in the world. 


So to wrap this ramble up, I, like no one else, wants to be caged, trapped, cornered, whatever synonym you feel like planting there. I, like most people, seek to do something meaningful with my life, something that will mean I don't end it with regrets or forgotten with dust bunnies under the bed. (Though anyone who can forget dust bunnies has obviously never lost any socks to them).

Éowyn as a character, and this quote in particular serve as reminders to me to always be conscious of never letting myself get trapped and ultimately making sure whatever I am doing will not lead to any regrets. That is not to say I am a lazy individual who won't work hard and things I don't necessarily enjoy. I do. However, the difference is that I know as I slug through boring schoolwork, or a lifeguarding job with terrible coworkers and bosses that I focus on why I am doing it. How whatever I am doing will contribute to my ultimate goal of a great deed. Whatever the great deed might manifest itself as at the time.

Wandering in circles but always going somewhere.
Moony.

Classical Recapitulations

If any music buffs are reading this. Ignore the following bit because you know (or should know) the meaning of recapitulation. Then again, if you are reading this period you probably know the meaning regardless of your ability to string a series of notes together in a pattern humans call music.

Last post I alluded to being mostly different to the me who I was three years ago. The "mostly" comes into play in more of a literal sense in some cases than some of you may have twigged upon. See, three years ago I was fantastically hard-headed. Still am. Siamese cat temperament of stubbornness.  

Stubbornness is fantastic, especially if you have a lot of people giving you the sort of look that one little sister gives broccoli. The look that among adults translates to wondering if the person being poked delicately with a stick should go somewhere safe, preferably with Peter Rabbit cotton padding. How stubborn would you say you are? Does it help you in any way or is it generally a huge hurdle of hindrance?

On the other hand, (in my experience), stubbornness is about as useful as learning to fly by swimming in water. That is to say, you end up swimming in a potato stew masquerading as the one labelled by the cook book as vegetable stew. Disgusting, lumpy and full of more stuff to climb than liquid to float through. 

My stubbornness (at least in terms of three years ago) equated to trying to complete my Accredited Royal Conservatory Teacher's (ARCT) certification while working through a full five course load of second year university courses in the departments of English and Greek and Roman Studies. That equates to doing about three degrees in one go. Okay, I am sure some of you are laughing because that is nothing to your biochemistry and astrophysics, or three jobs and full time school.

Regardless, my piano teacher did not approve of the examination period I pushed for. Also, I was living on campus, in a unit with three other girls, two of which were so Extroverted, if the scale of Introvert to Extrovert got wrenched into a circle we would hit each other on the forehead. Plus, I had just run myself through a summer trying to prove to the entire Lifeguarding Squadron of Tiny Hometown that I was, in fact, quite adequate, (fantastic in fact), as a lifeguard, despite the fact I did not strut like the fat Persian-Siamese cross from down the street or crack the air with authority like quail at six in the morning. I continued that milieu of physical and mental bashing trying to be someone I was not simply because I had to prove the following: 

1: I could flipping well do my ARCT eight months ahead of when my piano teacher said they thought I should. I practiced 4-5 hours per day. (Generally this was done all in one go, though occasionally I did two sessions of 3 hours in a day).

2: I had school, mid-terms, papers, piano, writing and a need for me-time so I was not going to listen to another boy problem, problem of a problem or go to some party thank you very much.
Go away I am working.

3:  *insert negative body image opinions here* Run at 6am. Forget to eat most of the time. Swim in the evening.

Any of that sound familiar? Maybe you've done worse, maybe you were not quite as bad, and yes I am not going to blab every gory detail because reflecting on bad things is about as pointless as reading them. (Unless that bad thing sparks a positive action. Well, in moderation, that is). 

Moderation. I still don't comprehend that term apparently because those three bullet points led to a series of physical injuries and mental dark spaces that were about as pretty as the sludge that comes out of over-enthusiastic children dumping every colour of the rainbow into one glutinous circle of paint.

I finished school last December. With two degrees in five years down one's jean pocket you would think I would be off and merry. Nope. Currently I am having a recapitulation of that paint sludge year. 

If you wondered, (I wouldn't but maybe you're different, most are), why on earth I would bother inflicting my thoughts, and occasional opinions upon a world so inundated with blogs and blather? Well, I will admit it was heavily suggested a Good Thing for me to do plus past blogs I've done where generally character role-plays. Thu here I am, attempting to reflect on the series of detours my life has made so far and how they are making avalanches that aim to bury or burst out something in the grand 42 ticks on a chalk board that make up the meaning of life. (I'll get around to chatting about Douglas Adam's brilliance at some point for those who did or did not catch that loopy reference). I am also hoping someone out there might actually have some interesting comments to toss in the mix regarding their life lesson experiences. 

I'll end with this, recapitulations might repeat theme 1, the bridge, theme 2, the codetta, and probably add a coda but sometimes, there happens to be a composer who fiddles with the dials just enough that a theme 2a pops up, or maybe the bridge goes on for so long you never even realized how short theme 1 was in the first place and now you find the song blathering about in a soup of keys. 

Mostly though, recapitulations are about breathing through a fear of mistakes, patience to focus through a thirty minute long Sonata and ten fingers of grace to remind you the purpose behind the brutal sixteenth runs were not to punish you or push you to shatter your metronome but to gracefully recognize you are who you are and every detour you have builds the snowy avalanche a little higher so next time maybe you will end on a Beethoven fortissimo rather than a clatter of a-tonal 20th century triplets in a 18th century piece. (Also known as a mistake...unless you have a TARDIS, time machine, and accidently invented atonality a few centuries early).

How do you regulate your personal drive? Your motivation? Your stubbornness? 

Having a moment of wandering.

Moony.