Log19: Catharsis

Overdue?

Yes.

An exhaustive retelling of the past couple of weeks?

Wishful thinking.

Can I try?

Absolutely. 

At the end of last week, I had begun to see from a distance a kind of dim aura of "the blues"; the kind of aura you see on the eastern horizon as you drive into Sin City, the kind of faint glow you see on the furniture when you sit by a gently-lit candle.  Rest assured, I did not see the aura of the clinically-conceived blues -- the blues, aka depression -- but rather that of the mercurial, episodic blues that leads you to a bit of a funk for a few days.  Of course, one could say "the blues" by definition is everything but mercurial or episodic and is nothing but a deep and harrowing experience so my last statement involves a contradiction in terms and henceforth is incomprehensible, and so on and so forth. 

For those of you who might be concerned right now, please don't be; I'm doing very well.  I am of course grateful to your kind hearts, but I want you to know that I would never let myself come near to that because I've seen what it is capable of.  And to me, there is a matter of choice here.  There is agency.*

*Which of course could be considered a privilege; one could argue that some must simply resign to the environmental conditions in which they have found themselves in order to simply survive.  If so, then I will accept that agency is a privilege, that I am accorded that privilege, and that I am willing to take advantage of it.

But -- and to quote a dear friend -- "who knows these things."

In any case, I remember one particular day that proved to be the turning point.

I had been having a rough week as I continued adjusting to the sights, sounds, and subtleties of the new world (not to mention to my school, my job, and my home for a year).  I remember feeling frustrated, almost furiously so.  Vexed by the inevitable vicissitudes the heart and mind suffer during any venture into a foreign frontier, my volatile desperado wanted out and to unleash violence upon all things friend and foe.  I felt at once vulnerable and unforgiving.

I sought fulfillment.

And so, I ran.

I remember that feeling vividly; a tingling craze crawling up and down my limbs like some alien virus, priming my body for some inhuman ritual.  I felt my toes, feet, legs, fingers, arms and torso jitter and twitch, as if they were microseconds away from rocketing out of my being.  I was on the brink of eruption, and if I had stayed in my tiny room, an internal supernova would have ruptured my cosmic continuum, and I would have imploded a la the subsequent black hole.

I told my hfamily that I would run around the block.  They tried to discourage me since it was pouring rain, but I saw it as all the more reason to go.

And boy did I run.  

I know, this can get grossly trite and cliche very quickly; "and I ran and I ran and I ran.  I felt like I could have run for weeks, months, even years.  I felt alive, I felt free, so revitalized..." adjective, adjective, adverb, adverb, descriptive words, trying words, contrived-and-uninspired attempts at recounting what I felt.

I guess such banalities are banal for a reason though, because truth be told, that's exactly how I felt.

It was liberating.

It was invigorating.

I did feel like I could have run for weeks, months, even years. 

I did feel as though the wind had breathed new life into me.

And somehow during those 45 minutes of running -- a nearly mindless physical activity that cleanses the soul and lets the mind rest -- I found inspiration, and hope, and courage: things that typically require some level of cognition and volition.  I rediscovered a bounce to my gait, a vitality in my limbs, and a smile on my face.  The outdoors became a temple, my jog my prayer, and the rain my fountain of youth.  Tremendous, I thought, the power of exercise and the oneness of the human body, mind, and spirit. 

The other avenue which I had not walked down for many days happened to be that of music.  I did not realize just how integral music would be, but I quickly learned that music would be the match that lights my fire within.  I picked up the flute after my jog, and practiced.  I did so only for a short while due to the lateness of the hour, but oh how it returned me to my senses!

Music has been a peculiarity in my life.  I discovered it when I moved to America, and has since never let it go.  Strange, I thought, for more often than not students' practice of music (in whatever form it may be) wither with time and the onset of new responsibilities.  I always thought I would have the same fate, and perhaps I will in time.  But to this day, such a fate is still inconceivable.

Or I just don't want to face that fate.  Maybe I'm fighting it.

But there has to be a reason, I thought, that I looked up the contact information of various music professors at the local universities and sent them e-mails.  There has to be a reason I did not give up after I received MAILER-DAEMON rejections of my letters.  There has to be a reason I did not call Jeonju University Department of Music, but instead went to the university after teaching one day, asked around for the arts building, went straight to the office of the instrumentalist professor, sat in front of her office for an hour until she finished her lesson, then knocked on her door to speak to her in person.  There has to be a reason I risked looking like a fool and idiot.

Thank goodness Lady Luck happened to be there.

I knew she was a graduate of Julliard and Stony Brook, so while her competence in English was absolutely expected, her welcoming spirit to a complete and utter stranger asking for opportunities and help like a bum off the street -- especially in this more conservative Korean society there the people you know has more weight than your individual merit -- was a welcome surprise.  She welcomed me to join her chamber music classes, and has since informed me via e-mail of a professional orchestra that her colleague is starting and about which she will inquire on my behalf.

And I think there has to be a reason I called my aunt who is a violinist in arguably the best symphony in Korea (KBS Symphony), who told me about the principal flutist there, who now got me in touch with the principal of the Jeonju Symphony.  And I think there has to be a reason I have met with this principal, and plan on taking lessons with her starting this coming week.

This isn't fatalism.  I am reluctant to believe that.  Again, I think there is agency.  And the reason is based in this agency, and the individual capacity to affect change.  The reason is based in autonomy and self-reliance. 

There is a reason I have been so proactive not out of interest but more out of necessity.  Music -- albeit in the form of Western tradition that I have been seeking -- is to me like food, water, thoughts, and dreams.  Music just has not gone astray from my life, nor have I ever even considered that it would.  It was always a matter of when, and never a matter of if: of course I will continue flute in high school; of course I will continue flute in college; of course I will bring my flute to Korea.  Why wouldn't I?  That would be like questioning if I would bring my ears with me to high school, or my Adam's apple to college, or my nose to Korea.  There has never been a question in my mind.  It was thoughtless, it was inconsiderate, it was reflexive; of course I'll continue to play music.

So where do I go from here?

Who knows.

All I know is that I won't feel completely human without music this coming year, so I hope I can really delve into -- and possibly join -- an ensemble, or musical community soon.  Wish me luck in that regard.

Another aspect of my life that has been improving this past week has been my job.  Teaching this week went better overall than I had expected, in part due to my change in attitude.  Now mind you the difficulties have not changed; my best day was possibly Friday, and it involved two wall-sits and sending two others out of class -- from a single class (let us also not mention the student who wrote me a two-page apology letter after speaking to the disciplinarian about his being completely nude in the back of my class). 

But I decided to change my mentality.  I decided to be selfish, and try to enjoy my life a little bit more.  Try to find the positives in the little things, find an excuse to feel at peace, to smile, or even laugh, even if that comes at the cost of truth.  Be willing to lie to myself a little bit, and maybe, maybe even gain "the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error" (J.S. Mill, On Liberty).  Learn to be happier.

So when the students acted strangely, I made fun of them in jest.  When they made strange noises, I reacted bewildered and almost humored by their silly antics.  I tested them with jokes and humor just as they wanted to test me with their rambunctiousness and misbehavior.  I talked to them, showed them my smile, and even laughed with them.

And I can see its rewards, not only in its pedagogical utility, but in my life, my person-hood, and my well-being.

The aura I see now is not of the blues.

The aura I see now, though still at a distance, is one of a golden glow, of a brightening dawn, of a new morning.

Read into the imagery what symbolism you wish, but I have intended the connotations and emblems to be as transparent as they may seem.

"The night is darkest just before dawn."

Maybe I'll begin to like this place, and maybe even start to really enjoy myself here in this strange new world.

All the best,
Yours Truly