Take me to the bridge and soothe my soul

In the midst of large doses of stress and worry I’m finding it more and more important lately to focus on the positive things in my life.  That’s an easier thing to do on some days compared to others.  It’s all too easy to let the sad, upsetting, depressing and stressful things get me down.  Some days it’s a huge fight not to just throw up my arms in defeat, crawl into a corner and hide under a duvet, and tell the world to go f*** itself until I can cope with what to other people will seem miniscule and unimportant irritations, but to me can become the end of my world.

But there’s something I realised very recently that has helped me to feel like a normal human being even on the bad days.

 

I’ve posted here about music before (http://foundmysmile.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/thank-you-for-music.html?m=1), but in the last few months I’ve been reawakened to the wonder of both learning and making my own music.  Well, not exactly my own music, but my own interesting interpretation of someone else’s music!  When I was in junior school I started cello lessons and I loved them.  I was always a self-conscious person, and as I got older I felt more and more awkward and embarrassed about practicing when anyone else could hear me.  I eventually lost interest, perhaps with the onslaught of hormones, and I regret it to this day.  I wasn’t the best cellist, not by a long shot, but I enjoyed it and I loved entering competitions.

 

About 15 years ago my parents bought me a ¾ sized cello when I said I wanted to start playing again, but back then my self-conscious side took over and it wasn’t long before I stopped playing again.  I tried picking it up a few more times over the years but I always put it back down and left it alone.  And then last year I was given an electric cello.  She’s a black, glossy, sexy bugger and I love her.  She’s quieter than an acoustic, which allows me to play with more confidence and less worry about the neighbours’ reactions!  She’s patient and forgiving, and despite making her cry in agony sometimes she still lets me try again and again and again without complaining.

 

I really should name her…

 

It’s taken me a while to reach this point where I look forward to picking her up again.  Back in September I was terrible.  I could remember how to hold the bow but it was awkward and a little painful on my thumb.  I knew the basics for fingering and hitting the notes, but in practice I created sounds that no person should ever put a beautiful musical instrument through.  It’s taken a lot of practice and finger exercises to reach the point where I can create sounds that don’t make my ears bleed, and sometimes I do still wonder whether my playing will ever improve.  And then I remember how terrible and awkward I was back in September, October, November, and I realise that yes, I’m making progress.  The very fact that I’ve started to get to grips with a piece that way back in my childhood had me frustrated as hell because I just couldn’t nail it, is a rewarding reminder that I’m getting there.  Slowly, but I’m getting there.

 

So now after work the first thing I want to (and usually) do when I get home is practice.  On my days off, and once I’m finally awake enough to function, the first thing I want to do is practice.  If my fingers are up to it I’ll go back for seconds later in the day.  I always aim for twenty minutes practice, but I always play for longer, usually 30-60 minutes.  When I start to become so noticeably tired that I’m struggling to hold a note, or even find the right position, or I’m tensing up, then I take the hint and stop.  The fingertips on my left hand are clearly toughening up, and when I brush a nail lightly across the fingertips there’s a slight tingling sensation.  It’s the same sensation I remember as a child, having practiced and practiced and practiced until I got it right.  Or almost right.  When I’m at work it’s a reminder that I have something to look forward to when I go home, and a reminder that I can still (as a stubborn adult) learn and grow.

 

Something unexpected has happened now, though.  By now many people will know I sing in Stockton Town Choir and the choir at work.  Well, I realised a few days ago that some of the cello music I’m working on and some of the songs we’re singing have begun to meld into one big mess of music.  I’ll find myself humming the cello piece Menuet d’Exaudetand realise a few moments later it’s turned into a song from work’s choir Dona Nobis Pacem.  I go to bed with one tune bouncing around my head and wake up with another.  This morning it was Schubert’s Lullaby. At various moments throughout the day I start humming without realising I’m doing it, which is just glorious for my colleagues!  A few nights ago when I went to bed and pulled up the covers, I unconsciously started to practice the fingering for the Menuet on the side of the duvet.   Is this normal?  I mean…. really???

 

Music has always been important to me, as I expect it is to most people, but I realised that while I was looking the other way music seeped under my skin and made its home.  I really do hope it stays, because although people think I’m a bit nuts when I spontaneously hum a pretty tune while walking down the street or sat at my desk, it makes me smile inside, and it makes me feel a little excited about the possibilities ahead of me.  Which tune can I play next that I didn’t expect to achieve?  Or even more surprising a question, which instrument can I pick up next and start all over again?

 

One of my brothers said to me that he hoped my cello didn’t become a mill stone.  I can say in all honesty it feels more like a whole big bunch of helium balloons lifting me up. But thankfully, without the silly high-pitched voice.  Mostly.