Survivor

No, not the television show. I've never actually seen it, but it sounds like a silly idea to me. Even more silly than a houseful of 'exotic dancers' fighting over Bret Michaels.

I'm in my little room at Twood, listening to Beverly Sills sing the 'Dunque io son' duet from Barber of Seville and enjoying the fact that, thanks to the weird cold front that moved in, I don't have the fan blowing full blast to create a breeze in my stuffy (not nearly as romantic as a garrett apartment, I assure you) fourth floor chamber. Bubbles is on fire with coloratura and ornaments that are to die for, and while I'm excited to be working on this scene, it's been a hard few weeks. The Russian songs are memorized and sitting in the back of my mind, waiting to be resurrected for a development event in a week or so, I'm trying to motivate myself to memorize the Brahms songs that are simply too low for me, and in losing my bel canto virginity, I'm also trying to memorize a whole lot of Italian.

But really, I'd rather be hunting for the missing bolts to the bed among the unpacked boxes in our new house. I'd rather be dusting and swiffing and watching Sammy sniff the new place to be sure if it's really home for him. And most of all, I'd like to be back to the business of learning the music that is on the docket for next season and not constantly feeling as if I'm in the crosshairs of someone else's educational conquest, spouting all of the reasons why I should be learning all of this low rep that's not really right for me, questioning my resistance against opening all of those barriers that are in place not only for my own protection but also for the security of my performance. Security is boring, who needs control, safety is boring. I've heard this in so many different ways that it makes me resentful, a little spiteful even. All those years trying to figure out how to line up the voice, training it and the brain and the body to be at ease, under control but not controlled so that, amid all of the acrobatics, we can let loose and emote. And now you're telling me that control is boring, that seeing a performer completely secure is boring. That you'd rather see a singer make a mistake because they're 'in the moment' than hear the safer but perhaps less spontaneous performance.

I get it. The larger lesson. I get it. But I have my own timeline that needs to play itself out in singing, in acting, in therapy, before those barriers are going to come down in front of a roomful of strangers. And you can't tell me that Diana Damrau didn't practice floating that C in Caro Nome flat on her back in the bed in the Dresden production so that it looked spontaneous AND sounded gorgeous. Spontaneous but practiced. Involved but not over-involved. Rehearsed but not mechanical.

Yo-yo Ma was talking about the communication between the conscious and the subconscious in its most present and pliable state - half asleep, half awake - and how we can use that time to really experiment with our imagination. When I first wake up in the morning, once I've hit the snooze button and pulled the mask back over my eyes, I'm so relaxed. It doesn't occur to me that I haven't talked to my parents in more than a week or that those crazy English Magic Flute translations need to be learned or that I have to get new innersoles for my running shoes because that stupid right one keeps creeping back. I'm swimming in this warm dark place under my pillow, my jaw isn't clenched (at least it doesn't feel that way), my stomach isn't turning over with anxiety, and my heart isn't heavy and confused trying to figure out exactly when I put up this protective shell against conflict and hurt.

Why does life feel more like surviving than living these days? And when can I get off the evil merry-go-round with the bad music and the clowns who keep telling me to smile?