Standing in the doorway

My friend Judy sent me a segment from a book she's reading about opening doors in one's life, coping with change, and the general business of living. I don't read a lot these days (scores SO do not count) so it's much appreciated when someone takes the time to share wisdom they have gleaned. In this book, the author talks about doorways and the state of being in one - more specifically, the disorientation and discomfort of being in a between state, transition but without any kind of directional inkling, truly IN the doorway, not sure if you should go forward or backward, if forward then in which direction, if backward then why and then what. Well dear friends, it could not have been more timely. I am decorating the inside of that doorway with the trappings of my former sanity, Martha Stewart and her decoupage ain't got shit on me and the crazy I'm using to make festive my transitional discomfort.

I always knew I'd teach someday. I've been planning to teach since I was in high school. Teach choir, teach piano, teach language, teach something. It's always been there. I met mentors on whose career I patterned my own educational pursuits - honors studies, foreign languages, academic writing, studying abroad, always directed toward the doctorate, always directed toward the classroom or the rehearsal studio. This surprises no one.

I never knew I'd sing professionally. When I started auditioning, I expected that I would gain some valuable insight about the process and learn a little about the business of singing that I would not have otherwise known. And then I'd be able to pass that information on to my students. Never ever did I think I would sing in A houses in foreign countries and at home. And really really never ever did I think I would accomplish those things and still be hunting for part-time jobs to help pay the bills. No one told me that good gigs did not always equal good pay, and that I would sometimes have to take less than great gigs to keep paying the bills and sometimes not get paid as much for the really good gigs that could lead to better things.

So here am I. Standing in the doorway. Teaching options keep falling into my lap - more than I can even contemplate at this very moment it makes me dizzy to think too much about it. Music directing, private students, school opportunities. I'm also applying for faculty positions. Trying to put into words why I want a faculty job is a difficult thing as well. I want to teach good students. I want to reach singers when they are still young and teach them good habits and good technique and fuss at them about language when it's still early enough to do something about it. I want them to learn good repertoire that's not just "standard" and really challenges their artistry. I want to be a part of that. I also want all of the very material things that come with a faculty job - salary, benefits, retirement, an office with my name on the door, and a hangtag for my parking space. Security. Comfort. Holiday breaks.

There are also the things I want out of singing, the things I do get when I am singing. That incredible rush when you make your first entrance and feel yourself floating over the orchestra. The secret smiles you share with your fellow actors in moments when you know that you're really killing in a scene. The fun factor of playing dress-up with eyelashes and hair pieces and that first costume fitting when you're pinned and poked within an inch of your life so you can look like the most beautiful/evil/magical/plain/fancy creature ever to grace the stage. The princess. The evil queen. The fairy. The Jersey girl. The sheer joy of feeling your voice move against someone else's. The discovery when an Italian coach really helps you place all of those vowels in the right place and suddenly the language no longer feels foreign. Traveling to fun cities and learning their ins and outs. Finding new places to eat. Sharing that with friends old and new. And, of course, the applause. Oh, the applause, that drug that takes us by surprise every time.

This is where I'm at. I'm standing in the doorway, scratching my height into it for the twenty-fifth time this week, waiting for a push or pull from the universe to tell me where to go. I suck at rolling with it. I suck at letting things ride. In the words of the immortal Inigo Mantoya, "I hate wait." I'm waiting without very much grace, trying to take what comes when it comes, putting dates into my book and saying yes to everything I can, so as not to exclude any of my options, but also hoping that something will jump out of the texture and bop me on my thick skull and say, "hey YOU! over here!" because I am not so clever in this particular way. I look at the forest, I see trees. I look at the trees, I see more trees. I don't see the Hansel and Gretel path leading through the trees, I only see the trees. I'm getting splinters in my eyeballs.

I'm itching with anticipation. My feet are tapping alternating time steps because they won't rest. I am in a holding pattern and I'm even starting to annoy myself, so I'm relatively certain I'm annoying others.

I'm trying to breathe through this series of moments. In out, in out, in out. Is it over yet?