08/28/2016
Part 5...Conservatory Years
Upon first look, it seems that the conservatory years were dormant for me, not apart of the overall calling to being a Suzuki teacher. However, looking back on it, as with all of life, there is a flow, a way of being, that is constantly making it’s way to the surface, often in very profound ways. This describes my conservatory years.
I never felt I belonged at Oberlin, although to this day I don’t really know what that means. Since the very nature of the place during my years there was one of profound individualism, perhaps I fit in perfectly! I was afraid most of the time…afraid that I could not measure up. I convinced myself that I would never be able to compete with those musicians around me. Yet I got good grades and an excellent education. My relationship with music was ambiguous at best, the conversations in my classes controversial and challenging. I can see now that my professors were constantly pushing us beyond our comfort zones, challenging us to think for ourselves. We were rewarded for having our own ideas, something I covet to this day. My music education classes were first and foremost about developing and unearthing my personal philosophy of education, of being a teacher. I left Oberlin with firm ground to stand on when I got in front of the middle school orchestra. I left conservatory as a public school teacher, ready to save the world, one student at a time.
Inda Howland
I had two teachers at Oberlin who stood out for me as people who changed my entire way of being. The first was Inda Howland, my eurythmics professor. It was in this class that I had my first all encompassing spiritual experience. And as with all my callings, this one is so clear in my mind and heart that I can relive the experience completely today. The class was pausing after doing an amazing physical routine which required endless hours of practicing in the basement of my dorm, around the huge furnace. Around and around I’d go, all alone, saying one rhythm with my mouth, doing another in my hands, and yet another in my feet. Then I would inter-change those rhythms: feet to hands, hands to voice, voice to feet, etc. I would stumble, get out of breath, act out my small frustrations, and have another go at it.
This particular day, we had just finished doing the routine in class. It had finally worked! You see, I had to learn that with enough practice, I could leave the realm of “doing,” and experience the art of “being.” This is essential for any artist. I couldn’t “do” the routine, but rather had to “be” it in order to have success. In the pause, I looked out the windows to the conservatory garden, and I experienced being one with nature, one with my classmates, one with the universe. It was a horrible gray and wet day. But it was perhaps the most beautiful day of my life at that exact moment. I have since had several of those moments through meditation and music practicing. The amazing fact was that this course, the most profound of my total education, was only worth ½ a credit hour. The weight of this on my GPA was insignificant. But the gift to my life was unmeasurable. Here is an invaluable lesson: life is worth what I put into it, not what someone else says its worth. Without investment, all is worthless.
Professor Melcher
The other teacher who changed my life was Mr. Melcher, one of my theory teachers. We were all in awe of him. He was “tough”, unyielding of his standards. I entered his classroom always prepared, with respect for what was about to happen, and with huge fear I was not good enough for this class at this moment. The last requirement I had to perform, before graduation, was to take his private sight reading exam. Again, the clarity of being called to Suzuki teaching has me in his office on a sunny day, in the morning for my exam. The lesson I received from him that day was priceless, profound, life changing. I’m not talking about the exam, but rather his parting words, which changed my life.
When the exam was over, the world as I knew it, stopped. He gave me an intense stare and said, “Well, what are you going to do with this education?” His question felt like I was being invited into the inner sanctum. I replied (totally floored that I did so) with: “I really don’t want to talk about my future plans, but rather that I don’t feel worthy of my diploma.” He broke out in his huge smile, looked me dead in the eye, laughed out loud, and said without flinching, “Thank God someone in this place has some sense!” That’s all he said. But I got the message…my “education” was only beginning. I really didn’t know anything yet. But with that one sentence, my fear of not knowing was removed and I was actually proud of myself for it. I left his office feeling 20 pounds lighter and very excited about the journey ahead. I couldn’t wait to be a REAL teacher!