Well, it's officially the third summer of the American Kodaly Institute at Loyola College in Baltimore! Edie (my darling roommate) and I are back on our familiar schedule of working hard all day and cutting up and eating out at night......ok, ok, I admit it, we cut up during the day, too. I'm teaching three solfa classes back-to-back in the mornings, so everything from 8am until 12:30pm is kind of a blur. It's only the second day of classes, but I feel like it's been weeks. The students are, as usual, of all ilks, shapes, and kinds, and the new crop of first-years seem particularly sweet and fastidious. Baltimore weather is milder than usual this year, which makes for nicer sleeping and walking-to-class and eating-lunch-outside weather - a welcome relief, and a particular benefit for dust-mite-afflicted me...it's hard to be teaching in a semi-damp basement all day with my particular affliction, so it's especially nice to take a little journey outside.
Despite the nicer-than-usual weather, the lively and engaging students, and the chance to see old friends, I have to admit....I'm having a little trouble adjusting and being present here. It just seems like there's a lot to worry about back home, and it's been hard to even find a moment to sit and get back into my blogging routine. So, I've decided my mission for this year is to strive to be present where I am. So, in that spirit...I'm eating a creamsicle and trying to chill out and concentrating on experiencing more than judging....for a change.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Least Fan Stirred
I would quote the Dickinson poem I'm referencing above, but I darkly suspect that it would make me weep. Maybe I'll risk it later....
It has been a wild couple of days -- Friday was a choir party kickoff/housewarming party at my little abode...I worked off several body parts getting everything all in presentable order. But, the party was, in general, a success, despite the best efforts of Mother Nature to freeze us out so early in September. Choral singers are a hardy lot, however, and we cuddled up in blankets (and graciously loaned chairs!) when necessary and ...ahem... drank in order to stay warm. I have a lovely vase of gladiolas, a quilted centerpiece, cards, and a fridge full of beer to remember the evening by, and I feel lucky to work with such nice folks.
Saturday, I drove out to the airport to see my beloved Spinster, who is due to have her first baby one week from today. We went to brunch at Annie's, then ambled over to the Tattered Cover for a coffee and a browse. I brought her back to the airport (to meet her mom, another dear lady!) and I thought my heart might explode when I realized that we'd known each other for a decade, and the next time I see her, she'll be mama to Melise Gabrielle, a new and wonderful person making her debut in this old world. Little time for reflection that day, though, as I ran back home to rehearse with a bright, funny, and talented klatsch of teenagers, then straight into an evening service.
Sunday was the usual whirlwind of three services in the morning, complicated further by two new liturgies and the reinstatement of the choir season. It all went well, then a quick run over to the European Festival across the way, then home for a little snooze, then....off to the north for my first rehearsal as assistant conductor of the Denver Gay Men's Chorus. The conductor is a beloved and longtime friend, and I am already completely taken with the chorus members. Our plan is for me to run a 6-week course in music fundamentals for interested choir members, and a rep from another chorus in the area has already asked if I'd like to do the same for them. I am so excited for the possibilities of this....it is the intersection of what makes me the happiest (teaching musical literacy) and exactly what this group of people already seems to be looking for, and I realize this doesn't happen every day.
Today, I taught my cute little violinists in the late morning, and now I sit at Stella's, anticipating the pleasure of the first official rehearsal of the Colorado Conductors' Choir, seeing dear friends, and making good music purely for its own sake....and another bit of something else, a bit of dissonance that I'm a little nervous about, both for its own sake and because of what it could mean later. But, it will be what it will be.
Anyway, the point of all this is that it was all preceded by Wednesday evening and a conversation with my dear friend Stewart. I was bemoaning to him the people who have been lining up to fight since Baltimore's change of my heart. He, in his Sagittarian wit and wisdom, replied:
"Yes, but on the other side, there are people lining up to help you."
Good one, Stew.
He's exactly right. And while there are people who I can't even read about right now without flipping off my computer screen (and rightly so!), there truly is a whole collection of folks who are lined up to help. I can and will walk with them down this next road, and I will be just fine -- in fact, it will be better than before.
The world feels dusty when we stop to die.
We want the dew then - honors taste dry.
Flags vex a dying face - but,
The least fan stirred by a friend's hand
Cools like the rain.
Mine be the ministry when thy thirst comes:
Dews of thyself to fetch,
And holy balms.
It has been a wild couple of days -- Friday was a choir party kickoff/housewarming party at my little abode...I worked off several body parts getting everything all in presentable order. But, the party was, in general, a success, despite the best efforts of Mother Nature to freeze us out so early in September. Choral singers are a hardy lot, however, and we cuddled up in blankets (and graciously loaned chairs!) when necessary and ...ahem... drank in order to stay warm. I have a lovely vase of gladiolas, a quilted centerpiece, cards, and a fridge full of beer to remember the evening by, and I feel lucky to work with such nice folks.
Saturday, I drove out to the airport to see my beloved Spinster, who is due to have her first baby one week from today. We went to brunch at Annie's, then ambled over to the Tattered Cover for a coffee and a browse. I brought her back to the airport (to meet her mom, another dear lady!) and I thought my heart might explode when I realized that we'd known each other for a decade, and the next time I see her, she'll be mama to Melise Gabrielle, a new and wonderful person making her debut in this old world. Little time for reflection that day, though, as I ran back home to rehearse with a bright, funny, and talented klatsch of teenagers, then straight into an evening service.
Sunday was the usual whirlwind of three services in the morning, complicated further by two new liturgies and the reinstatement of the choir season. It all went well, then a quick run over to the European Festival across the way, then home for a little snooze, then....off to the north for my first rehearsal as assistant conductor of the Denver Gay Men's Chorus. The conductor is a beloved and longtime friend, and I am already completely taken with the chorus members. Our plan is for me to run a 6-week course in music fundamentals for interested choir members, and a rep from another chorus in the area has already asked if I'd like to do the same for them. I am so excited for the possibilities of this....it is the intersection of what makes me the happiest (teaching musical literacy) and exactly what this group of people already seems to be looking for, and I realize this doesn't happen every day.
Today, I taught my cute little violinists in the late morning, and now I sit at Stella's, anticipating the pleasure of the first official rehearsal of the Colorado Conductors' Choir, seeing dear friends, and making good music purely for its own sake....and another bit of something else, a bit of dissonance that I'm a little nervous about, both for its own sake and because of what it could mean later. But, it will be what it will be.
Anyway, the point of all this is that it was all preceded by Wednesday evening and a conversation with my dear friend Stewart. I was bemoaning to him the people who have been lining up to fight since Baltimore's change of my heart. He, in his Sagittarian wit and wisdom, replied:
"Yes, but on the other side, there are people lining up to help you."
Good one, Stew.
He's exactly right. And while there are people who I can't even read about right now without flipping off my computer screen (and rightly so!), there truly is a whole collection of folks who are lined up to help. I can and will walk with them down this next road, and I will be just fine -- in fact, it will be better than before.
The world feels dusty when we stop to die.
We want the dew then - honors taste dry.
Flags vex a dying face - but,
The least fan stirred by a friend's hand
Cools like the rain.
Mine be the ministry when thy thirst comes:
Dews of thyself to fetch,
And holy balms.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Is this the way it always is?
Well, I'm about 2 weeks tardy on this posting, but these things happen in the blogosphere. I'm back home in CO, and I miss Baltimore. It's a little like coming back from summer camp -- life was turned upside down, re-structured, re-invented with new characters, a new and intense routine, and a way of being that for me was a personal revolution.
I decided that I really was worth it.
And now, on the other side, I feel a little fearful of this discovery. I still feel it inside of me, and the gears have already moved to make things at home change. The people around me who send me conflicting messages about my worth or competence have (predictably, I suppose) lined up to have a fight with me about my change of mind and heart. It's peculiar, how quickly word seems to get out in the universe when these kinds of changes take place. I am still afraid I will relapse, that I will decide it's too hard, that I've already backed away and already decided to sell myself short. Conversely, I'm also afraid I will go too far, that I've already gone too far, and that I have created a situation where the people who matter to me will leave because I am too brash, too confident, too arrogant. I suppose these opposed fears give me valuable points of reference, though....because they cannot be simultaneously true.
1. I am so grateful I made this record of the Baltimore experience of 2008. I now have the luxury of pulling this up whenever I need to remind myself that yes, this was what I saw and how I felt and what happened inside me. It is an artifact, one that I intend to keep up, either in this form or another.
2. I am so grateful for the friends I have who have not recoiled, but have looked at me and my perspective and have been so kind as to affirm me, even though it might not have anything to do with them. It shows me in a way I can't talk myself out of that truly, there are and always have been people in the world and in my life who are interested in me even when it doesn't serve them. It shows me that I am loved, that I don't need to doubt that ever again. Thank you.
3. I am grateful for pedicures and low humidity, my beech fiber sheets and my pretty hardwood floors, and a thousand creature comforts that remind me that yes, indeed, I have made a home in a place I like, even if I eventually need to outgrow it and leave it behind.
4. I am grateful for the unpredictability of life, and that I really do have what it takes to adapt, change my mind and (eventually) my instincts. I am grateful that the changes on the outside coupled with being available for changes on the the inside mean that I really can still surprise myself with both mistakes and good choices.
5. I am grateful for my overactive conscience, though it leads me to believe sometimes that everything everywhere is my fault....it also leads me to seek the truth inside and outside, and that it will not allow me to sin against others and myself forever. I can rely upon it to make me uncomfortable enough to change. And, coupled with number 4....
6. I am grateful that anything is possible.
Charles Schilling, professor emeritus of University of the Pacific, once said to me:
"You can do anything. You just don't look like you can do anything."
And it was perhaps just the statement of a slightly batty organist. However, there's something meaningful in there - competence comes up for question mostly because a person shows weakness or lack of confidence. So now, I feel like in my heart and head, I know what I'm worth. Now I just have to start believing it enough to risk looking like it. And I don't know what it will look like, I don't know if it will always mean (like it means right now) that people are feeling like I'm suddenly combative. But, I'm going to risk finding out.
I decided that I really was worth it.
And now, on the other side, I feel a little fearful of this discovery. I still feel it inside of me, and the gears have already moved to make things at home change. The people around me who send me conflicting messages about my worth or competence have (predictably, I suppose) lined up to have a fight with me about my change of mind and heart. It's peculiar, how quickly word seems to get out in the universe when these kinds of changes take place. I am still afraid I will relapse, that I will decide it's too hard, that I've already backed away and already decided to sell myself short. Conversely, I'm also afraid I will go too far, that I've already gone too far, and that I have created a situation where the people who matter to me will leave because I am too brash, too confident, too arrogant. I suppose these opposed fears give me valuable points of reference, though....because they cannot be simultaneously true.
1. I am so grateful I made this record of the Baltimore experience of 2008. I now have the luxury of pulling this up whenever I need to remind myself that yes, this was what I saw and how I felt and what happened inside me. It is an artifact, one that I intend to keep up, either in this form or another.
2. I am so grateful for the friends I have who have not recoiled, but have looked at me and my perspective and have been so kind as to affirm me, even though it might not have anything to do with them. It shows me in a way I can't talk myself out of that truly, there are and always have been people in the world and in my life who are interested in me even when it doesn't serve them. It shows me that I am loved, that I don't need to doubt that ever again. Thank you.
3. I am grateful for pedicures and low humidity, my beech fiber sheets and my pretty hardwood floors, and a thousand creature comforts that remind me that yes, indeed, I have made a home in a place I like, even if I eventually need to outgrow it and leave it behind.
4. I am grateful for the unpredictability of life, and that I really do have what it takes to adapt, change my mind and (eventually) my instincts. I am grateful that the changes on the outside coupled with being available for changes on the the inside mean that I really can still surprise myself with both mistakes and good choices.
5. I am grateful for my overactive conscience, though it leads me to believe sometimes that everything everywhere is my fault....it also leads me to seek the truth inside and outside, and that it will not allow me to sin against others and myself forever. I can rely upon it to make me uncomfortable enough to change. And, coupled with number 4....
6. I am grateful that anything is possible.
Charles Schilling, professor emeritus of University of the Pacific, once said to me:
"You can do anything. You just don't look like you can do anything."
And it was perhaps just the statement of a slightly batty organist. However, there's something meaningful in there - competence comes up for question mostly because a person shows weakness or lack of confidence. So now, I feel like in my heart and head, I know what I'm worth. Now I just have to start believing it enough to risk looking like it. And I don't know what it will look like, I don't know if it will always mean (like it means right now) that people are feeling like I'm suddenly combative. But, I'm going to risk finding out.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Klutz
I'm a klutz.
Always have been, really, though I've been in denial about it for most of my life. You see, it was one of those hot buttons in my life, something people would say about me that I just didn't want to be true, so I became really neurotic about it and refused to do lots of things because I didn't want to look or feel klutzy. Mostly, I hid that part of myself away, because I felt ashamed of it.
Thanks to Edie, my dear Baltimore roommate, I've read the first two books in the Twilight Saga, and have been introduced to Bella, the world's most accident-prone heroine. And, I've decided in light of those books to accept my klutziness as something that makes me me and call it all good.
1. I'm grateful that I sometimes come upon ordinary things that help me make extraordinary choices.
2. I am grateful that I'm learning to draw boundaries -- to say to the things and people that bother me, "There's going to have to be room in this town for the both of us, so we're just going to have to find a way to live alongside one another and get along. Stay on your side of the fence."
It suddenly seems like a good alternative to my usual raging-against-the-machine response.
3. I am grateful for vindication, in small things and big things, and I am grateful that I'm learning not to dance on anyone's grave when redemption day comes. This has been a time of learning to be a graceful winner, and while I haven't been perfect, I've stayed in check more often than not.
4. I am grateful that, after the dust of vindication settles, it is possible to be a more useful person to the situation that was such a struggle in the first place. So now, since I have had the experience of watching this happen here in a walled-off part of life, I want to see if the same can happen with the other 49 weeks of the year in the place where I live. I want to believe that conflicts can be resolved and everyone concerned can be happier and healthier on the other side. Lofty, but achievable, it seems.
PS: The picture is Loyola's Tudor mansion...a beautiful building right across from the music building. Did I mention that this part of the world is chock full of recusant history? Yeah, I've been having thesis-related flashbacks because of all the Cecils and Howards and Arundels and Campions all over the place...
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Mode Mixture
So, in music, there's this little trick some composers play -- they compose a piece in a major key, but when the moment is right, sometimes they borrow a harmony or two from the minor key that shares a home tone with the overall major key....the result is not a sea change, but it does alter the landscape and color things in a different hue...in Verdi, it often happens near the Italian word "misterioso", a good descriptor for the overall effect, commonly referred to as "mode mixture".
1. I am grateful for the little glimmers of understanding that sometimes pop up for me when I'm not necessaril looking for them -- little metaphors that connect events to people or offer insight into a person's struggles. These connections help us to find a new path in a familiar neighborhood, not unlike....mode mixture
2. I am grateful that I learned a certain amount of patience early on in my life (though more by force than by preference), because now, when nerves are at their most raw for my poor, over-stressed students, it is easier to listen and have compassion and overlook and appreciate what comes...so, by knowing darkness before, it equips me to help others through their dark places, even if I'm not in the dark myself at that moment. Not unlike....mode mixture.
3. I am grateful for unexpected spots of good humor and creativity coming my way from folks who are really too tired to think about anything....it says a lot about the people they are inside that, when their energy is at a low ebb, they send some of what they have in my direction. I'd like to think they can take from me as I thankfully accept their offerings....not unlike....mode mixture.
4. I am grateful that music is an art that encompasses many people and tastes and experiences...and that one can find or use a "classical" concept like mode mixture in pop music. So, I close with the lyrics to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"....which will be served up to my Level 2's tomorrow morning for a taste of something different....mixing modes of relaxation and work.
I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord,
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Your faith was strong, but you needed proof....you saw her bathing on the roof,
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair,
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Maybe I've been here before -- I've seen this room, I've walked this floor,
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch: Love is not a victory march,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
There was a time you let me know what's really going on below,
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving, too,
And every breath we drew was hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
1. I am grateful for the little glimmers of understanding that sometimes pop up for me when I'm not necessaril looking for them -- little metaphors that connect events to people or offer insight into a person's struggles. These connections help us to find a new path in a familiar neighborhood, not unlike....mode mixture
2. I am grateful that I learned a certain amount of patience early on in my life (though more by force than by preference), because now, when nerves are at their most raw for my poor, over-stressed students, it is easier to listen and have compassion and overlook and appreciate what comes...so, by knowing darkness before, it equips me to help others through their dark places, even if I'm not in the dark myself at that moment. Not unlike....mode mixture.
3. I am grateful for unexpected spots of good humor and creativity coming my way from folks who are really too tired to think about anything....it says a lot about the people they are inside that, when their energy is at a low ebb, they send some of what they have in my direction. I'd like to think they can take from me as I thankfully accept their offerings....not unlike....mode mixture.
4. I am grateful that music is an art that encompasses many people and tastes and experiences...and that one can find or use a "classical" concept like mode mixture in pop music. So, I close with the lyrics to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"....which will be served up to my Level 2's tomorrow morning for a taste of something different....mixing modes of relaxation and work.
I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord,
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Your faith was strong, but you needed proof....you saw her bathing on the roof,
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair,
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Maybe I've been here before -- I've seen this room, I've walked this floor,
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch: Love is not a victory march,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
There was a time you let me know what's really going on below,
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving, too,
And every breath we drew was hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Identity Crisis
Yeah, I know....sounds dramatic, isn't really. Just a continuation of the same kinds of stuff...the everyday stuff of working with bright, creative people - a fight here, an alliance there, breathtaking compliments, shocking disrespect, unlooked-for and deep-rooted connections. Plus, links to my past - things I forgot about almost completely.
1. I am grateful for the people who taught me, who came along beside me when I was just your typical precocious (and probably a little sophomoric and a little dogmatic and a lot naive) kiddo and helped me be somebody. They were patient with me, and because of that, I can and must find it in my heart to be patient with the students who (like me) just want to be somebody....even when they go about it in a way that is loud, obnoxious, or even disrespectful. Someone met me where I was when I was just getting started, and I now have the duty of honoring that tradition by meeting my students where they are.
2. I am grateful for the students who challenge me -- even when I get pissed off about it, even when they're out of line. Why? Because it's a sign that they're listening, and it's a way to open dialogue if we all play our cards right. Besides, I feel like I'm paying back a certain amount of karma by having that happen to me....I didn't exactly make my "Form and Process in Music" professor's life easy back in sophomore year when I knew EVERYTHING and he never seemed to have a declarative sentence for ANYTHING (sorry, Dr. Wood...). Honestly, being on the other side actually makes me feel a little more normal.
3. I am grateful that I am learning to take a compliment graciously. I have a student who is probably in her late 50's, and she has been doing what she does since before I was born. Now, she is a great musician, and she told me today that she was dreading my class when she entered this program, thinking it would be pretty much a waste of time and rehashing what she already knew. She went on to say that she's really enjoying my class and is learning lots of things...and she looked me in the eye and said, "You're a great teacher, and a great teacher of this subject." I sort of get teary when that kind of thing happens. This woman knows what she needs to know to do what she needs to do, and yet, her attitude is such that she reaches out to affirm a person when she doesn't stand to gain anything by doing so. The best gift I can offer in return is my sincere thanks and profound respect for the gifts she gives the world by choosing to live in the way she does. And really, I think that's what it must mean to accept a compliment -- to take it, but realize it says a lot more about the speaker than it does about me.
4. I am glad that my students and my colleagues feel that they can be candid and vulnerable with me. There was a little drama today, and I was in the midst of a fair amount of it, and there was a certain amount of information flying my way that had nothing to do with me...and it wasn't crazy-making for me, and it didn't create more drama, and I think we even all managed to collaborate to mitigate the drama, assuage hurt feelings, and generally make things better and calmer for everyone. It certainly wasn't just me, but I was glad for the positive role I was able to play.
May the light of truth dispel the darkness and save all beings from suffering.
1. I am grateful for the people who taught me, who came along beside me when I was just your typical precocious (and probably a little sophomoric and a little dogmatic and a lot naive) kiddo and helped me be somebody. They were patient with me, and because of that, I can and must find it in my heart to be patient with the students who (like me) just want to be somebody....even when they go about it in a way that is loud, obnoxious, or even disrespectful. Someone met me where I was when I was just getting started, and I now have the duty of honoring that tradition by meeting my students where they are.
2. I am grateful for the students who challenge me -- even when I get pissed off about it, even when they're out of line. Why? Because it's a sign that they're listening, and it's a way to open dialogue if we all play our cards right. Besides, I feel like I'm paying back a certain amount of karma by having that happen to me....I didn't exactly make my "Form and Process in Music" professor's life easy back in sophomore year when I knew EVERYTHING and he never seemed to have a declarative sentence for ANYTHING (sorry, Dr. Wood...). Honestly, being on the other side actually makes me feel a little more normal.
3. I am grateful that I am learning to take a compliment graciously. I have a student who is probably in her late 50's, and she has been doing what she does since before I was born. Now, she is a great musician, and she told me today that she was dreading my class when she entered this program, thinking it would be pretty much a waste of time and rehashing what she already knew. She went on to say that she's really enjoying my class and is learning lots of things...and she looked me in the eye and said, "You're a great teacher, and a great teacher of this subject." I sort of get teary when that kind of thing happens. This woman knows what she needs to know to do what she needs to do, and yet, her attitude is such that she reaches out to affirm a person when she doesn't stand to gain anything by doing so. The best gift I can offer in return is my sincere thanks and profound respect for the gifts she gives the world by choosing to live in the way she does. And really, I think that's what it must mean to accept a compliment -- to take it, but realize it says a lot more about the speaker than it does about me.
4. I am glad that my students and my colleagues feel that they can be candid and vulnerable with me. There was a little drama today, and I was in the midst of a fair amount of it, and there was a certain amount of information flying my way that had nothing to do with me...and it wasn't crazy-making for me, and it didn't create more drama, and I think we even all managed to collaborate to mitigate the drama, assuage hurt feelings, and generally make things better and calmer for everyone. It certainly wasn't just me, but I was glad for the positive role I was able to play.
May the light of truth dispel the darkness and save all beings from suffering.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Feeling the pinch
I'm less than a week away from homecoming....this time last year, I was only too thrilled to be nearly done with the Baltimore experience. This year, I'm actually feeling a little panicky about the whole thing. You see, this experience has taken me out of myself, out of a lot of the negative patterns of thinking I wasn't even awake enough to be aware of, and now that I can see it, I'm afraid of going back to regular life.
1. I am grateful for the people here and at home who have helped me see, who have affirmed me into lessons about my own worth.
2. I am grateful for the shot in the arm that this experience has been, that it has given me hope and inspiration for what is coming next.
3. I am glad that something important has happened here, even though I suspect it is precisely that and the newness of it that makes me so very nervous.
4. I am grateful for the next 5 days...my chance to steel my wool, begin to say my goodbyes, and continue to enjoy all that Baltimore has brought.
1. I am grateful for the people here and at home who have helped me see, who have affirmed me into lessons about my own worth.
2. I am grateful for the shot in the arm that this experience has been, that it has given me hope and inspiration for what is coming next.
3. I am glad that something important has happened here, even though I suspect it is precisely that and the newness of it that makes me so very nervous.
4. I am grateful for the next 5 days...my chance to steel my wool, begin to say my goodbyes, and continue to enjoy all that Baltimore has brought.
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