ID: The words New Blog Post in the upper right hand corner. Beside is the title, Approaching Grief. Below the title is a silhouette of a person holding a microphone. The words Work in Progress in yellow over an orange triangle and a blue circle, in the lower left hand corner, beside the Learning to be Flexible logo.
For as long as I can remember, I have loved music. I started playing piano around age 6 and have picked up many more instruments since then. By high school, I spent most days playing music- often for many hours. As I grew older I became more serious about my music studies. For two years, I spent 6 hours every Saturday in a specialized jazz program that accepted 6 singers from my entire state. At 16, I won an award that invited me to study and perform for one week in a European city. And I eventually got a Bachelors of Music from an internationally renowned music school.
The few times I lost my voice due to illness as a kid were distressing. Singing was my primary way of expressing myself. I put in the time and effort and being a musician became a huge part of my identity. By the time I graduated high school, I had written and recorded an 18 song album, performed in Manhattan, and turned a local cafe into a popular music venue. I was booking bands twice a week and running open mic nights twice a month. As a high school kid, people would come up to me singing my original songs.
At my college entrance convocation, they warned us that going to music school meant we would never listen to music the same way. I had heard this sentiment from older musician friends, and how it can take many years to “recover” from music school. But I had spent my life working towards this goal. I couldn’t imagine any other future for myself.
My chronic illness worsening coincided with my college experience. I went to school nervous and excited to make my mark on an industry I adored, studied, and moved through easily. But as time went on, my symptoms increased. I had to choose between completing my classes and performing. It felt bizarre to be going to school, studying performance and composition, seeing my skills develop without being able to reinforce those ideas through live performance.
My degree is actually in jazz composition. I worked as a personal assistant and transcriber for a Grammy nominated jazz singer. I have worked on handwritten Kenny Werner charts. My first class in college was a performance class- which meant we had to write charts for each class and then perform them with a live band- Monday at 9AM. One of my classmates lived on the same floor in my dorm, and didn’t have as much experience with chart writing. She was extremely talented and I spent many a Sunday evening editing her charts and singing with her. She won a Grammy in 2019. Another friend from that class sang a song for a movie soundtrack that was also nominated for a Grammy and won her a national cultural award from her home country.
I play a lot of piano and guitar and have also played trombone since I was 9. In college I played trombone and sang in a friend’s senior recital as a way to blow off some steam. It was a lot of fun and I wasn’t being graded on it- my principal instrument was voice. This propelled me into a few other opportunities to play trombone. I had the pleasure of playing in a quartet that was trumpet, trombone, and saxophone backing an immensely talented rapper. Directly after graduation I was invited to tour with a friend’s big jam band as their trombonist. In a lot of ways it was my dream- I could show up, play music, and get paid while giving me time to focus on my own compositions and other musical goals. I didn’t have to be the bandleader who was out getting gigs and promoting my music. Both things that had become too exhausting in recent years.
By that point, I was too sick to tour. My health had continued to decline through college, in part due to a lack of understanding and treatment from my medical team and myself. I spent my senior year of college throwing up most mornings and sleeping 12-18 hours a day. I was diagnosed with atlas orthogonal misalignment (the top vertebrae that holds my head was twisted and tilted) and gluten, lactose, and fructose (a naturally occurring sugar in fruits and vegetables) intolerance. I often wonder how I managed to graduate. There was a saying about my school, “easiest to get into, hardest to get out of.” My graduating class had a more than 80% drop out rate. In part because people get jobs or gigs and leave before graduation, and in part because it is a very challenging and demanding music school.
I got a job at one of the biggest music venues in the area where I studied. I worked as a waitress and bartender while also slowly working my way up to booking my own night- a jazz open jam with a live house band. Working as a bartender wasn’t my plan or first choice. But I knew I couldn’t swing a 9-5 job, and I had found a way to work in the music industry. One night, I had to walk through another show to grab some beer. It was Talib Kweli performing Lonely People. The joy I felt working in a place where I was constantly surrounded by great music was powerful. However, the physical labor of restaurant work proved too much for my body so I pivoted to teaching music. I was playing music everyday and still writing and performing when I could. After a few years, even teaching and performing was too demanding. I was deemed physically disabled by the federal government at 28.
Fast forward five years. Between my physical limitations and my grief over losing my career and future, playing music is loaded for me. I still write music and play when I can. I have never completely stopped playing. But my physical abilities have shifted drastically. I cannot play any instrument for more than 30 minutes and in many cases it’s closer to 15 minutes. Holding a trombone or guitar (even with a strap) can be burdensome. The voice that I poured thousands of hours of work into is unfamiliar to me. I’ve been diagnosed with fragmented peristalsis, which means uncoordinated swallowing. For me, it can feel like my throat doesn’t work the way I want it to. And most heartbreaking of all- I am not performing. Logically this all makes sense, we all grow and change. And I know with gentle determination I can work to regain these skills. I know acutely what a music teacher would recommend for me, because I am a music teacher! And yet, I still find it hard to actually do.
I hate to admit it, but my chronic illness has changed the way I experience music. I haven’t listened to music for enjoyment for many years. Often, because it makes me too sad. It makes me miss creating and performing music. I feel like this grief and disconnect started because my career was not launching the way I had hoped and I was working to reconfigure my life in a way that allowed me to be involved in music while also admitting my limitations. But as my condition worsened, I shut down and cut out music for enjoyment. I didn’t want to face the wall of grief I knew was waiting for me. So I didn’t, for many years. But I also knew that the only way back to music was through the grief.
I had to face the heartbreak. And I’ve recently started doing just that. Yesterday, I listened to a complete album that I had never heard before (Pain and Pleasure by Dr. Hook & The Medicine Show). Today I listened to a long time favorite CD* while driving instead of a podcast. I’m playing music for myself again- I recently played Nature Boy on the piano and worked out the bridge to a song I wrote over 15 years ago and couldn’t find music for. I recently arranged Train’s When I Look to the Sky on my grandmother’s circa 1950 pipe organ. And I’ve been playing the electric bass my Dad built. Trombone is pushing my breath capacity, singing is highlighting my chronic dehydration, and playing piano and guitar requires many specific finger braces. But I’m doing it. Even if I’m crying while I do it.
In some ways, reconnecting with music feels like reconnecting with a distant part of myself. A past version that was optimistic and open to a world of possibilities. I truly believed that as long as I was able to work in music I would be fulfilled. For me, losing the ability to work meant so much more than losing my income. Losing the ability to perform and play music for many hours, with ease and enjoyment felt like losing a part of myself. And maybe I did. Playing music was how I processed the world around me. The grief surrounding music felt impenetrable. But I am ready to do the work to return to music. I have lost many abilities and worked to accept that. But losing my voice has felt different. It was wrapped in so much grief that it has taken me 10 years since my college graduation to find my way back to it. I’m not sure what I will unearth as I play more music. But I’m unwilling to waste any more time being afraid. Wish me luck- we’re all works in progress.
*The CD is Regina Spektor. Can you guess the album? Drop your thoughts in the comments section.
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