Friday 29 July 2016

Dear Heart

Dear Heart,

You seriously need to get a grip. I mean, it's all very well going for the whole omnibenevolence, flutter-at-the-site-of-anything-that-moves, type approach, but you should really stand back and take a breather. You see, the issue is, you get attached way too easily: to people (frequently of the male kind), food, items of clothing. You settle for things because they make you happy and they're safe. You know that this particular thing will get your pulse going, or the butterflies flying, or possibly the....stomach rumbling...and that it consistently does, so why try anything else?! Why venture into the unknown and risk wasting time on something that doesn't have the same effect?

Over the last few months. I've found myself listening to and creating a series of metaphors to describe and explain the current goings on in my life and how I approach matters of the heart, so here they are.

First, there was the teddy bear. In December, in the midst of my dropping-out-of-university stress mode, I attended a party. A moustache themed one no less. There, I saw a teddy bear. A really big (some might say life-size), handsome mystery of a bear. A bear that looked as if it would be great for hugs. I saw it, I discovered more about him, what he was doing there, who (if anyone) he belonged to and whether he was actually as good as he looked. I then moved on with my life, left behind the bear and spent the next 4 or so months bumbling along.

Penguin Moustache!
Then one fine day...

I was minding my own business, cooking dinner I believe, just for me. Meal for one. When I received a message asking if I wanted to see the bear again. I could spend more time with it, hug it properly, maybe even hold it's paw as I walked down the street or watched television with a new and improved meal for two. Of course!!! Yes please! Skip forward a week and I've spent two wonderful days getting to know this mysterious bear and I'm thinking of taking him home. I'd like to keep him...if I can...maybe he can even sleep next to me in my bed. So along he comes, and for dinner he stays, sitting next to me on the sofa, very cuddly, an affectionate bear. One thing led to another and then he's in my room. All going well so far I hear you say. Sounds like the bear is keen.

There's a catch.

Looking at the small print on the label, I can see a warning sign and the simple words: 'for loan only'. On calling the helpline and inquiring, I discovered that this message was no lie. You see, this bear is a one off. Unique. Many people want the bear and the bear doesn't want to settle for just one owner...So the deal is, if you want the bear, and you promise not to get too attached, you can have it for a few months, 4 at the most, but you must give it back when requested. For those four months, you can enjoy the presence of the bear, you can cuddle it to your hearts content and keep it in your bed but, whatever you do, don't expect the rules to change and be prepared to give it back when your time is up. It's even possible that while on loan to one person, it can be requested by others, for a day out or an evening affair. You'll get him back though. Until the timer goes.

A representation.
The only bear I could find...my bear was less tatty
(but as I say, and the label suggests, I had to give him back)
I pondered...Do I take the bear for the 4 months? Enjoy the time I have? Or am I too emotional? Does that risk too much pressure on the old heart, you, the recipient of this letter? I mean, he's a wonderful bear, the ideal dream image that most would have of a bear (minus the loan bit)...and I'm being given the chance to keep him...for a little while...oh f*** it. I'm in.

That's that. I turned to you, oh heart of mine, and said 'screw you', 'get a grip', 'you'll get over it', 'you've done it before'. I accepted the bear, promised a lack of attachment, said I was ready to take on this new and care-free responsibility...

Yet three and a bit months later and I sit there, happy to hear that no-one else in the last four months has spent time with my cuddly companion, but starting to notice potential new owners standing in the wings. Figures waiting to learn more about this fantastic opportunity and the personality behind this perfectly fluffy outer wrapping, and I know I failed. I knew I would from the start, because you, life-giving, emotion filled muscle, are incapable of not interfering. You took one look at that face and the way he just let me jabber on without taking a breath and sat with a smile stitched to his face, and you made a decision. Without consulting my head, you decided to make life difficult and get all fluttery. You decided to care. Urghhhh. Or is it really that bad?

I had an epiphany and the answer is no. You have officially failed.

Because here comes my second metaphor: Ice Cream.Yes, that's right Joey Tribbiani, I've stolen that one (although it could also be biscuits). I tend to live my life in a safe way. The moment I was given my first spoonful of chocolate ice cream, there was no turning back and despite the numerous holidays or even visits to Ice Cream vans and shops down the road, I refuse to diverge from what I know. Chocolate is good. Chocolate is reliable. Chocolate is delicious. If I'm feeling crazy, I might even go for Mint Choc Chip...the general rule is chocolate.

I mean...
who wants another flavour when you have this!?
Yet while I'm here acting all safe, heading for the reliable Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie (could you get more chocolate in a flavour?!) there are others discovering whole worlds of ice cream I didn't even know existed. They're trying one flavour, maybe sticking to it for a while, a couple of months, exploring the related chocolatey options, but then they're branching out. They're noticing that Raspberry Ripple in the corner and thinking 'ooooh, that looks intriguing, I'll give that a go! I've still got my trusty chocolate in the freezer if I'm not so keen on this new option.' To me, that sounds terrifying. Why would I want to try Raspberry Ripple when I've got my good old friends Ben and Jerry and their famous brownie mix already in stock.....

The annoying thing is, those crazy ice cream explorers are right! There are so many flavours to try. Some are great, and some not so much. Who knows? It's even possible that I discover the chocolate I thought was so trustworthy isn't as great as I thought. I mean, there must be a reason that I have to keep getting a new tub. Maybe this particular time, the message was: that ice cream isn't right for you. It still tastes good and you can care for it and have it now and then. The way you feel about those chocolate chips won't vanish.

BUT

Maybe the next one I try will become my new favourite and I'll never look back. Maybe that appeal will last a couple of months, maybe a couple of years, maybe forever. I just need to take a deep breath of confidence, dear heart, walk out through the door and grab a spoon....

...And possibly some kitchen roll to clear up any melty spillages created on the way.

I grabbed a spoon
Best wishes (and lots of faith that you'll get it right at some point...) your spoon grabbing, ice cream exploring friend,

Dear Heart

Dear Heart,

You seriously need to get a grip. I mean, it's all very well going for the whole omnibenevolence, flutter-at-the-site-of-anything-that-moves, type approach, but you should really stand back and take a breather. You see, the issue is, you get attached way too easily: to people (frequently of the male kind), food, items of clothing. You settle for things because they make you happy and they're safe. You know that this particular thing will get your pulse going, or the butterflies flying, or possibly the....stomach rumbling...and that it consistently does, so why try anything else?! Why venture into the unknown and risk wasting time on something that doesn't have the same effect?

Over the last few months. I've found myself listening to and creating a series of metaphors to describe and explain the current goings on in my life and how I approach matters of the heart, so here they are.

First, there was the teddy bear. In December, in the midst of my dropping-out-of-university stress mode, I attended a party. A moustache themed one no less. There, I saw a teddy bear. A really big (some might say life-size), handsome mystery of a bear. A bear that looked as if it would be great for hugs. I saw it, I discovered more about him, what he was doing there, who (if anyone) he belonged to and whether he was actually as good as he looked. I then moved on with my life, left behind the bear and spent the next 4 or so months bumbling along.

Penguin Moustache!
Then one fine day...

I was minding my own business, cooking dinner I believe, just for me. Meal for one. When I received a message asking if I wanted to see the bear again. I could spend more time with it, hug it properly, maybe even hold it's paw as I walked down the street or watched television with a new and improved meal for two. Of course!!! Yes please! Skip forward a week and I've spent two wonderful days getting to know this mysterious bear and I'm thinking of taking him home. I'd like to keep him...if I can...maybe he can even sleep next to me in my bed. So along he comes, and for dinner he stays, sitting next to me on the sofa, very cuddly, an affectionate bear. One thing led to another and then he's in my room. All going well so far I hear you say. Sounds like the bear is keen.

There's a catch.

Looking at the small print on the label, I can see a warning sign and the simple words: 'for loan only'. On calling the helpline and inquiring, I discovered that this message was no lie. You see, this bear is a one off. Unique. Many people want the bear and the bear doesn't want to settle for just one owner...So the deal is, if you want the bear, and you promise not to get too attached, you can have it for a few months, four at the most, but you must give it back when requested. For those four months, you can enjoy the presence of the bear, you can cuddle it to your hearts content and keep it in your bed but, whatever you do, don't expect the rules to change and be prepared to give it back when your time is up. It's even possible that while on loan to one person, it can be requested by others, for a day out or an evening affair. You'll get him back though. Until the timer goes.

A representation.
The only bear I could find...my bear was less tatty
(but as I say, and the label suggests, I had to give him back)
I pondered...Do I take the bear for the four months? Enjoy the time I have? Or am I too emotional? Does that risk too much pressure on the old heart, you, the recipient of this letter? I mean, he's a wonderful bear, the ideal dream image that most would have of a bear (minus the loan bit)...and I'm being given the chance to keep him...for a little while...oh f*** it. I'm in.

That's that. I turned to you, oh heart of mine, and said 'screw you', 'get a grip', 'you'll get over it', 'you've done it before'. I accepted the bear, promised a lack of attachment, said I was ready to take on this new and care-free responsibility...

Yet three and a bit months later and I sit there, happy to hear that no-one else in the last four months has spent time with my cuddly companion, but starting to notice potential new owners standing in the wings. Figures waiting to learn more about this fantastic opportunity and the personality behind this perfectly fluffy outer wrapping, and I know I failed. I knew I would from the start, because you, life-giving, emotion filled muscle, are incapable of not interfering. You took one look at that face and the way he just let me jabber on without taking a breath and sat with a smile stitched to his face, and you made a decision. Without consulting my head, you decided to make life difficult and get all fluttery. You decided to care. Urghhhh. Or is it really that bad?

I had an epiphany and the answer is no. You have officially failed.

Because here comes my second metaphor: Ice Cream.Yes, that's right Joey Tribbiani, I've stolen that one (although it could also be biscuits). I tend to live my life in a safe way. The moment I was given my first spoonful of chocolate ice cream, there was no turning back and despite the numerous holidays or even visits to Ice Cream vans and shops down the road, I refuse to diverge from what I know. Chocolate is good. Chocolate is reliable. Chocolate is delicious. If I'm feeling crazy, I might even go for Mint Choc Chip...the general rule is chocolate.

I mean...
who wants another flavour when you have this!?
Yet while I'm here acting all safe, heading for the reliable Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie (could you get more chocolate in a flavour?!) there are others discovering whole worlds of ice cream I didn't even know existed. They're trying one flavour, maybe sticking to it for a while, a couple of months, exploring the related chocolatey options, but then they're branching out. They're noticing that Raspberry Ripple in the corner and thinking 'ooooh, that looks intriguing, I'll give that a go! I've still got my trusty chocolate in the freezer if I'm not so keen on this new option.' To me, that sounds terrifying. Why would I want to try Raspberry Ripple when I've got my good old friends Ben and Jerry and their famous brownie mix already in stock.....

The annoying thing is, those crazy ice cream explorers are right! There are so many flavours to try. Some are great, and some not so much. Who knows? It's even possible that I discover the chocolate I thought was so trustworthy isn't as great as I thought. I mean, there must be a reason that I have to keep getting a new tub. Maybe this particular time, the message was: that ice cream isn't right for you. It still tastes good and you can care for it and have it now and then. The way you feel about those chocolate chips won't vanish.

BUT

Maybe the next one I try will become my new favourite and I'll never look back. Maybe that appeal will last a couple of months, maybe a couple of years, maybe forever. I just need to take a deep breath of confidence, dear heart, walk out through the door and grab a spoon....

...And possibly some kitchen roll to clear up any melty spillages created on the way.

I grabbed a spoon
Best wishes (and lots of faith that you'll get it right at some point...) your spoon grabbing, ice cream exploring friend,

Saturday 2 July 2016

Dear Forte

Dear Forte,

This is just a little note to say thank you for making my first 2 terms as a Starling so wonderful. When I think back to my first rehearsal, I remember how quiet I was and the way that my mind was running off into all the directions where things might go wrong. I'd dropped out of university a month before, I'd been put on and taken off anti-depressants, given a large supply of anti-anxiety drugs and been set up with my first CBT appointment (of this year at least...). I'd spent the last 4 months or so crying everyday as I struggled through lectures and seminars, tried to translate the alien reading and attempted to blend into the crowd of party-animal, late night-drinking, lack of sleep surviving students that seemed to surround me.

'The duke plays the fluke, the carp plays the harp'
Betcha didn't know that, eh?
I'd gone to the counselling service, I'd talked through my stresses, I'd decided to drop out and my dad had driven to Mile End, the campus bubble that held me, to pack up my room and take me home. I'd sat over dinner only a week or two before that with my Godmother. A friend who has known me all my life sat across a table from me at Byron's saying that what I needed, was a distraction. Something in my life that I love and can look forward to every week no matter how grey and dreary the rest of the days seem to be. She spoke of a choir. A company run by two lovely ladies and she knew someone who sang with them. A friend who loves it, and who once a week, no matter the weather or the bad day behind her, heads off to a room filled with a bunch of people, once strangers, now friends. A friend who sings her heart out for two hours each week and performs in the most amazing shows. She sings musicals, Disney, a bit of this, a bit of that. I'd love it. I was sure I would...but I knew I wouldn't do anything. I'd just go back to my room and try and block out the world again.

Two Months later and there I was. Pimlico, first rehearsal. Meeting and greeting a group of strangers, who's names I was surely never going to learn, laughing, and smiling! It's 6 months on now and I can't say I remember much about those first few rehearsals. There were many getting-to-know-you type games and many instances where, as we began to sing old numbers, sung before by the majority, I felt I was never going to be good enough. I can't read music so I would never be able to learn 'Shake it off' or that one I really like...the one about Holy Cows and liking someone's eyes. But each week, my confidence grew. I'd go home, spend any free time I had listening to the rehearsal tracks, looking at the lyrics, and I'd stand taller the next Tuesday, singing to my hearts content.

Look at the likes! Get the reference?
My first performance was in March. A cabaret event. My mum, godmother and friend sat in the front row, just in front of the stage where I stood shoulder to shoulder with my new favourite group of people. I loved being up there, on the stage, the vague silhouettes of an audience in front, OneRepublic's lyrics echoing throughout the room. I loved hearing the solos and the voices of the other choirs, seeing a confidence shine out of people who's voices may not always have felt so loud.

Why so serious? Because we're waiting...or counting stars
That's what we are, you see, we're a group of people, ordinary, working or studying people, who go through life's ups and downs: Break-ups, babies, weddings, losing jobs, getting new ones, moving house and losing people we care about. We're human and we don't pretend that we're not. We sit, a group of us, in the pub before rehearsal and drink and eat while we talk about our week. Congratulate friends on their successes and commiserate for things that have been lost. We're a force to be reckoned with: you hurt one, you hurt us all. You help one and we'll all be there to thank you, we'll just do it through the art of singing.

Half way through rehearsal and we'll sit, cakes in hand, catching up, having a laugh, before we carry on singing. Cake is all the more important when you're starting choreography...this I have learnt...Choreography is hard when you fail to identify your left from your right...this I have also learnt. Forte, I love. This...I know.

Then this week, brought round the last rehearsal of the term. The last rehearsal until September when I will no longer call myself a baby Starling in the nest of Forte I call home. New people will join and I'll be part of the group that, 6 months ago, made me fall in love with singing all over again. Yet, while I'm celebrating my new status of the old rather than the new, the end of a year is the time at which we must wave some of the Starlings goodbye. Rehearsal on Tuesday was beautiful. Full of laughter and love. From the warm up activity where a hug was given to all of those in the room, to the final moment at the end where we hugged Laura, our Starling flying the nest. We hugged and we sang.

I love you all my Forte Family
The thing about Forte though, and Starling Arts as a whole, is that there is never really a goodbye. Once you've hatched into the nest, you're family and there's no turning back. Tuesday was sad but when you're a Starling, you're a Starling for life.

As we sang, and we said goodbye, I realised, for the first time, how different I am compared to when I walked through those doors in January. We stood round the piano, and the words surrounded my head and made me smile. Six months ago, on a Tuesday evening, I would have just finished a day of lectures and seminars, during which I would have felt ten times stupider than the week before, if that was even possible. I would probably be sitting in my room or lying on my bed, trying to psyche myself up to do anything, whether it be trying to read the notes I don't understand for Friday, or even find myself some food. Two Hours later and I'd probably still have been sitting in the same spot, probably crying and probably struggling, ever-so-slightly, to breathe.

...and my Starling Arts family

However:

I've heard it said,
That people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are led to those
Who help us most to grow if we let them.
And we help them in return.
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

So thank you Forte. Thank you for helping me to breathe again, and most importantly, for putting a smile back on my face.

I know I am who I am today because I know you.

I mean? What's not to love about this bunch of crazy humans!
Holy Cow, I love you all!