Getting back on the horse

In all my recent nomadic years where every nine months seems to bring a new set of challenges, acquaintances, and Craigslist furniture, this has been the most difficult transition yet.  You'd think finishing graduate school, saving up some money, and moving to the most populous city in the country would be straightforward.  Hell, lots of poorer, stupider people move to New York in their mid-20s, I told myself, I will definitely do better than them.

Breaded eggplant pizza-my true friend.

But for reasons I'd rather not go into in this less-private-than-it-feels-like forum, I've had a rough summer.  Aspects of my life that felt stable aren't so stable at the moment, and I've eaten far more greasy slices of pizza in the last three weeks than I would care to admit.  It's also been, significantly, the worst practice summer of my recent memory.  Some of that is to be expected.  Graduating school, finishing regular lessons (possibly forever), crashing on a different couch or mattress every 10 days, not the recipe for my daily three-hour dose of problem solving with my favorite hunk of metal.  But then I wonder, is my whirlwind of a summer the cause of my practice hiatus, or is it the reverse?

It may sound superstitious, petty, or just over the top, but practicing my horn on a regular basis is my method of survival.  We all have things in this world that keep us waking, working, and smiling.  The cheesy word for that is a calling, but since I don't believe in the guy behind the megaphone, I just call it passion.  For a brief period of time every day, I get in touch with something outside of myself, outside of my head, outside of sheer necessity.  I work for no one but myself and my future dreams.  I've been out of touch with that deeper, stronger person, with my inner musician, and I'll be damned but my emotional life turns to shit when she's MIA.

It'll be just like this, except for a horn instead of baby Simba.

But she's back now.  At least I think.  I'm starting a job in a few weeks as a professional musician.  My profession is playing my instrument.  I still can't wrap my head around it, and simultaneously fretting about all the hours lost this summer isn't helping.  But slowly, gradually, and as always, I will get back into shape.  I will re-train my lips, my lungs, my ears, and annoy the hell out of my new roommates.  The fog will lift, the sun will shine, the birds will sing if I can just...practice.

After all, to paraphrase a wise Post-It note from my most recent sublet, "Practicing is hard.  Coal mining is harder."