Letting Go
When I look back on my life, it seems most of it has been a push and pull between what I really want – a meaningful career, a lasting relationship, true happiness, choices that feed my soul – and what someone else wants for me.
Early on that someone was my parents, particularly my mother, who had definitive opinions on who and what I should be. More than anything, I believe now that she wanted me to be financially comfortable. “You can be a lawyer who plays the piano!” she said, often.
Perhaps it was the opening of career horizons to women in the 1970s that was influencing her – I had career possibilities that didn’t exist for my mother and all of that was very exciting. So, my personal choice to be a lowly teacher of elementary music was a huge disappointment to her. After all, women had held those kinds of jobs for many generations. She wanted more for me. I wanted something fulfilling and rewarding - and with the ignorance of the young, who cared about money?
Later there were people – mentors, friends, colleagues – who wanted me to pursue a full professorship. I observed my friends in that job and the stress they were under for no more money than I was making teaching elementary school. Publishing. Worrying about tenure reviews. Backbiting in their departments. No thank you. My compromise was to become an adjunct – again, low pay, no job security. But so rewarding to go in, teach my classes, help younger teachers, turn in my grades and go home. I loved it dearly.
Always, always, people expected more from me. “Publish a book!” they said. I guess I projected an air of confidence. Or something. But each time I really thought about adding more, doing more, achieving more in whatever field I was interested in at the time, I just said no. I know there were regrets along the way for opportunities not taken – seeing colleagues from grad school having highly successful careers, in demand all over the US for speaking engagements and prestigious workshops to music teachers, could make me feel jealous. And yet, I had a family. A life outside of music teaching. A community I loved.
At this age, do I regret the choices I made? Not at all. I was already too busy for much of my adult working life. All I ever wanted was time – time for family, for listening, for being in nature, for learning about all manner of things. And now I have that.
It’s actually a little weird. There is no one now (except the voices in my head) to suggest that I do more – only a beloved spouse who still urges me to do less. Financially, we're comfortable. Working is optional.
I’ve spent the last 3 years letting go – this is the last year of running my own piano studio. Next year I will only teach in a private school one afternoon a week.
I have no more committee responsibilities, no more Boards, national or local.
From the time I quit full time teaching, I began turning my search, my lifelong-learning desires, into deeper things. Starting with Alexander Techinque, I’ve continued to peel those layers back slowly and carefully. Now, I stand exposed, fully accepting of exactly who I am.
It’s time for myself, for expansiveness, for additional clarity on what fulfills the Real Me.
I might write that book. I might not.
Right now, the whole world is open. I stand looking out at it from the top of a mountain.
The way down is up to me.
Early on that someone was my parents, particularly my mother, who had definitive opinions on who and what I should be. More than anything, I believe now that she wanted me to be financially comfortable. “You can be a lawyer who plays the piano!” she said, often.
Perhaps it was the opening of career horizons to women in the 1970s that was influencing her – I had career possibilities that didn’t exist for my mother and all of that was very exciting. So, my personal choice to be a lowly teacher of elementary music was a huge disappointment to her. After all, women had held those kinds of jobs for many generations. She wanted more for me. I wanted something fulfilling and rewarding - and with the ignorance of the young, who cared about money?
Later there were people – mentors, friends, colleagues – who wanted me to pursue a full professorship. I observed my friends in that job and the stress they were under for no more money than I was making teaching elementary school. Publishing. Worrying about tenure reviews. Backbiting in their departments. No thank you. My compromise was to become an adjunct – again, low pay, no job security. But so rewarding to go in, teach my classes, help younger teachers, turn in my grades and go home. I loved it dearly.
Always, always, people expected more from me. “Publish a book!” they said. I guess I projected an air of confidence. Or something. But each time I really thought about adding more, doing more, achieving more in whatever field I was interested in at the time, I just said no. I know there were regrets along the way for opportunities not taken – seeing colleagues from grad school having highly successful careers, in demand all over the US for speaking engagements and prestigious workshops to music teachers, could make me feel jealous. And yet, I had a family. A life outside of music teaching. A community I loved.
At this age, do I regret the choices I made? Not at all. I was already too busy for much of my adult working life. All I ever wanted was time – time for family, for listening, for being in nature, for learning about all manner of things. And now I have that.
It’s actually a little weird. There is no one now (except the voices in my head) to suggest that I do more – only a beloved spouse who still urges me to do less. Financially, we're comfortable. Working is optional.
I’ve spent the last 3 years letting go – this is the last year of running my own piano studio. Next year I will only teach in a private school one afternoon a week.
I have no more committee responsibilities, no more Boards, national or local.
From the time I quit full time teaching, I began turning my search, my lifelong-learning desires, into deeper things. Starting with Alexander Techinque, I’ve continued to peel those layers back slowly and carefully. Now, I stand exposed, fully accepting of exactly who I am.
It’s time for myself, for expansiveness, for additional clarity on what fulfills the Real Me.
I might write that book. I might not.
Right now, the whole world is open. I stand looking out at it from the top of a mountain.
The way down is up to me.
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