I often say that we write our life stories by the things to which we say Yes and No. It's obvious, right? The closer we get to the end of this year, the more I find myself reflecting and trying to figure out why this ended up feeling like such a crazy year. Maybe it's been no crazier than every other year, but right now I feel an unshakeable sense of frustration at how certain things turned out.
This was a year of saying Yes to things that had a known end date, as well as things that ended earlier than anticipated. In the first half of the year, I had three part-time jobs, including a weekly restaurant gig. That was the kind of variety my creative soul craved - I enjoyed doing different things on different days. I also liked the fact that I was able to use my skills in three different sectors I loved - education, music, and the NPO sector. One of the jobs was a work-from-home arrangement, something I'd grown to enjoy during lockdown. But when you live your life a certain way, tuning into what does and doesn't work for you, you make decisions that don't necessarily make sense to others. I stayed in the teaching job until the contract ended (June), but I left both the gig (April) and the NPO project (August) of my own volition. I learnt - again - that something that starts off as a strong YES can end up evoking a strong NO. The harder realisation was that choices that feel right spiritually don't always work out materially.
Leaving the gig happened around a time when I was questioning my choices in my music life and was feeling a strong pull in the direction of performing my own material to listening audiences. In June, I did an ensemble concert at St Saviour's Church, in Claremont (Cape Town), with three musicians for whom I have great love and respect: Keith Tabisher (my duo partner since 2003), Clayton Seas (a talented guitarist and singer), and Summer Dawn (my talented daughter). I did only original material in that concert, as did Keith and Summer. That experience convinced me that that was what I needed to focus on. But more than just performing my own material, I wanted to do something as a soloist. At age 60, I felt like I had run out of excuses not to embark on that journey. I started developing, and rehearsing towards, a series of one-hour solo concerts, which I ended up calling Solo Sessions.
So far, I've done three Solo Sessions, and am busy securing venues for my next three. In the meantime, I've been approached by a poet (whose name I'll reveal once we're ready) to do a collaborative performance. It's both exciting and scary to contemplate, but my soul is wide open to collaborations with people whose work I respect.
Having said as much, I was enjoying the growing momentum of my Solo Sessions, and - for many reasons - I want to continue exploring that leg of my journey. This is not about growing numbers in any one audience. In fact, my concept is intimate concerts, in interesting spaces, to audiences of about 30. It's something into which I've put a lot of thought and it ticks boxes that have particular meaning to me. More than that, I have learnt something from each performance. And when something means that much to you, you don't stop after your third one. No matter which other collabs I take on, I will continue doing my Solo Sessions.
It's the 11th of November. I currently have one part-time job (teaching English to adults doing matric), which earns me a fraction of what I need to earn, to cover my overheads. So it's back to the drawing board, as I have to either add a second part-time job, or change jobs completely. Something full-time has come up, to which I have to respond TODAY. If I succeed at that application (very strong possibility), I have to leave my current job. (My heart breaks at the thought of leaving the students so soon after having started this journey with them.) At the same time, there's a very interesting part-time prospect that has come my way, but with no guarantee of immediate work. I'm qualified, I'm very interested, but when you enter a new sector, there's an element of risk. Struggling with the impact of risks taken this year (had to give up medical aid, etc.), I think it's time to revert to a more cautious approach.
Even though there's a rebel inside of me, shouting, "But if you persevere, you can live life on your own terms", I suppose being an adult is not quite as straightforward as that; sometimes, the Venn diagram of what you'd love to do and what you have to do doesn't have an intersection.
My ideal life, if money were not a consideration, would be to live in a cottage, with all the creature comforts (like wifi, etc.) and a cute, manageable garden, with an outside eating area. I'd be in a peaceful area, with lots of trees, but a short drive from wherever I needed to be (shops, etc.). Actually, if we're talking dream situation, I'd ditch the trees any day to live near the ocean. I'd walk on the beach every day. I'd have a comfortable chair with a lamp, where I'd catch up on all the books I possess, but have never read. I'd work from home, writing on my computer. I'd also have a music room, where I'd compose, rehearse and record. In addition to all of that, I would perform. Sometimes I'd do my Solo Sessions, and sometimes work in a duo/trio, preferably performing my own songs. I'd travel all over South Africa, sharing my music with people, for as long as I'm able to. I'd keep in touch with my family and friends, enjoying the company of people who love me as I am. I would leave South Africa, about twice a year, and travel to different countries, experiencing other languages, cultures and foods. But I think I'd always come back to the Mother City.
I'd like to think that I would always be open to new things, and that, since risk taking wouldn't be linked to my ability to pay rent, I would take risks, venturing down unknown paths, and seeing where they led.
And, lastly - because I expect my procrastination tendency to have disappeared, in my dream life - I'd put things in place to leave a legacy (of my music and writing), for when I transition to the next realm. In some ways, I've started working on this already.
I am 61 years, two months and one day old. And life, with all its ups and downs, goes on.
(I like the numbers in today's date: 11/11/22)
Very interesting
ReplyDeleteI love the sea too
I was born in Paternoster
Yes, it definitely has a deep, calming effect on one. I have never been to Paternoster, I am ashamed to admit. I plan to do so.
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