Perfect Compromise

It’s a beautiful, sunny late-summer's day. The wind’s gusting, which means the laundry I’m about to do will all be dry before the end of the day. Weekends are typically when I do my housework, because the week is really busy. When I have commitments on a Saturday, I’m forced to spend most of the Sunday slogging away at domestic chores, most of which are merely preparation for the next busy week. It’s a cycle that can be reassuring at times (“Life goes on”), but can also make one wonder whether one actually has a life, if everyone lives like this, or if there’s some other reality that has somehow escaped one, like a life where weekends are about relaxing. Sometimes it just feels relentless, unforgiving, and way too demanding.

So, in order to cope, we have to infuse little things into our lives that provide some form of entertainment - a respite, an escape. As long as it’s not hurting you or anyone else, it really doesn’t matter what you do to achieve that release. You have to have a strategy for getting through life, which can be very exacting.

(This might sound weird, but I’ve got the movie Chocolat playing, with the sound off, while I’m typing. It’s my favourite movie. I love everything about it – the setting, the colours, the costumes, the characters, the story, the theme, the music, and - of course - the actors, especially Juliette Binoche, Judi Dench, Lena Olin and Johnny Depp.  Central to the story is the role of the mayor, played by Alfred Molina, who knows just how to play a convincing villain.)

After typing this blog, I’ll get stuck into the week's laundry. Still without a washing machine, I’m stuck with doing everything by hand. I’m used to it now, after a few years, but 2015 is the year I get a washing machine, even if it means buying one on hire purchase (something I’ve consciously avoided for many years). When the weather’s this sunny and windy, it’s just tiring to do the work, but I have the assurance that everything will get dry – it’s in winter, when we have thicker clothes, as well as rain and limited daylight hours, that I really struggle.

I like the feeling of a Sunday, despite my whine about housework. I’m lucky to have the kind of disposition that bounces back fairly quickly, and wants to see the good in a situation. But there’s something else in my life making me feel wonderful, which is what I want to write about.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know I’m a musician, and that music is my oxygen, the thing that keeps me going, no matter what else is happening in my world.

Well, a few weeks ago, I started a solo gig at a restaurant (seats about 80 - 100) a few kilometres from where I live. It’s called Sabria’s, and it’s a halaal restauarant in Ottery Road, Wynberg. I started on Saturday 31 January, and, during my first break, was offered a second night per week, something I could never have anticipated. I now perform there every Tuesday, from 19h00 – 21h00, and every Saturday, from 19h00 – 22h00. I love every minute of it!

 

A selfie taken about a week ago, during my break, at Sabria's Restaurant, in Wynberg, where I play on Tuesday and Saturday nights.

I get there, set up my equipment, do a brief sound check, and start playing. I basically play whatever makes me happy. I check the people’s responses, and get a sense of what they like. The next time, I add a few new songs, check the response, and so on and so on. It’s a constant process of balancing what I like with what the general clientele like. I love it!

After 37 years of playing my guitar, and about 27 years of fairly consistent gigging, I have a huge repertoire, and one of my constant hungers is sourcing and adding new songs. I have about 16 flip files full of songs, ranging from 1920s material to recent hits.  I generally know how to read a crowd, but I’m also at peace with the fact that when I sing a song I love, it comes across well, and people like it. I’ve learnt how to work with my voice, how to choose songs and keys that don’t strain it, and, most importantly, that, when you do something you love, and you do it from your heart, not mechanically, the authenticity is what resonates with people, and what makes the outcome successful.

More than that, I do feel incredibly blessed to be able to do what I love, and that it’s something that makes people happy. I’m at peace with the fact that I’m not a full-time musician. Actually, in my heart and head, I am – I just happen to also have a day job, with a monthly salary that keeps the wheels turning for my little family.  The more I think about it, the more I realise what a perfect compromise it is, especially because I love my day job (teaching English), as well.

In recent years, I spent some time being a full-time musician - teaching guitar lessons and gigging – but it was not sustainable for me, as a single parent without assistance. I didn’t like the uncertainty of it, nor the fact that I couldn’t be selective about where I sang, anymore. Basically, it didn’t suit the way I liked to live my life – the responsible, single mother part; I hated not knowing what I’d earn for that month, and the gnawing anxiety that stayed with me, day and night, as I panicked about day-to-day survival. I particularly hated losing my independence, and constantly having to borrow money, in order to buy electricity and feed my family. No – there’s no way I want music in my life, when it plays that role.  I’m completely, head-over-heels, in love with music, so it has to occupy a beautiful, magical space in my world, and not be caught up in the ugliness of survival. Shoo, I’ve never articulated that before, so it’s quite strange to see it in words. It’s the truth, and always has been, for me.

Right now, I’m thoroughly enjoying the way this year has started for me, at least in my music life. Not only am I doing a bi-weekly solo gig, but I’ve been getting other gigs, too. Yesterday I played at an outdoor Valentine’s concert, with two awesome musicians – one of my favourite guitarists, Errol Dyers, and beautiful male vocalist, Louen Kleinsmidt. Next Saturday afternoon, I have another private function, after which I’ll go straight to Sabria’s. I LOVE IT!

I’m 53 years old. Many of my schoolmates are grandparents, happily bobbing babies on their knees, and deriving satisfaction in a whole different way to me. I work with a few people considerably younger than I am, and they have the strangest preconceptions about what life for a 53-year-old is like. Interestingly, not one of them has a creative outlet, or a passion that drives them, like music does me. They could never possibly understand how rejuvenating and empowering it is to have an art form in your life, and to have it consume you, as deliciously as music does me.

For as long as I’m able to, I will make music, even if just in the quiet glow of moonlight, as it hits my window. For as long as people continue to hire me, I will make music in those kinds of situations. For as long as I can, I will put on concerts, performing my own compositions, collaborating with beautiful musicians and giving emerging artists a platform. My mother was memorising and singing entire operas, in her fifties, so no wonder I feel so alive and musically viable - it’s a credo I internalized, without even being aware of it. My mother taught me this tenacity and passion through living it, herself. How do you say thank you for that? You live your life with the same joy and unadulterated passion, diving into your art form and swimming in it, for as long as you’re able to.  

And if you have children, they’re probably the ones doing the internalizing, now.   

Day One, Term One, 2015

The other day I complained to someone that my holiday was almost at an end, and that I'd soon be going back to work. He said, "Well, at least you have a job to return to."

He's right, you know. I felt really bad that I'd complained.

The truth is, I was retrenched in October 2010, and it took me almost two full years to get back into steady employment, because our economy was (and still is) so bad. In that time, I did a few contract jobs, and taught guitar lessons, to survive. The months between contracts were torturous, taking me to the brink of hopelessness. It was the love of family and friends (and my stubbornness) that brought me through that darkness.

Today was only my third consecutive Day One of Term One, since my retrenchment. I am grateful to have a job, in a field in which I'm qualified, and in which I have lots of experience. In January 2011 and 2012, I was unemployed, as was I the Decembers before. Facing a new year as an unemployed person is depressing, to say the least. Life just goes on, relentlessly, with all its demands - rent, food, electricity, etc. I've been accused of being too generous when people come begging at our door (a common occurrence in South Africa), but it's because I can relate to that feeling of desperation to feed one's family. When you have no income, and someone gives you R20 for electricity, it's just about enough to get you through one night and into the next day - but when you're in survival mode, that R20 feels like a million rand.

Even though every job has its less exciting aspects, and there'll always be colleagues who drive you insane, I have a lot to be thankful for. I work about 6km from home; even without a car, it's easy to get to work. I work on a campus that has grass and trees, which makes me happy. I teach a subject I love - English - and that makes me feel alive. I'm in daily contact with young people we call the "born-frees" (born after we gained our freedom from apartheid, in 1994), and that in itself is a privilege. I learn almost as much as I teach, from my students. Meeting the new students at the beginning of the year is exciting, and I can't wait till lectures start.

When I was unemployed, I had a checklist for my dream job. Some of the items were:
 - not far from where I live
- in a field that excites me
- where I earn enough to live without anxiety
- where I can look out of my window and see a garden
- where I can make a difference in people's lives
- where I can contribute to the new South Africa

So, yes - I had a gorgeous 32-day summer holiday, I feel relaxed and revitalised, and I am deeply grateful to the universe for enabling me to have a job that I can return to.

Reflecting on my 28 Dec concert with Wayne (Adaptation of a Fb post)

It's always strange, going through the emotions of putting on a concert. Very different to any other type of gig, my self-produced concerts entail months of preparation and lots of personal investment. Because I'm a perfectionist (a blessing and curse, let's be honest!), I tend to obsess about every last detail of every aspect of the event. What I'd like to achieve, in future, is to have an assistant do those detail-orientated tasks for me, so that I may spend a lot more time focussing on the music itself.

Anyway, judging by comments from the people who attended, it was a very enjoyable evening. I was extremely happy to have held the concert in the District Six Museum, a place with special meaning to me. What surprised me was the number of people who said they'd never been there before.

I also loved the fact that the refreshments were summery and healthy, lovingly put together by my dear friend, Shanaaz. Another aspect of the evening that touched me was how many of my friends actually knew each other - it was like a reunion!

Having my immediate family - my mom, my sister and my children - there, added to how incredibly special the night was for me. Other family members' presence also meant a lot to me. And then there were my friends, some of whom I've known almost my whole life, and others I met fairly recently.

Basically, having an opportunity to share my original songs with people I love and respect is one of the biggest blessings in my life. Being accompanied by my mentor, Wayne Bosch, is a feeling I can't adequately describe. Wayne's mastery of the guitar, coupled with his sensitive interpretation of my songs, makes the whole experience quite surreal, in a way.

Having my son as the MC was very special to me, although he admitted it felt very different to when he had his drum kit between himself and an audience.

And then I have to be honest, my highlight (besides Wayne's beautiful music) was my daughter's solo set. She sang four songs, while playing her ukulele. Someone commented that, with her flowing dress, bare feet and flower crown, she looked like Shakespeare's Ophelia. Not only was she as pretty as a picture, but she sang so beautifully, I had a lump in my throat throughout her set. She situates herself in an interesting genre - I'm not even sure what to call it, but I suppose "Indie" would best describe it? She has a lilt in her voice and, at age 16, a touching mixture of a child's voice and an adult's voice. What struck me most was her ability to convey layers of emotion, without making it look like she was trying very hard.

Ok, so I'm her mother, and I'm biased, but all I can say is: look out for a vocalist called Summer Dawn Geffen. She is here to stay.

Thank you to everyone who helped make the evening a success. May the feel-good ripples last long enough to inspire you to do something awesome with your own passion in life.

Two days to my next concert

In two days' time, I'll be about to start my concert with Wayne. Having another opportunity to sing with him is more special than anyone could possibly understand. Since he left Cape Town, we've been able to do only one gig. This is our second gig since the end of 2012, and our only one for 2014. Insane!

I do think I'm a bit of a pain to live with right now, though. Even though I have different people playing roles on the actual night, I tend to do everything myself, leading up to the event. For many reasons, it's how I prefer to do a concert. Maybe I just have to put a team together well before the event and learn to trust people more.

Some of the things I have to do are relatively simple. like securing a suitable venue, which I do months ahead of time. Other things, however, can be really frustrating - like selling tickets! The good news is that I managed to meet and exceed my minimum, and the show is now sold out! How cool is that?!

I must say, though, that being a perfectionist is very tiring! Eish! I have all these details in my head - the aesthetics of the venue, lighting, sound, ticket design, brief for the MC, catering, my outfit, my hair - and, even though I work my way methodically through my extensive checklist, I tend to get really stressed out. And I haven't even mentioned the set list for the night, the songs I plan to perform. Deciding which songs to do, and then in which order, can be another headache.

The night before we had our rehearsal, I set time aside to do a long journalling session, processing my thoughts, my fears, my concerns. By the time I eventually fell asleep - at 4a.m. - I had arrived at a place of profound peace. The awareness that I gained was the same lesson the universe had taught me earlier this year: when I remove my ego issues from my thoughts, all I'm left with are feelings of happiness and peace, and clarity. When I focussed on Wayne's brilliance and on  the beautiful music we'd be making, I became super-excited, about the rehearsal and the show.

On the day of the rehearsal, all my pre-concert jitters disappeared, and I felt as relaxed as I did when we used to gig regularly. I'm really looking forward to the concert. Getting to the point, today, of having sold all the tickets, was exactly what I needed.

Tonight and tomorrow, I'll be busy with a few last-minute tasks, and then it will be Sunday, a day I've anticipated for a whole year! I'm going to be doing a concert of my original songs with Wayne, and I cannot wait! Bring it on!

I'll write again after the concert, tell you how it went.

Concert with Wayne on 28 December 2014, 7pm

TRUDY RUSHIN & WAYNE BOSCH

An evening of live jazz, in celebration of friendship. 

    

Trudy (voice, guitar) and Wayne (guitar) gigged extensively as a duo, from Feb 2009 to Dec 2012. Since Wayne’s relocation to Pretoria, the duo performs once a year – and this is it!

                           

                     Short opening set:  Summer Dawn Geffen – voice and ukulele

           Date: Sunday, 28 December 2014                        

           Time: 7pm

           Venue: District Six Museum 

          (Cnr Buitenkant & Albertus Streets, Cape Town)

          Admission: R100 (includes finger food). 

          

 Round up a couple of good friends, and join us for 

an intimate evening of live music,

   in this historic and evocative Cape Town venue.

To reserve tickets, contact me on this site or on Facebook: 

Trudy Rushin, Singer-Songwriter. 

Escape

Every now and then, when I find myself in a physical environment where something really unpleasant or offensive is happening, and there’s nothing I can do to remove myself from the place, I escape into my mind.  I go to a happy place, either a memory from my past, or a dream of a future situation – either way, I flood my head with as close as I can get to euphoria. I do this as a coping mechanism. Others might light up a cigarette or plug in earphones. 

Wherever I can, I walk away, removing myself from the chaos, as I try to adopt the nonchalance of “not my circus, not my monkeys”. But, since that’s not always possible, the only place I can escape to is the safe wonderworld of my mind, where I have the power to think anything I want to, the power  to stop any unwanted thoughts, the power to insert any thoughts I choose, and the power to create a preferred reality. I can’t tell you how amazing this is.

I’ve learnt, over the years, that one of the ways in which we discover who we are, is through interaction with other people. Their behavior – or, more specifically, our response to it – gives us a lot of insight into ourselves. Through other people, we learn what it is about ourselves we like and don’t like. It feels like the older I get, and the more comfortable I am with myself, the stronger my reactions to other people’s behavior are. I’m at that strange age where, even though I’m cognisant of the many shades of grey that exist, I’ve also become increasingly clear about what I can and can’t tolerate. Sometimes I don’t even realise the intensity of my  feelings about certain behavior, until I’m confronted with it directly.

But my recourse is to lose myself in my thoughts - in MY mind, where I make the rules, where nothing is out of control, and where everything I know is possible, is possible.

Of course, I would never sit passively while anyone was being abused, but let’s face it, there are so many forms of abuse, some of them so subtle, so insidious, that we can even pretend they’re not abuse. It just depends on how you label it. Or where on the continuum you sit.

Tonight, I wish I could forget some of the vulgarity I’m exposed to, some of the underbelly-of-the-world-wrapped-up-in-finery I have to endure. I wish I could rewind a certain period of time – purge - start again, without having encountered some of the things I have.  But I know that that’s not how life goes. In a strange way, I am as strong and resilient as I am because of the ugliness and adversity I’ve been exposed to.

Recently, when I couldn’t bear the horrible energy in a certain situation, I thought back to the time when I worked as the Centre Director of someone’s language school and then the 8-month period in which I owned my own one. Besides the financial difficulties (which eventually resulted in the closure of the school), I experienced some of my highest highs in that time. What I loved most of all was the freedom, the space, the wonderful opportunity to implement all those things I knew was possible. It was fantastic. I’m so glad I have those memories. They remind me that what others think is impossible, I’ve already done. 

Those memories feed my soul when I need it most.

Of course, there’s always that other thought: if I could do it once, I could do it again. 

I wonder

Can I type and post a whole blog article in half an hour, without tweaking and editing the thing to death? I wonder. Will I ever have a day where what I want to do and what I have to do happen at times that suit me? Like right now, for example: I want to type a blog post, but I’m supposed to be doing a household chore that will take me about two hours. When I’m feeling sorry for myself, it seems like most of my life is like that – a conflict between what I spontaneously and organically feel like doing, and what my various roles in society dictate I do. The sun shines, and I want to put up my feet and read, listening to the birds chirping outside, but no – the sun’s shining, so I have to do the laundry. The moon’s resplendent in a magical night sky, and I want to play my guitar outside, but no – I have to make supper, wash up, or get my things ready for the next day.

I know I sound like I’m whining, and I probably am, but something that a character in the movie, "Boyhood", said made me think about life and about ageing, and made me wonder how many people in my circle of friends could actually say, in their 50s, that life had lived up to their expectations. Did we all think there’d be more to it than what there is? Did we all expect more wows? Did we think we’d feel childlike anticipation and excitement all our lives, and did we think that life would continue to surprise us? When last were you surprised? How much of this is up to us? How much of a choice do we actually have?

One day I’ll write a cynical, disappointed-in-life song, because that’s how I feel, some of the time. I’m just such a bloody optimist, that when things don’t go well, I accept the bad time as a temporary glitch, sit it out patiently, all the time believing, with all my might, that brighter days are just around the corner. Maybe if we were more open about the fact that we felt really bad some of the time, we’d all end up feeling a little less weird for having these feelings. Because we’d know that many/most of our friends felt the same way too, some of the time, and that it was perfectly okay to feel that way.  

I’ve been asked this question by two life coaches: “If money weren’t a factor, and failure not a possibility, what would you be doing with your life?”  My answer was unequivocal: “Music”. But if I were to divide my activities up into percentages – an exercise I plan to put myself through, just to see – music would probably take up less than 5% of my daily/weekly/monthly activities. Now that’s what I call ridiculous. It makes no sense to me. Sometimes I’m surprised that I still gig, and that when I do, people enjoy it so much. I probably spend 50% of my time doubting myself, wondering why I still bother. But of course I know the answer. I’d be a very miserable person if the option of making music to an audience were to be removed from me. Plan B would be to play in solitude, but every performer knows the huge difference between the one and the other.

So, just about 30 minutes since I started blogging – because the mood took me there – I now have to go and do that housework. Housework is one of my least favourite things to do, and yet it takes up so much of my time. When will I get it right to tip the balance in my favour? I wonder. 

Maybe what distinguishes us as mature people is that we know we can't be doing what we want to all of the time. Maybe rich people, who can pay others to do the schlep work, don't have this problem. 

I wonder.