Making Music

I love to dance but I never line dance because I don’t want anyone looking at me.  Just me.  Dancing with a partner is one thing but no line dancing.  That is too intense.

My ten year old and I were at a guitar/ukulele/merlin/music lesson the other day.  It was her first time and she is a little bit shy.  I could see the pain on her face when our teacher asked her to improvise on the merlin while we played back up.

“The music you write is just as valid as anyone else’s”, he said.

I recognize that pain.  The pain of being the center of attention.  The pain of your friend trying to drag you out on the dance floor to dance BY YOURSELF in front of a room full of people.  Or the pain of refusing and looking like an even bigger idiot.  Ouch.

She didn’t refuse but she played as quietly as possible so we couldn’t hear her and I think she got as complex as playing a scale up and down a few times.

But she didn’t refuse.

We were on the lake a few weeks ago, in a ski boat, on a cold and windy day.  A friend had invited me with my little children and hadn’t brought one thing for them to play on.  No tube.  Nothing.  We were cold and miserable and something had to be done or the day would be entirely ruined.

So I did the only thing I could think of.  I humiliated myself for everyone’s entertainment.  I jumped in the cold water, strapped on a wake board (If that is even what it is called) and proceeded to try to figure the thing out.  I might have lasted four pulls before my hands wore out and I might have even gotten up for a few seconds if the boat driver had known how to pull a skier instead of going too slow one time and ripping the rope out of my hands the next.  But it was enough to get my daughter to try it and we all went home with some good memories, dripping wet and only half as cold as we started.

My daughter made me go paragliding with her in Guatemala.  I actually thought I was going to have to jump off the side of a mountain.  I would say I have never been so scared in my entire life but that’s not really true because at this stage of my life I have done so many terrifying things that I’ve learned to just go with it as peacefully as possible.

In Guatemala I also got talked into playing a solo on my violin in a crowded bar, completely messing up the ending.  Another day I got drug into dancing with some street dancers in front of a thousand people all laughing at the goofy white lady dancing with a guy a foot shorter than her.  Actually everyone in Guatemala is a foot shorter than me but that’s not the point.

I love watching my children try something new.  Something scary.  I never want to push them into it.  Maybe just a little.  But I always let them choose for themselves so I don’t get the blame for how it turns out and they get the credit for anything amazing that happens.

They are amazingly brave.

I listened to a podcast tonight while I washed my nightly thousand dishes and the guest was talking about why he vlogged.  He thought it was because he was the youngest child and never felt like anyone ever listened to him so making videos was a way that he could speak out and be heard.

I’m a youngest child.

I think that is what blogging has always been for me.  I have too many thoughts coursing through my veins to be able to keep quiet and I drive everyone around me crazy with them.  Speaking is painful but so is not speaking.  Joining the dance is painful but so is sitting out and it’s definitely not as fun.

So I write.  Or at least I want to write again and I’m crossing my fingers to think that I may finally be at a place in my life where I have a few minutes a day to make myself do it and I had a crazy idea that it would be fun to try blogging every single day in November in honor of National Novel Writing Month.

Please don’t think any less of me if it doesn’t happen.

I might break a leg.  I might freeze to death.  I might fall off a mountain.  I might get laughed at.  I might say something stupid.

Or I might dance all night.  I might fly in the clouds.  I might make the memory of a lifetime.  I might laugh and cry.  And someone might hear what I have to say.

It’s just a thought.

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