The last line of "The Road Home" is getting me reeling: "There is no such beauty as where you belong." Where the hell do I belong? How I wish and wish and wish that life were just sitting in bed listening to Eric Whitacre and singing in University Singers and talking to Dr. Crabb. How can I be a journalist when there is such a thing as music? This is what I think sometimes.
But how can there be just music when there is such a thing as reality. And really, if I were to do music all my life, what could I do? Join an opera thing. Conduct a choir--but I wouldn't want to conduct high school because high school kids don't give a shit, and I wouldn't want to conduct elementary school because they could never be good and I could never go into the depth I wanted to. I could perform...but how? Where? For whom? If University Singers was hiring sopranos right now for 30,000 a year with benefits, I would so apply.
But there are other levels: there is the service level, the writing level, the business level. There are so many levels of my own aspirations and my own expectations that I don't even know where to start. I am afraid not only that it will be too late to start over but that I will be too tired or okay with just settling.
How do you even know when you've settled? With anything? How do you know when something is the best you're going to get? And should we even settle for the best we are going to get?
I mean, really, is the principle of being human striving for the impossible or indulging and developing into what you are?
My thoughts are going in circles. I know I have thought about this before. Re-reading my own postulations makes me start to think I am the type of person who never goes far enough into finding the answers to her questions. I think I just enjoy asking them and thinking about them. But this is discouraging and makes me fear that I am like this in all endeavors--socially, religiously, academically.
Despite the cloudy vibe of this blog, I actually had a great day. I will miss Omaha this summer.
Do re mi,