#no update this month as im pretty burnt out with graduating and working on some other projects

[fiddles-ifs]

"Hey Kiddo." [GREENWARDEN ANNIVERSARY SNIPPET]

Sometimes, when Dad isn't home, Mom lets you watch cartoons at the diner in town, lets you meet other kids at the park. Always home before sunset. Always wearing a hat. Never tell Dad where you went, what you did. Never stay for too long in one place.

Sometimes people from town stop Mom in the streets and ask how she's been, their eyes all a-worried. Asking if she can stay over at theirs one of these days, catch up, and she always declines with a look your way. There's a deep sadness etched on her face. It reminds you of the rocks at the beach. You see the same face worn into their sides by the unrelenting, salted tide.

Sometimes Dad doesn’t come home, out deep in the woods somewhere. That’s when Mom takes you out for ice cream at the diner and lets you watch cartoons as much as you want, and talks in hushed voices with people you don’t know. Their faces are friendly – but they look at you like you’re a monster. Something with teeth waiting to pounce. A few even look like they hate you. You feel it in the soles of your feet, bare on the tile.

Dad is home tonight. He has you out in the woods today, watching you from a log as you scratch a big buck between the antlers, its head bowed to give your stubby arms a little more access. It snorts and takes two paces backward when Dad gets up from the log and puts his big anvil hand on the top of your head. 

You can't help the flinch. He ruffles your hair. Slowly.

That is not your father.

“What's it thinking, kiddo?”

“Uhm,” you look at the buck, watching your dad with unblinking eyes. The animals don't really have thoughts. None that you can hear, anyway — you feel their minds through the soles of your feet, up into your shoulders. The squirrels and deer, the pillbugs under the rocks. The big buck takes another step back.

“I dunno?” Dad's hand on your head stops. Your little heart starts a hammering rhythm in your ribcage.

“Try again.”

Whose memories are these?

“It's — scared?” No, not scared. You don't know the word. If it were scared, it would have run — but the big buck just stands there. Watching.

In town, there's a big church with gargoyles (like the cartoon) sitting on the edge of the roof, staring down at the sidewalks. It's like that. If there's a word for it, you don't know it. You can barely read, all your schooling spent in the woods learning how to track, hunt, and bend the woods to your chubby hand.

You stick your fingers in your mouth to chew on. They taste like game grease and fur and a little bit of grit.

Your dad hums. A stick somewhere deep in the woods snaps, and suddenly the buck runs off. You wave bye-bye to it. The pillbugs and squirrels and whippoorwills scatter at the sound. You turn to squint into the black. There's a monster in there somewhere — you feel the emptiness on the soles of your bare feet, the surface skin of your arm.

Dad pats you on the head and turns you toward the house, pushing your shoulders a little. You almost fall. You scrape up the top of your foot on a rock catching yourself, blood bubbling from the split skin.

Not yours not yours this is not yours.

“Go on — your momma's waiting.”

“Okay!” When you run off, your heart finally slows to a metered rhythm. Somewhere, deep behind you, you hear the sound of crunching and ripping flesh.

[the7thshepard]

Life update and some introspection. It is long, and it is super personal. You’ve been warned.

(Sorry to my mobile user followers, you might get lambasted with a long post anyway)

If you’re curious enough to snoop through here, sweet. It means that amidst all of my followers who like and reblog the stuff I like and reblog, you probably give a damn? Or you’re just nosy. Either way, thanks for coming. You’ll need to pull up a chair, I’d imagine. It’s gonna get long.

As of right now, I’m spending Thanksgiving day alone. I’m writing this from the dining table of my apartment in California as it rains outside. I’ve received several invites to do things with friends, but so far have accepted none of them. Part of me knows that I will be sad today because of that, but the other part of me just doesn’t have the energy or wherewithal to deal with other people today. Yet, I’m leaving myself open for any opportunity, should it present itself.

This decade has been kind of a wild ride for me. I’ve spent almost all of it in school. I began high school, graduated high school, started college, switched majors around twice, fell in love, came out, got my heart broken, graduated college, worked for seven months, then started graduate school in August. How did a Kansas boy like me end up all the way in California? It’s actually quite the story.

I had decided my second senior year of my undergrad, way back in Spring 2018, that I was just going to finish with a performance degree and just go home and work for the rest of my life. Whatever job I could find, as long as I could keep it and it could bring me stable income, I was going to go home and give up playing the horn. I been so burnt out on school and everything that had happened around me over the course of my undergrad that I had decided it just wasn’t worth it to continue pursuing. I had wrestled with this idea for the longest time and eventually settled on everyone thinking I’m a coward for getting a degree and just disappearing off of the face of the earth. It was the easiest solution.

But something quite unusual and rather miraculous happened.

October 2018, my undergrad horn teacher, one other horn player from my studio, and I all went to Wichita for the MidSouth Horn Workshop. This was nothing terribly huge - I had been to two before - but what became of it was. I ran into my current horn professor, though, at the time he was not teaching me, nor did I have any inclination that he taught private lessons. My undergrad horn prof. and I ran into him earlier in the spring during the same event in Conway, Arkansas (it was hard not to - he was one of the featured artists of the event). He and I spent about 30 minutes talking about horn playing in the exhibition hall, and I was beyond inspired at that point to continue getting better at horn (obviously something changed in the span of 6 months that changed that mentality, but I digress).

I didn’t think I would ever meet him again, if I’m being 100% honest. But we did. We had run into each other in the student union on the Wichita State University campus. He and my then-current horn teacher had struck up a conversation (I think it was something about what he was up to and if he’d like to play with ESU’s jazz band, since he was on his way through that area in the spring semester). Somehow, someway, the conversation got turned onto me.

“What do you think about grad school?” was the question.

Now, you have to understand, this shook me. My plan was to graduate, go home, and give up. I had no further intention of carrying on playing horn or doing music or any of it. Cowardice.

“Uhhhh,” I stammered. I didn’t honestly think I was cut out for grad school. Sure, I eventually wanted to get my doctorate in something, but that was kind of a pipe dream; something so exceptionally unachievable, that I was better off not thinking about it. “I hadn’t.”

Thus, initiated a 20 minute conversation about grad school and how my now-current horn professor wanted to hear me play and, better yet, attend his school. I’m pretty sure I spent the next like 3 hours waffling about it.

The other horn player that was with us (let’s call him B) slapped some sense into me.

“You should do it, it sounds like an incredible opportunity.” B had said something along the lines of this.

“My main concern is money, etc. etc.” I tried to make excuses back.

“Grad school would be perfect for you. All you really have to do is focus on your playing.” My horn professor told me.

“You didn’t come this far, just to come this far.” B said.

(Slight divergence in the story, my mom just called me as I’m typing this and now I’m having to fight back tears. She sounded so concerned that I’m spending Thanksgiving alone right now. Anyway.)

That struck me hard. I didn’t learn horn just to give up after graduating college. I didn’t play horn for close to 13 years only to run away when the opportunity presented itself. I didn’t quit at any point along the way, no matter how stressful or draining, and I shouldn’t quit now. My mind was made up.

I talked to my now-current horn teacher about how I was interested in studying with him, and about his program and what was offered, etc. He wanted to hear me play but was busy that weekend, so I would need to send him some recordings of my playing. I sent him my senior recital that I played later that semester. Over the course of the next 3 to 4 months, I would graduate from college and then spend the rest of my time working while I finished up the graduate studies application to my school. I was accepted into the program, and got some assistanceship money to help out.

The next 7 months were really nothing to note, as far as this journey is concerned. I worked part time at a gas station, played in a terrible non-paying gig, ended up dropping one of my best friends - a story for another time, but overall, I ended up taking a massive break from my horn. My dad thought that I wasn’t practicing enough and that grad school was gonna kick my ass, but so far, that hasn’t completely happened yet.

The day finally comes. I move to California with my dad’s help. As you can imagine, it’s a whirlwind of a day. Flying 5 hours out, getting my stuff moved in, buying groceries, etc. By the end of the day, its time to say goodbye. Dad can’t stay, because he’s got a flight in the morning for some stuff he’s got going on back home. He tried to fight back his tears, as I am almost about to cry myself. The door closed and now I’m bawling. wow that was a lot of mixed tenses, no im not fixing it, and no i do not take criticism, send tweet

At this point, I felt isolated. I’m in a new place where I know no one and I’m by myself. The first person I bump into is the other horn grad student. He stops by to say hi, I apologize for my terrible playing because I haven’t been playing consistently for the past seven months and oh god I’m rambling. It goes how you expect awkward first meetings to go. The next evening, I meet the two seniors in from the horn studio and a senior clarinet player. I never felt so blind sided by questions, and they were all really chatty. Me, being the awkward human being I am stood there, giving minimal answers, and being overwhelmed by questions about literally everything. Holy shit.

I end up bumping into my now-current horn professor on Monday (let’s call him Prof. A) in the bathroom of the music building, again really fucking awkward. Prof. A told me to go to his office while they finish up the faculty meeting downstairs, and that the other grad horn was in there organizing music. Round 2 is not nearly as awkward, thank god. Around 30 minutes later, Prof. A shows back up and treats us both to Chipotle and a lengthy talk about how we have to be the “heavyweight boxers” of the studio (there was an anecdote in there that makes it all make sense, trust me). Again, holy shit.

The rest of the week goes about how you would expect. It is the week before school after all. I spend most of my time practicing. My roommate shows up. I don’t really run into anyone else in the studio for a few days. Though at the end of the week, we have a horn hang, where most of the studio is in attendance. Super awkward at first, but then it opens up. Then, school kicks off, and its all good from there.

But why am I telling you all of this? Well, first of all, kudos for sitting through my life story up to this point. Second, I think this story is key to a lot of introspection that I need to do. And third, I just need to put this all out there, get it off my chest, you know?

Since coming out to California, I have been unimaginably blessed with perhaps the best family of people I could ever want. I have a great teacher who is helping me be better at doing what I love. I’m surrounded by great, fun loving musicians who want to see others succeed and it’s been such a positive experience being out here. I literally cannot imagine what my life would be like had I not seized this opportunity.

I’ll be the first to admit that grad school so far hasn’t totally met my expectations. I thought that I would immediately get better, that I would excel, have a bunch of friends, get better at playing horn, and maybe (selfishly) find a guy. It wasn’t immediate, and looking back, I don’t think it ever could have been. Because the path I’m on takes work and courage to keep going even when the results don’t seem obvious at all. Also, let’s be 100% real, there was no way in hell I was gonna find a guy within like 2-3 weeks of being here. That’s just not realistic lmfao

Since coming here, I’ve grappled with the feelings of inadequacy and sense of not belonging that come with the territory. Initially, I thought that I was never making progress and that I was never gonna be as good as the other grad horn. I wasn’t a good enough horn player. Why was I here? What made me think that I could make it out here? Thoughts like that. They’ve only intensified as the semester went along.

But my friends have proved me wrong.

The only thing that everyone could and would expect of me is to be myself. Whatever that means, whatever that sounds or looks like. I can’t be anyone else other than me, no matter how tempting it is to compare myself to others. I just gotta follow my own path. This was and still is a hard lesson for me to learn. I don’t think I will ever totally understand it, until I can realize that I am good enough as I am now. I am making progress to get better, but I have to be comfortable with where I’m at now for it to be worth it.

The thought of running away from all of this terrifies me, but it’s a real and almost ever present thought I have. I don’t want to lose the progress I’ve made. I don’t want to turn my back on my friends. I don’t want to give up crazy socks at concerts, ice cream afterwards, playing in horn choir, horn hangs, or just the general screwing around. My horn people are my family, and I won’t turn my back on them because I’m afraid of not being good enough. They have never had reason to think less of me, so I shouldn’t. Even when I do, I’m thankful that they’re there to help me out of my emotional ruts. As long as I am here surrounded by these fantastic people, I will always be good enough and I will always belong.

I didn’t come this far just to get this far. And I will take it all the way. No matter what it takes, because the people closest to me have given me the courage to make it happen.

So, even though I may end up spending my Thanksgiving alone, I’m not alone. I never have been nor will I ever be. My friends, my family, everyone who’s cheering me on from the sidelines, watching and waiting for me to succeed, they’re all with me, no matter how far away they might be. This is what I’m thankful for.