An Overwhelming Dynamic, Day 57
Between a breakup, sleep deprivation, and an entire week now without a complete workout, my surprise came not when something finally broke, but that nothing had broken sooner. Yes, after a very full day of a few rehearsals and an entire evening of taxes, as I reached over to find my glasses, the glass dragon Elliot had given me for Christmas (or Hanukkah, I don’t remember which) slipped off of my nightstand and onto my floor. Somehow it seemed a little sad but mostly fitting after tallying up all of my receipts, including movies and operas we had seen together and train tickets from his place to the airport for my Paris trip in December. I think I can thank the fatigue for numbing my mind to anything but the poetic irony of it all.
With another early rehearsal promised to begin in less than seven hours, I have only one quick topic to discuss from my good but tiring day. Though not originally expecting to make it to the third practice, I happily managed to arrive late to the final leg of the day because the second rehearsal actually let out a little early. Because I attended, I had an opportunity to witness an incredibly interesting dynamic I hadn’t previously noticed in such an obvious form. When singing a gig as a soloist or even in a chorus, I have occasionally felt the temptation to talk too much to my friends or comment on the orchestra or chorus or soloists when I have a moment to observe. Perhaps that trend began in fourth grade when Mrs. Wolfson sat me next to everyone in class thinking I might finally stop talking. Either way, I sometimes still feel that urge.
Without naming or slandering anyone, I will just say that one of the soloists at my final rehearsal of the day went far above and beyond expressing his urges to joke around and comment so often that I could hardly look at the conductor. When he didn’t sing loudly during the men’s sections practically behind the maestro’s head, he conducted, danced around in his seat, mouthed diction corrections along with the conductor, talked with the soloist next to him or on the other side of the stage, and just generally made a complete idiot out of himself. Understanding that a hierarchy exists into which I really don’t fit, I complained about it a bit after rehearsal to my friends only but said nothing to him or anyone who might have actually talked with him about his distraction and disrespect.
Sometimes, I admit I know very little about keeping my mouth shut and playing the game, unless one finds me in one of my recently increasing calm and reflective moments. After the village idiot distracted me from watching a much smarter conductor (hopefully ruining his chances of getting that gig again), I realized my need to embrace more of those Zen-like, “I don’t have to keep talking and I’m not in charge,” kind of moments. Aside from the fact that they keep me sane, each of those more poised occurrences help others perceive me as having much closer to my actual intellect, more intrigue, and more employability. In my exhaustion, I doubt I will have too much energy to contain tomorrow morning but hopefully with a little bit of balance, I can create just enough to keep singing, finish my taxes, and have some much needed early rest.