After I graduated from college and before I started my “real” job, I spent some time as a substitute teacher. K – 12 if you wondering. On one of my middle school days I got to go on a field trip to Tryon Little Theatre for a concert.
Some time before the music started one of the teachers (that used to be my 6th grade teacher) looked at me and out of nowhere said, “It can’t really be that bad”. I feel like she said it in kind of a joking manner, but a bad joke just the same. Immediately I had 2 thoughts: 1. You don’t know how bad it is. 2. What gave me away?
My face. (The bike helmet is not an indicator of my mood. Well, rarely…)
I’ve never had a good poker face. Anyone can pretty much tell, with 95% accuracy, how I feel about something.I found my seat and began to panic a little, thoughts began racing through my head. “I thought I was doing an ok job coping. How many other people know? How is saying something like that supposed to be helpful anyway?”
Once the music started I was able to calm down a little, hold back any tears that “It can’t really be that bad” came through and unleashed from the cage down in the pit of my stomach.
Then, the musician spoke.
The pianist turned toward his audience and told us that the composer had written this song for his girlfriend. Not for her to hear necessarily, but for him to show her and other people what she is to him, in the best way he knew how to portray her – musically. It was a beautiful song and it made me think of meadows and sunshine and flying insects glittering in the light. But not before it made me think what a song would sound like that portrayed me. It really wasn’t a song. It was more of a sound. A deep, rattling, sour sound – plunked out and let go until it faded.
For some reason that analogy has stayed with me. Now, when I feel I need to make a quick assesment I try to imagine what my song sounds like.
Am I a dork? Is this helpful/entertaining to anyone? Is my hair really that color? Is it lunchtime yet?