All the colors in the spectrum.

My homework sounds simple: Listen to lots of music. Feel the beat.

It sounds simple but I've been having trouble feeling the beat.  I get tripped up by a comment made to me when I was fifteen.  I played tenor sax in the jazz band and I had to improvise for a tiny 4-measure-long part.  It was minute compared to what others were doing, but I was totally lost.  My lack of confidence as a fifteen-year-old was epic.  In addition, I was in this band with 20 men and one other girl.  My teacher had a known tendency toward playing favorites and I wasn't even close to being one of them.  I was skittish and one day he stopped the band right after my 'solo' and said I was too white, I had no rhythm.

I certainly don't want to get into race relations in this blog, but I do seriously want to bring this up because it was delivered as snidely as possible, and from a man who is also white.  He could have yelled gibberish in another language with his tone and it would have been just as big of an insult.  I am still very much haunted by those moments.

Sure I may be haunted, but I'm also almost twice the age of the girl in our story.  I can get past it.  With every song I listen to and every drum beat deciphered, I will molt into someone who can feel the beat.  Being white will no longer be an insult, especially if I think of it scientifically.  I will be all colors from the spectrum.  I can be green and blue and gray and brown.  I'll be scarlet and yellow and everything in between.  I believe the drums to be the most expressive of instruments, and now I'm realizing I can express all colors, all emotions, all beats.

It's better to have loved and lost, even if it's a Naked Lady.

At the end of my last drum lesson, I had a strong urge to take my snare to bed with me like a teddy bear. I wanted to pet it, to lightly trace the cool metal with my fingers, to hold it tightly all night long.  It would be my dreamcatcher, my security blanket, my pillow made of clouds and fiberskyn.

Now, I've played some kind of instrument off and on for the last twenty years, but I never fell this hard.  We had waxed poetic about gear, and it was started to sink in.  The timing is right, sure.  I'm more mature and I know myself more, definitely.  I have a great teacher.  The signs all point to this instrument being 'the one.' But when someone or something is 'the one,' using words is like using a computer in safe mode.  Sure you get the idea, but there's no real way to convey the vibrant imagery or evocation of strong emotion, like the emotion I felt when I received my first drum key.  I literally jumped up and down and immediately ran upstairs to put it on my keychain.  I didn't even feel too old to be this excited.  I actually wished more things in the adult existence led to jumping or squealing in true joy.  Receiving my drum key meant I was beginning to learn my craft.  One day I would need the drum key and I would actually know what to do with it.  One day, using the drum key will be so routine I won't think twice about using it.

The other night in my drum lesson, I was starting to 'jump up and down' about all of my gear.  My teacher shared the philosophy of having good gear to match your personality, playing style, and needs.  He said having the right tools would make me a better drummer and genuinely make me feel like the best version of myself.  He shared his heartbreaking tale of love lost, embodied in a Conn Naked Lady.  He never found his love again but what he did find was the Gift of Gear.  From his heartbreak, he is now able to understand a player's needs in an instant.  He is Mr. Ollivander in Harry Potter, knowing each person has an instrument (or several) tailored exactly to their needs.  He is the one who tucked my new snare drum so carefully under the Christmas tree this year.  He knew it was time for me to make this instrument mine.

On Dancing.

Learning the drums has been the most fun I've ever had in my whole life. For about two weeks, though, I got a little frustrated. I didn't feel myself progressing, and when I practiced I was just sort of going through the motions. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I was tired when I sat down to play, sure, but previously playing just invigorated me in a way I had never experienced. I couldn't figure out what was happening.

Last night, I had my scheduled lesson and was again tired and a little unmotivated going into it. I was also nervous. I'd be playing along with my instructor and I just really didn't want to suck. I wanted to work on my posture, so I went into the lesson stiff, nervous, and tired. After playing for a few minutes, my teacher stopped me.

What you need is to loosen up. Try just counting with your drumsticks.

I had a hard time even with that. I was just so mechanical, I didn't feel the beat at all.

Clicking the drumsticks together is more than what it sounds. You can subdivide the beat by feeling it when your arms go away from each other. Going out is as important as coming in. You should feel the beat in your whole body, not just in your head. You need to dance behind the drums.

I can be pretty mechanical at times (or most times), so I filed his advice under ' life lessons.' We discussed how the out-and-in of drum clicking is the yin and the yang; you both silence and noise to make a beat. In art and in life, you need to demonstrate the contrast to fully describe the object.

If I could not just think the beat but feel it, I knew I could feel my way through everything in life. I just didn't know where to start.

Get up. Get up right now and dance.

He put on my favorite song and had me dance around with my sticks. He told me to let go, to evoke images of Andrew W.K. At first I was awkward. I was very aware of his presence. But then I got into it. Really into it. My hair went flying, my pants started falling down, my arms were flailing and my heartrate skyrocketed. I was having fun again. Dancing was what I needed to play the drums better and to just generally clear my head. I sat down again and he started playing Blitzkrieg Bop. I squealed in delight. He called me CC Hormone. He said what I needed was to dance, but it's not going to work every time. Sometimes you need to be technical, and to just sit back and do your math problems, but my stiffness and mechanical approach to the drums was holding me back yesterday. Dancing was the antidote to my frustration.

A beginner's manual

I started playing the drums a couple of months ago, but my journey to pick up the sticks took much longer. Twenty years ago, I was a little tyke in elementary school and one day, my parents asked if I wanted to start playing an instrument. My older sisters were playing woodwinds, but somehow I chose the drums. I don't even remember how it happened. Did I love the Muppet Animal? Was I trying to fit my reputation of being the 'loud one'? Or was I called to this instrument?

I don't have any memories of the choice, but I do remember the actual lessons. I paradidlled my little heart out on the practice pad. I spent months on that practice pad, and I eventually got frustrated. My teacher was weird, I wasn't having fun, and I decided to quit. I'll never forget telling my parents. I felt I failed them somehow, failed the instrument, failed myself. They told me I was just about to graduate to a real drum set. I wanted to play a real drum set and thought really hard about not quitting. I didn't want to retract my statement; I had made this big stink about quitting and I felt like I needed to see it through. My parents didn't encourage me to continue and I dropped it.

My life since then has been a series of starts and stops, and I always think back to quitting the drums in the third grade. Maybe if I had stuck with it when it got hard, maybe if I were able to see through the perceived apathy of my support network, the bogus teacher, the practice pad, maybe then I would have found my vocation at age seven. Or maybe I just wouldn't be such a frog hopping from rock to rock.

I'm taking drum lessons from my boyfriend now, and I can't afford to quit another thing. I need this, I want this, and I LOVE this. My boyfriend somehow knew not to suggest giving me lessons; he instead quietly bought a drum kit he knew I would love. He set it up in the basement, right underneath the very best lighting. He made it enticing and approachable without it being overwhelming. Like in the third grade, I don't remember the moment I decided to pick up the sticks, but I did and this time I made it way past the practice pad.