whenever i don't have a primary goal in my piano work i have this constant feeling of needing to be in some sort of therapy. individual. group. maybe i should go to AA even though i don't really drink, just to find some deeper love of the human stage.

but when i'm working on a project -- in this case, an audition in colorado in thirty-two days -- that need suddenly disappears. i don't care if people return my calls. i don't notice how many dishes are in the sink. i forget to make lunch for my girlfriend. when she says, "lets do something fun this weekend," i say, "mm," and then she says, "jesus, never mind."

it takes me a full day of work to pay for a single hour-long lesson. i am more specific about how i practice for them now, now that i have a more immediate appreciation of their cost.

i am finding that there are two primary kinds of teachers. both teach you how to feel, how to understand a phrase, how to shape a gesture, and so forth, but one tells you in a way that you do not personally comprehend in your bones while the other shows you in a way that is like how a friend points out that those elusive car keys are right on the kitchen table, under your nose. they show you ideas you already understood but couldn't articulate. in short, the second kind makes a lot more sense, requires a lot less emotional charlatanism, and is often more fun to work with, regardless of their "ability." of course there are gradiations, shades of gray between the two, but so far this is what i've come to notice about the different people i've worked with.

lessons with the latter can feel like a really good yoga sesson, or a massage, where afterwards i walk out with an enirely new sense of my body, of my spacial-temporal relationship with music, and a new quietness from the reminder that while everything takes a lot of work it doesnt take a lot of effort. if you have twenty miles to walk today, you should walk slowly.

i find that it is very hard to explain a true musical experience without sounding either like a religious nut or totally obscene. i love men who listen to classical music with their dicks, like an antenna. we seem to understand each other. is it crazy to say that all of the flaws in my playing are parallel to the flaws in my daily living?