Battle Weary

I am sorry to report that Chely Wright has not, in fact, fallen in love with me.

It's okay; she's a vegetarian -- it never would have worked.

In unrelated news, I have spent the last month immersed in music, doing a little three-week summer program called Spotlight on Opera (http://www.spotlightonopera.com), run by the esteemable Cindy Sadler, whose brilliance knows no bounds. Spotlight is a little like bootcamp for opera singers -- three weeks of non-stop rehearsals, masterclasses, and performances that have us running around like decapitated chickens whilst trying to sing Mozart and Poulenc and what have you. We gave a total of 8 performances, all of which seemed to be well-received.

It was fun, but I am beyond exhausted.

I am also in that reflective, post-production phase where I navel gaze a lot and whine about how much better I wish I was. Just FYI. Forewarned is forearmed and all of that.

I wish I was much better than I am. There you have it.

When my school fired my voice teacher last year and I was placed with my current teacher, I was in the middle of a fach change, going from soprano to mezzo. It's a precarious stage for anybody, and the change of teacher as well as an impending recital really threw me for a loop and, I think, hindered my vocal progress.

But I was in love, and so nothing else even registered in my Jena-adled brain.

I'm not sure what I should have (or could have) done differently, but I do feel like I have spent the last year and a half trying to be my own teacher and failing miserably. I have made progress, yes, but not as much as I needed to, which is rather disheartening and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't spend the whole afternoon crying about it. The teacher at school with whom I was placed is competent but, for some reason or another, could not (or would not) help me technically.

(I spoke with summer-program-director Cindy today who said that I have a LOT of tongue and jaw tension, something that was never even mentioned in lessons with my private teacher.)

So my next mission, apparently, is to find a teacher who will teach me good, solid, reliable technique. I will not be auditioning for graduate school this year -- Cindy doesn't think I am ready, and I trust her. I will be working full time (somewhere), and studying with a teacher (someone) who will be able to give me the tools I need to be successful.

The details are still fuzzy, but the determination is there. I am a fighter and though I may be weary, I'm not done yet.

Like Me Too

I have decided that my next mission in life is to make Chely Wright fall in love with me.


I have not yet figured out how to make this happen, but it will. Oh yes, it will.

The newly-out country singer has written a book and recorded an album, titled "Like Me" and "Lifted Off the Ground," respectively. (Go buy them. Seriously. Worth it.)

After reading the book, listening to the album, and watching her string of completely charming video blogs on YouTube, I am more than a little smitten. She is undeniably beautiful (she looks like one of those people who is beautiful even when her makeup is off and her hair is a mess) and undeniably brave, being the first openly gay artist in a field notorious for its' intolerance.


And, more than that, her story is quite a bit like mine. Gay woman in a Republican-dominated industry (just who do you think makes up the donor pool for opera houses, hmm?), in a relationship with another closeted, married woman, had romantic and sexual relationships with men while being aware of her sexuality and feeling like a jerk because of it, and generally having to hide for whatever reason.

Add in the fact that I now know how to play two chords on the guitar and you can see that we are a perfect match.

...

...

Okay, maybe I'm kidding myself.

(Maybe, Rach? More like definitely. She is waaaaay out of your league.)

Maybe I'm kidding myself, but it sure does feel good to have a crush, albeit an impossible one. The fact that Chely is definitely gay and definitely not married puts her two points ahead of my ex, so I will count that as progress. I am growing as a person.

Chely Wright. Patriot. Philanthropist. Singer. Songwriter. Artist. First-class human being. The future love of my life.

(She just doesn't know that last one yet.)

A New Era

Now is the winter of our discontent.
- Richard III, Act I, scene 1

Well... not exactly.

It's summer. And the discontent isn't ours, exactly, it's mine. But you get the point. There is a season and somebody is unhappy.

(I know that's not the meaning in the actual play. Just go with me, here.)

Five days ago, I was dumped by my girlfriend of a year. For a man.

There are more details that make her sound less like a villain, but that is her story to tell, not mine. In my story, all that matters is that she chose a man over me.

Hence, discontent.

I thought she was the love of my life and that I would spend forever kissing her mouth and poking fun at the slightly OCD way she took off her makeup.

Instead, I am living with my parents in the Chicago suburbs wondering what the hell I'm going to do with my life, now that her mouth and her OCD are out of the equation.

...

I'll let you know when I figure that one out.

I think that is what this blog is about. Figuring it out.

I'm starting a new chapter in my life. I am done with college. I am done with my relationship. I am done trying to be straight because society thinks I "should" be.

I am a lesbian.

I am single.

I am a musician.

I am an adult.

And I am terrified.

BUT

Do you know how the phrase ends? Now is the winter of our discontent?

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious by the sun of York.

I means that the unhappy times are past. And in that, there is hope. Maybe not for Richard III, but there is for me.