About Music

It's almost as though I was born into classical music; it's always been around. I started piano lessons at 6 and cello at 8, and stayed with both through the end of high school.

My parents subscribed to the Time-Life series of Great Music, which was a really wonderful introduction to classical. Each volume covered a specific era, style, or nationality, with a large booklet and four LP's (yes, whole works). The series then repeated the sequence, with the additional volumes having five more LP's. I think I'd already settled on 20th century music as my preference by the time I was 11 or 12; at that age I found Bartok and Stravinsky absolutely captivating, and I also fell deeply in love with Prokofiev's 3rd piano concerto and Janacek's Sinfonietta. I followed with a lot of exploration, discovering such variety as Ives, Poulenc, Messiaen, Shostakovich, Cage, Stockhausen, and many others as early as age 13 and 14.

I was also fortunate in being able to participate in various music camps and in the all-state orchestra for several years, as well as our high school orchestra. For two years, while in high school, I was also invited to play with the University of Arkansas orchestra, and that provided a wonderful introduction to performing classical music (which I did on piano as well during those years). So by the time I finished high school, I'd performed close to half the Beethoven symphonies, Dvorak's New World, Shostakovich 1st, Mendelssohn Scotch Symphony, Persichetti's 7th, and others. I also had a chance to read through several more symphonies, and of course the U of A orchestra experience included concertos, overtures, and what-not, often twentieth century works, often conducted by the composers (Persichetti, Dello Joio, Erb).

I also did solo work, mostly on piano, although I did get to perform one movement of the Prokofiev Concertino for Cello as a soloist with a summer camp orchestra. Piano highlights included the Bartok and Rozsa sonatas, the Prokofiev 3rd sonata, the complete Moonlight Sonata, Khachaturian's Toccata, and others. I also bought sheet music just to explore, including things that were well out of my reach--such as Prokofiev and Poulenc Piano Concertos, Barber, Ives, Gershwin, Shostakovich (Preludes and Fugues, and also the first cello concerto).

So, although I didn't follow on with a career in music, my early years were absolutely saturated with it. It is part of the fabric of my life, and it is my retreat from the world, the place I go for healing.

About the Log Cabin I Wasn't Born In

It's true. I was not born in a log cabin, although I suspect that my father may have assisted with one or two such births. He was a doctor, back when doctors made house calls, in the Ozarks of northwest Arkansas where some people wouldn't have gotten medical care any other way.

It was an interesting time and place to grow up, as I look back. My town was a pocket of relative affluence in a region where a lot of people still lived off the land, land that was rocky and steep and mostly clay. It was the end of an era in many ways: The end of large families, although even then there were a few with 10, 15, even 20 children. It was near the end of the small far era, "truck farms" they were called, and many farmers sold their produce at road-side stands. It was the 1950's and 1960's, and that era of innocence ended as well, although it took several more years before the turmoil and change in other parts of the country made their way to the Ozarks. By that time, I was gone.

It was beautiful country, something I appreciated even then for its ruggedness as well as for its isolation and peacefulness. I still carry a special love for hill country, something I can find here in North Carolina as well, no more than an hour away. Short, sharp hills make for wonderful running and biking country. Bicycling in particular is something that I've loved for its sense of freedom, for the time and means to explore the back roads, for the thrill of flying down a long hill. (And biking is something I miss, now that it's no longer a part of my life.)

The time I spent in the hills was good for me. I've never minded being alone, and having both the time and the freedom to just go for a walk, not knowing where I might go but feeling safe enough not to worry about what I might find. I still live that way in some respects, curious and always seeking out new things.

I don't miss the log cabin that I never knew, but I do miss the Ozarks. It's strange when I go back now, because both my home and I have changed, in different ways, along different paths. We don't really know each other any more.

About Growing Up

Growing up is not something to hurry through. I plan to spend the rest of my life on this project.

There's nothing wrong with growing up; it just needs to be done properly. As an example, consider the 11 years I took getting my Bachelor's degree. When I first went to college, I had no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life; the results were predictable.

So I quit school and enlisted in the Navy. In six years, I made it to Cryptologic Technician First Class (a career-level rank, one that usually takes longer to achieve). My last assignment put me in charge of an office that maintained security clearance eligibility (Top Secret and beyond) and access control for around 500 people. Was that grown up? Yes, but at a price; I was responsible, but I lost sight of both the diversity of people and of how the difficulties that people may face can alter their lives.

When I got out of the Navy, it took a while for me to stop expecting others to be the same kind of straight-arrow people I'd been around in the service. To do that, I had to grow up again. In the mean time, I was working 20 hours a week and carrying a full load of classes, and making straight-A's. Was that grown up? Yes, but at a price; I lost touch with myself.

Once again, it was time to grow up. This time, I've learned a few other things. You can never really know what's ahead of you. You can prepare yourself for some things, but there's really no point in trying to hurry the future. "Stopping to smell the roses" is important; I'll probably be here tomorrow, but that rose will have wilted away.

It's important to know that I don't have to be grown-up all the time. I pay my bills (that's responsible), but I pay them with checks that were designed by a six-year-old with crayons.

Balance is the key. Be as grown-up as I need to be, but no more than that. Maybe in this modern business climate, you'd call it "just-in-time adulthood." Where is that balance point? Learning how to balance my responsibilities, both to the world and to myself, is where I'm growing now.