Airports, Getting Lost, and Finding Home
Like so many other people, after months of pleading, prodding, and outright begging by my son Evan, we got a pandemic puppy. She's a beautiful Golden Retriever named Riley. Early on, I must admit to being reticent about doing the "puppy thing," but honestly, she has brought nothing but joy to our house. Even our eleven-year-old Golden Retriever, Rexi, seems to revel in the idea of it all as she plays with the puppy for hours on end like she was a puppy herself.
The other day, we took Riley to the park and let her off-leash. She took off, and I mean OFF! Evan, fearing she wouldn't come back, got very upset. Wanting to assuage his fear, I called out to Riley in a cheery voice, and she came bounding back to me. I explained to Evan that a dog will always return to a person or place where there is love. She will always come home.
Coincidentally, in yesterday's issue of the New Yorker, there was an interesting, albeit lengthy, article on why and how dogs never seem to get lost and that even when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds, can always find their way home. Dogs have several navigational tools: sight, smell, and surprisingly, magnetism (using Earth's magnetic fields).
But more important than "how" dogs navigate is "why" they do it.
Stories of mans' best friend traveling up to hundreds of miles to return to their home are unbelievably common. A dog will work to overcome almost any obstacle to find its way back to its home. It is ingrained in their DNA. In this way, a dog is rarely "lost," as they know where they are, where they are going, and how to get there. It turns out that when a dog goes missing, it is the humans that are lost.
And for the past 13 months, we have been lost.
I am writing this blog sitting at Gate B6 in Phoenix's Sky Harbor Airport. Under normal circumstances, this would not be worthy of mentioning as it is a regular and mundane part of my life, but these are not normal circumstances. Today is my first time in the airport in thirteen months, and it feels so very odd.
What started as anticipation last night turned into something more this morning. As I worked my way through the terminal towards my gate, feelings of joy began to wash over me. At first, I thought it might simply be the fact that I was getting out of the house for the first time in over a year. But that wasn't it. Then I thought it might be that workshops were restarting and or that I was working with kids in person again. But that wasn't it either. For a brief moment, I considered it was the mere act of wearing a shirt and tie again and seeing new people.
But that wasn't it either.
I slowly realized that the happiness I was feeling came from an understanding that being in the airport sitting at Gate B6 meant "the end" was in sight. The end of isolation. The end of uncertainty and angst. The end of fear. The end of the pandemic.
Feeling these feelings is not an uncommon thing. Many people have reported feeling "overwhelmed and overjoyed" after being vaccinated. It even has a name, Vaccination Euphoria. As I said, the feeling is not uncommon. The place I experienced it is.
You may have experienced this yourself. Perhaps it happened when you were able to see your students in person for the first time. Or when you were first able to play and sing for the first time. It might have even happened during a musical moment in rehearsal or discussion during a leadership meeting. The reason why and where it happened are unimportant. It is the "why" that matters. You had returned home to a place and people you loved and who loved you.
The need to seek out spaces and people who fill your life with love is as primal to humans as it is to our four-legged friends. For you and your students, your music room is a home away from home. And ever after almost 400 days of being lost, we are close to being back where we belong.
Will it be a little different? Yes.
The pandemic has changed all of us, in ways good and bad, myself included. Additionally, it has transformed music education and education as a whole. These are the obstacles we faced during this year-long journey back to where we belong, making music in a place we love with students we care about. If you aren't there yet, stay the course. You are closer than you think. And if you are back to making music in person, let me be the first to say…
Welcome home.
Have a great week.
- Scott