You Have a Party to Plan

Friends, 

As I grow older, I learn things about myself. Sometimes the lessons appear in the form of an epiphany, while others are more of a slow awakening/acceptance of an idea long held inside. In recent years, one such lesson has grown in importance and intensity.

I like a party. 

I should clarify. I'm not talking about the raging bash you threw when your parents were out of town; I am talking about a celebration that honors a person or marks a milestone.

I came to this realization several years ago when I let a milestone pass without publicly/personally acknowledging it. I did it with the best intentions. I didn't want anyone to go to any trouble and wanted to be humble. What happened was I just made myself sad.

To be clear, I don't need a large gathering and I don't need a cake, although I like me some butter-cream frosting. I need and want to celebrate the people and moments in our lives that are significant. I need a moment of joy and a sense of closure.

Or I will feel sad, which is how I feel today. Because, I feel like we have missed a milestone.

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You have just endured fourteen of the most challenging months of your life. You survived a program crushing pandemic, one that likely left you isolated, feeling sad, depressed, and angry. Its effects on you and your program will be felt for years to come. Many of you crossed the pandemic finish line not to a fanfare and celebration but to a whimpering sigh of relief that the year had finally ended.

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This is not how I want this year to end. I want to celebrate. In fact, I want to celebrate YOU!

I want Barry Manilow's Looks Like We Made It (anybody know Barry?!) blaring from a hundred speakers as we commiserate, commemorate, and celebrate the fact that we survived. Literally and figuratively. WE SURVIVED. Yes, we're bloodied, bruised, and somewhat broken. But, we're here. 

I want hugs and high fives. I want laughter and joy. And yes, I do want cake.

When the time is right, I encourage you to dispense with the humility, gather your family/friends, and honor the accomplishments and achievements of your pandemic year.

You earned this. You deserve this. You NEED this!

Call it FOMO, call it exhaustion, call it what you will. But I am sad. Sad that I am not there to celebrate you and all that you have accomplished. 

As is traditional, with the onset of June comes a break in writing. After fourteen months of non-stop writing, creating, and webinaring (yes, I made that word up), it is time for a break—a break for you, from me. It's time for you to rest.

Me? I will be running around the country and available/willing/wanting, should you need anything, please feel free to reach out. But if not, enjoy the space and time away. As always, I will be back in your inbox sometime in mid-July.

In the meantime, stop reading this. You have a party to plan? Please send pictures of the cake so I can feel like I was there. #FOMO

Enjoy your time away, You have earned it.

-Scott 

The Race We Never Intended to Run

Fourteen months of a global pandemic got you feeling blue? Are you stressed out, Zoomed out, and overwhelmed? If so, you're likely suffering from burnout, and you're not alone. 

The term burnout originated in 1973. Not the feeling, mind you, just the term. The emotion? Well, I imagine that occurred shortly after the invention of work.

In fact, according to a recent article in the New Yorker Magazine, one Swiss psychotherapist, while studying the history of burnout, insists that he found evidence of it in the Old Testament.

Herbert J. Freudenberger is the man who coined the term burnout. By the time he was twelve, Nazis had torched the synagogue to which his family had belonged. Using his father's passport, Freudenberger fled Germany. Eventually, he made his way to New York, attended Brooklyn College, and later completed a doctorate in psychology at N.Y.U.

The New Yorker states Fredenberber coined the term after a self-diagnosis. In 1970, he started a free clinic at St. Mark's Place in New York. Freudenberger worked all day in his practice and then went to the clinic, where he worked until midnight. "You start your second job when most people go home," he wrote in 1973, "and you put a great deal of yourself into the work. You feel a total sense of commitment . . . until you finally find yourself, as I did, in a state of exhaustion." 

Feel familiar?

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As I mentioned in last week's e-zine, the global pandemic and America's do more, get more culture, add to the burnout phenomenon. Still, it is not by any means isolated to our country or our profession. The World Health Organization recognized burnout syndrome in 2019 after it declared that it had killed 745,000 people in just one year. In Sweden and other Nordic countries, you can even go on sick leave for burnout. Yet another reason I want to move to Denmark. 

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If that were the case in the U.S., I suspect we would have to cancel music education entirely during the month of May.

Burnout is not unique to music education or education in general, but I believe it to be more common than other professions. The unique nature of the activity, the ever-increasing performance demands, and the visibility associated with performing ensembles add fuel to our souls, but also to the fire. And increased fuel means a bigger and more dangerous fire. 

I guess you could say that for music educators, burnout is an occupational hazard, and we should never find themselves too far from overhead sprinklers or a fire extinguisher.

But for me, the emotional baggage associated with burnout is worse than the physical exhaustion.

In my experience, music educators often feel ashamed when we experience burnout. We are embarrassed to admit that we have lost our way, our fire, and need some help. We need to be reminded that we have done nothing wrong, nor have we brought this upon ourselves, and that this is a natural response to an unnatural situation.

Keep in mind, being burnt out means you were at one time ON FIRE! And that is something to be admired.

Think about it. What kind of teacher do you want to be? What kind of teacher do you want teaching your children or your loved ones? One who is ON FIRE, or one who played it safe, kept it cool, and never took risks?

To my way of thinking, experiencing burnout is an indicator of success. A sign that you ran as fast as possible, helped as many people as you could, and made every effort to make an impact. Burnout is a badge of honor and proof-positive that you went all in, gave everything you had in service of your students, and have nothing more left to give. 

You should scream from the rooftops, "I burned out because I was ON FIRE, BABY!!!

I am not a psychologist. Nor am I a trained counselor. And, If you need help, please seek it. 

All I am saying is that in some small and perverse way, feeling bad should make you feel good. You just completed a sixty-week pandemic marathon that you did not choose to run, having had no time to prepare for it. 

After this year, I would be more concerned about your mental health if you WEREN'T burnt out. But as bad as you feel now, it will soon feel better. The schools will reopen, the masks will be removed, the hugs will happen and music will once again ring through the concert halls.

Herbert Freudenberger died in 1999 at the age of seventy-three. His obituary in the Times noted, "He worked 14 or 15 hours a day, six days a week, until three weeks before his death." He had run himself ragged.

But when he stopped running, he stopped living. Perhaps the lesson is not to stop running. but pause for recovery. 

The race begins anew in August. Now is your time for recovery.

Have a great week!

- Scott

South of France and Hygge

Several years ago, after a family dinner conversation filled with ribbing dad (me), I screamed, "SOUTH OF FRANCE, PEOPLE... SOUTH OF FRANCE! When my then nine-year-old asked what that meant, I retorted, "That's where I wish I was right now!" Fast forward to the next Father's Day. I now own, not one, but two, coffee mugs that say, "South of France, people." 

My family loves nothing more than to mock me.

I have long wondered what it would be like to live in a foreign country, and on multiple occasions, we as a family have had discussions over dinner about where we would like to move and why.

My wife has her ideal destination as somewhere warm and close to a beach. She has specifically mentioned the Mediterranean or Central America. Having lived in Arizona most of my life, I dream of a cooler climate and four seasons. Canada or any of the Nordic countries would do just fine by me. My kids? They don't care as long as there is good wi-fi! 

Seeing as Canada would not be THAT much of a leap, let's stick with Northern Europe. Switzerland is stunning, and the music and culture of Austria are second to none. Germany has a killer economy, and I have heard that Prague is the prettiest city in all of Europe. But my ultimate destination is Denmark.

The Danish people and their Nordic counterparts have long been known as home to the world's happiest people. For the past 60 years, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development(OECD) has been tracking ten characteristics that lead to happiness, including income, work-life balance, education, community, and general life satisfaction. Denmark scored 9.7 out of 10. 

The United States score? A distant 7.4.

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When you ask a Danish person why they are so happy, they are likely to answer with just one word, hygge. Defined by Websters, "acknowledging a feeling or moment, whether alone or with friends, at home or out, ordinary or extraordinary as cozy, charming or special, hygge (pronounced hue-guh) is a defining characteristic of Danish culture and life."

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Denmark is not alone in this sentiment, and each Nordic country has its own version of the term (lagom-Switzerland, kalsarikännit-Finland). Still, all the terms boil down to the concept of setting modest expectations and being happy and content with what you have.

The concept of modesty of abundance and accepting one's station in life is decidedly un-American. In addition to being the land of the brave and home of the free, we are also home to those that want more, do more, and achieve more. I suspect that this drive is the root cause of both America's success and our unhappiness. Americans do and achieve GREAT things (think three vaccines in 10 months), but we seem incapable of stopping afterward, taking a breath, celebrating our achievement, and being content with what we have accomplished.

The chances of me moving to Denmark (or the South of France) are zero. I love where I am and the life I have created. But that does not mean we all couldn't use a little more hygge.

During last Tuesday night's webinar, I asked all of the attendees to rate how they were doing emotionally on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the best. One respondent stated, "I am a 3, and I don't know why." I responded, "I know why! YOU'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A GLOBAL PANDEMIC; YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FEEL LOUSY!"

That got a pretty good chuckle out of the room. But, it's true.

Listen, I doubt if any of your spring concerts were as good as they were pre-pandemic, and many of you are seeing declines in musical skill sets and ensemble achievement. I am also guessing that lower enrollment numbers for the upcoming fall are keeping you up at night. Seeing all of this might have some of you feeling down, dejected, or despondent.

Hygge people.

Maybe, just for now, it's okay for our groups to be just okay. Perhaps, we should accept the concert for what it was, the kids for who they are, and worry about those in front of us instead of those who aren't. This is not embracing mediocrity so much as accepting reality. 

Do this for your students, for the profession, and your sanity. Be content that you are healthy, have a job, and are surrounded by people who love you. You made it through the worst by being at your best.

Next year will be better—a time when you can start anew and kick some serious backside. But consider the possibility that for the next couple of weeks, we should take a moment, take a breath, and celebrate being okay. Celebrate the wrong notes, missed classes, and bad internet. Celebrate the masks, the social distancing, and air hugs. Celebrate that you are alive and able, and that for now, that is enough.

Hygge.

As for me, I might need a new mug. One that says, "South of Denmark, people... South of Denmark!

Have a great week. 

- Scott 

Yolo Whipash

There's a movement sweeping across America. A post-pandemic whiplash response to thirteen months of Zooming through their days staring at a screen while dreaming of sough dough bread and looking forward to your one human interaction of the day – your Pelaton coach! The movement?

YOLO (You only live once)!

An acronym popularized nearly a decade ago by the rapper Drake (I had to Google that as I am not cool enough to have already known that), YOLO has become the rallying cry of the millennials in search of happiness, fulfillment, and meaning. After fourteen months of being home, yearning for anything but the status quo, and flush with cash, workers everywhere are throwing caution into the wind and are rethinking their lives and careers.

Some are dictating return to work terms while others start side hustles and passion projects. For some, they are changing jobs or leaving corporate America altogether. Regardless of the circumstance, one thing is clear, when things go back to normal, normal will look very different.

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To be clear, the Pandemic is not over, and the continued loss is as significant as it is real. But, as vaccines are administered, and mask mandates are removed, people are anxious to do something, anything... Too LIVE! 

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As I mentioned last week, Languishing has been the dominant emotion of the past thirteen months. According to a recent Microsoft poll, a staggering 40% of all workers are considering a change of job by year's end.

Wait! Did you think I was talking about you? NNNNOOOOO! I am talking about your students.

YOLO is not limited to those over eighteen. Students might embrace it more than adults. Ever since the 1982 landmark education study A Nation at Risk, America's public schools have been escalating expectations in an academic arms race measure by high states test scores. With each passing year, students are expected to go more, do more, and learn more. They are pressured to score higher, graduate earlier, and do it with more credits. All of this puts pressure not just on kids but on the academic system itself.

And then the Pandemic hit. YOLO!

Young people want to be happy. They want to explore, push boundaries and experience new things but are trapped in a system that doesn't say YOLO; it says LATOP (Live According To Our Plan, and yes, I just made that up.).

If 40% of workers say they want a change, is it unreasonable to think that the number might be the same for students? Few students (if any) would say, "You only live once, so take Trig 2!" They want to play, dance, sing and make music. They want to express, explore and expand. They want to find friends and make memories. They want to be challenged and to change. They want to discover who they are and how they fit into the world around them. This is the reason that now, more than ever, MUSIC MATTERS.

As students return to school, they do so with masks on and eyes wide open. What are they looking for? Their best lives... 

YOLO!

Have a great week. Big announcement tomorrow, be sure to look for it.

-Scott

Shock and Blah, & Pandemic Senioritis

Senior Ditch Day has been a long-standing tradition since, well, since we've had seniors. Embraced universally by student-athletes, academics, and artists alike, this special day has become a rite of passage for teenagers everywhere.

In my early years as a teacher, I made futile and foolish attempts to try and "be the adult" and "hold seniors accountable for their attendance." That was a fool's errand of an inexperienced educator.

As the years passed and I gained some perspective and wisdom, I relented, only asking the seniors for a week's notice so I could use that day to talk about next year and announce the fall marching show. It turned out to be a win-win. Seniors got a free day and a tip of the hat (shako) for their four years of loyalty, and I got a chance to get the other students excited about the coming year.

But as all high school teachers know, Senior Ditch Day is really the denouncement of the more significant illness, "senioritis."

We've all experienced/enjoyed it ourselves. Whether it is our final year of high school, college, or the last part of a lengthy journey, we've all been there. You want it to end, and our students are no different. After twelve years of grinding it out, the final twelve weeks prove to be not when students are at their best but at their worst. Heck, Universities stop caring after the first semester of their senior year, so you can see where your students might be taking their queue.

This apathetic and abrupt bout of laziness isn't brought on by a time of year or specific calendar date. It's brought on by fatigue, frustration, and the desire to move on to something different.

Sound familiar?

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Much like your teenage counterparts, after twelve grueling months, of teaching from a distance, through a screen, or in hybrid mode, it is likely many of you are experiencing your own version of senioritis.

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Let's check.

• Are you easily distracted (squirrel!)?

• Do you have trouble focusing (another squirrel!)?

• Do you have trouble finishing tasks and...

• Do you struggle with small detials?

• Are you going to work a few minutes later these days and leaving a few minutes early – like before the end of 7th period?

• If you were an emoji, would you be "meh"?

(See what I did there? Detials... I am funny!)

Then you have a case of senioritis. Or, as medical professionals call it, Languishing. And yes, it is a medical diagnosis, and you may unknowingly suffer from it.

Just because you aren't depressed doesn't mean that you're not struggling, and just because you don't hate your job doesn't mean that you are all fired up to do it.

As Adam Grant from the New York Times puts it, "Languishing is a sense of stagnation and emptiness. It feels as if you're muddling through your days, looking at your life through a foggy windshield. And it might be the dominant emotion of 2021."

How do we break the cycle? Experts recommend three key steps; 

1. Find and finish small tasks.

2. Manage your workflow.

3. Create uninterrupted time.

Small tasks: The pandemic took away big things that impacted us in many ways; however, for many of us, it also took away our sense of control. Try and find a small project you are passionate about and focus on that. This will give you your sense of control back and, when completed, provide you with a victory you so desperately need.

Managing workflow: The average American checks email 74 times a day and switches tasks every 10 minutes (or, as I like to call it, Tuesday morning). This jumping from task to task keeps you from getting in the zone and making real progress. The lack of forward momentum heightens our angst and makes us feel unproductive. Break down big projects into smaller tasks you can accomplish in brief periods. Once you have started, don't stop until they are finished.

Uninterrupted time: Make time to be alone, quiet, and at peace. This allows you to clear your head, calm the spirit, and renew your energy level.

And in this way, maybe the student becomes the teacher.

Our 17-year-old counterparts have been telling us for years that when you feel this way, it's time for a ditch day! A time to manage your flow, focus on something you are passionate about, and have some uninterrupted time.

I'm not kidding either. I say next Friday, the day before Teacher Appreciation Week, you take the day off and celebrate the 12-month journey you have been on.

Make the plan, call the sub, and leave the Languish behind for at least one day.

Happy ditch day, everyone! 

-Scott

A Major Champ and Tough Transitions

(Editor's note: Yes, this is the second week in a row he has written about dogs. I warned him about alienating fans of felines, but he brushed it aside, saying it was the snake lovers that scared him.)

This past week, President Biden's younger dog, Major, had another "incident." Unlike my house, where an "incident" means someone is grabbing the Spot Shot and opening the windows, Major's incident was of a different variety.

He bit someone.

Well, not so much bit, more of a nip, as I understand it. I mean, there was no growling or gnashing of teeth. Major just made a quick little jab that didn't even break the victim's skin (an unwitting Secret Service Agent).

Unfortunately, this is not the first time Major has nipped at someone. Several weeks ago, Major snapped at a White House employee and handler in a similar and more publicized incident. Afterward, they sent him to off-site training for remediation.

For nipping?

Perhaps things would be different for Major if he were a puppy or a Miniature Schnauzer. People might look upon the situation differently if he were a fluffy Golden Retriever or lumbering Bassett Hound. But he is not. Major, and Champ, are full-fledged German Shepards and look every bit the part.

After the most recent incident, President Biden publicly defended Major, stating, "He is a sweet dog who comes from a tough background." 

And despite his ability to pardon, President Joe Biden is sending Major back to the minors for remediation. Really? My first thought is that we should send the agent to remediation school.

Think about the situation from a normal, non–Presidential perspective.

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Major is an adult German Shepard, bred to defend and protect. He was in a new and unfamiliar environment, with someone he did not know, with a gun, standing close to his master.

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Yes, I am disappointed in Major. Disappointed he didn't take the agent's right arm off!

Isn't that what you would want and expect your dog to do in similar circumstances? Would you send him to obedience school?! That makes no sense to me and would be a waste of money, in my opinion. It seems to me law enforcement pays gobs of money to train German Shepards to do EXACTLY that. Heck, the way I see it, Major already graduated at the top of his class and should have his name changed to Lassie! (Wait, was Lassie a boy?)

Given the breed, circumstances, and the fact that the Bidens rescued Major from a shelter after enduring prolonged trauma, we should not have been surprised or shocked by this; we should have expected and trained staff for this. You don't punish the dog for behaving like a dog. He was doing what he was born to do.

Not sure where I am going with this? Wait for it...

As students return to our classrooms, it's important to remember that they, too, have endured trauma and are predisposed to behave in a self-protective way. A global pandemic changed their world for an entire year. Like Major, your students are in unfamiliar places, dealing with new and different situations, and are interacting with people in very non-traditional ways.

Students will be on edge. Students will be nervous. Students will occasionally snap at you or other people. Given the circumstances, this is not something to be surprised and angered by; we should expect and train for this. The outbursts, mistakes, and poor choices are not to be excused but should not surprise us. These young people have been through trauma that changed them. The world they returned to is not the world they left. As they re-enter, we need to remember that it's not our (emotional) safety we should be concerned with; it's theirs. So try to be patient. Try to be forgiving. Try to remember that they are humans who have been through something considerable, are in a new world, and will act accordingly.

Major? The way I see it, he should take a victory lap down Pennsylvania Avenue to the halls of Congress. There are a few Senators I would like him to take a nip at!

Have a great week! 

Scott 

Airports, Getting Lost, and Finding Home

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).

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But more important than "how" dogs navigate is "why" they do it.

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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 

Dory, Data Dumping, and Memory Editing

Dory, Data Dumping, and Memory Editing

Let me cut right to the chase (before I forget). My memory is BAD. I'm not talking about, "Honey, where did I leave my glasses?" bad. I am closer to, "Honey, where did I leave the kids?" bad. And yes, that really did happen once. It amused my children and terrified my wife.

Beyond being bad, my memory is often wildly inaccurate. Rarely am I able to share an amusing anecdote or story without being interrupted by someone in my family with accusations of falsifying the events of that day or screams of, "That's not what REALLY happened!"

Maybe that's not what happened, but it's what I remember!

It turns out my Dory-esque memory is not limited to just me. It turns out that it's not that uncommon. In the new book, Remember, Author Lisa Genova explores our mind's ability to remember. Or not.

Genova explains that the mind sifts through thousands of data points every day to instantly determine whether the information is worthy of long-term memory storage. In short, your brain is constantly asking the question, data-drive, or data-dump.

But just like your hard drive, even when stored correctly, your memories can be corrupted when they are re-remembered. Genova calls this "creative editing," a process in which the current mindset alters your previously held memory. She further explains that "To remember an event is to reimagine it; in the reimagining, we inadvertently introduce new information, often colored by our current emotional state. A dream, a suggestion, and even the mere passage of time can warp a memory." 

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All of this means that you can be 100% confident in remembering something and still be 100% wrong. Something my wife proves to me almost daily.

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In dealing with difficult memories, Genova suggests and encourages the use of "memory editing." She argues that an effective way to combat trauma and pain associated with bad memories is to introduce new information and experiences to memories before they become permanently embedded in our brains.

The idea is simple. 

While memories are still fresh, discuss them with others, each time interpreting or introducing a new element that reveals what you want to remember. Eventually, the newly introduced elements will embed themselves into the memory before it becomes permanent. In this way, you can take a bad experience and ensure that you remember some good in it.

I think we would all like to forget the past 365 days. For the rest of our lives, we will remember the destruction and disruption associated with the global pandemic. And while the pain and suffering are real, the loss is not all that we should not forget.

As we reflect on the previous year, we shouldn't forget:

• Being home more and spending more time with family.

• A hobby you explored, a show you binge-watched, or a book you read.

• Activities or trips you did that would have typically been impossible.

• Working and collaborating with colleagues in new and meaningful ways.

• Being excited when you came up with your first creative remote learning lesson.

• Not having to stress over contests or concert prep.

• The concepts you taught or skills your students learned that would have otherwise succumbed to performance prep.

• Closing your laptop at the end of your last class and saying, "I'm done for today," with no remorse.

• Not having to complete purchase orders, bus requests, or fight for access to your auditorium or gymnasium.

• Not attending staff meetings or dealing with angry parent phone calls.

According to Lisa Genova, by reading these words, you have altered your memory of the pandemic in some small way. You have edited the primary emotion with time, perspective, and context. You have taken the memory as it was and moved it towards what you want it to be.

This is as true for your students as it is for you.

Perhaps tomorrow, you might spend a few minutes helping your students re-remember the pandemic and their music experience not just in terms of loss but also in terms of gain.

Yes, I am just like Dora. A forgetful optimist who reminds us in good times and bad to "Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..."

And that's something we should all remember.

If we can.

Have a great week. 

Scott

p.s. As a part of the podcast series Revisionist History, Malcolm Gladwell did an episode on this very subject called Free Brian Williams. It is my favorite podcast of all time and worth a listen.

You Are Slaying My Song

Last week, on a particularly nice day, my son and I were driving down the road, windows down and music blaring. All of a sudden, Huey Lewis's song Hip to Be Square came across the speakers. Knowing we were listing to his playlist, I asked him, "How did THIS song get on your playlist?" Brayden responded, "I heard it from your playlist and loved it, so I downloaded it."

Hmmm... He learned it from me.

Brayden hasn't seen Back to the Future, or it's the sequel. He does not listen to 80's retro channels or even like bands with horn sections. Had it not been for me, this song and the artist would be dead to him. Unbeknownst to me, I kept Huey's music alive for another generation. That's the NEWS, and you are welcome, Huey (see what I did there?).

The passing of the musical torch happens every day in cars, houses, and backyards. It's not limited to humans; it occurs in nature as well, but with much more severe consequences.

In Australia, a critically endangered songbird species (regent honeyeater) are dwindling because there are not enough males to teach the younger birds the tunes they need for courtship. The birds are still singing, as making music is a part of their DNA. They just aren't singing the right song, and it could lead to their extinction.

A recent study surmised that "As the population of the regent honeyeater plummeted, some young birds could no longer find older ones to teach them to sing. As a result, the birds have failed to learn the songs they need for courtship and other evolutionary business." 

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This right of passage is as true in your classroom as it is in nature.

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Every day, consciously or not, you expose your students to music that they would otherwise likely never hear. Wagner, Holst, Bernstein, and Ellington are all dependent on you to keep their music alive. They wrote the notes and rhythms, but you are their voice and bring their music to life. You are the caretaker of our nation's and world's musical legacy. You are the protectorate of our humanity. 

But much like the songbird, our legacy is in danger.

If only for one year, the Pandemic has altered how we create and share music with our students. Our students cannot always play music in ways they are accustomed to, which makes internalizing and understanding the particular beauty or nuance of a piece difficult. They cannot experience how they can express themselves via the notes on the page.

But that does not make it any less critical. In fact, in COVID times, it might be more critical than ever.

Perhaps this week, you could take a few minutes and share your favorite work or composer. Share some history, what it is you like about it, and how it makes you feel. Be the caretaker for that composer and ensure that much like the regent honeyeater, we keep their song and our species alive.

For the record, this is my song. Not just because I loved the composer, but because in teaching this piece, I learned how to teach.

YYK Zippers and My Impression of Harry Houdini

Today, courtesy of a failed zipper, I had to complete a yoga-inspired escape from my winter coat. (Yes, I have a winter coat, and for the record, it got down into the 60s.) My wife had to assist me after I got stuck, and while I envisioned it like a Houdini-esque trick filled with tension and awe, my children said it was closer to a scene from Dumb and Dumber.

So much trouble caused by one little thing. A zipper.

The YKK (Yoshida Kōgyō Kabushikigaisha) Group, founded by Tadao Yoshida in 1934, makes roughly fifty percent of the world's zippers. Seriously, check out those pants or jacket you are wearing, and chances are fifty percent of you have a YKK stamped on the zipper.

Yoshida didn't invent the zipper — the ubiquitous device predated YKK by nearly one hundred years. The originator of the zipper was Talon Zipper, who first manufactured the device in 1893. Yoshida copied Talon's design and began making his zippers in Tokyo shortly after that.

Over the following decades, YKK grew from being an imitator to an innovator, creating some of the most in-demand and innovative zippers, including the world's first nylon zipper, polyester zipper, concealed zipper, and the world's smallest zipper. YKK zippers were even used in spacesuits belonging to Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and the rest of the Apollo astronauts.

For clothing manufacturers and enthusiasts, the zipper is an essential and integral part of a garment. It is an indicator of quality and attention to detail. As fashion designer Trina Turk said, 

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"When the customer is buying $200 pants, they better have a good zipper."

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Zippers are important. They help us combine different elements and hold things together. They make things easier to get in and out of, and on occasion, make things more artistic and attractive. They are the very definition of form and function. More than anyone in the world, Yoshida understands the need for a dependable and high-quality zipper.

We all need zippers in our life. Not just on our garments, but in our lives. People who seamlessly and effortlessly help us integrate the different parts of our lives. Someone who helps us keep intact and together. Someone who serves to remind us that life is as much about form as it is function, even in pandemic times.

For many people in your life, you are that person. You are a spouse to someone you love, or maybe a parent to a child that needs you. You are a son or daughter to an aging parent or a friend and neighbor to someone in need. And yes, for many of your students, you are the one who holds them together. You connect the pieces of their lives and reminds them that school and life are about art as much as academics.

You are their zipper. You perform an essential service out of the line of sight and do it with compassion and dependability.

But if he were here, I believe Yoshida Kabushikigaisha would remind us that even the best of zippers get stuck and need a little help getting un-stuck.

If you are feeling stuck, if you are in a jam, know that it is perfectly normal and happens to the best of us. And if you can't break free and need help getting unstuck, I am here. I know what you are going through, and I would love to help you just like someone was there to help me.

-Scott