Life

Gets crazy.

Yeah.

Whatever...
Three things to cover today.
Snow. I truly am enjoying this winter. I don't know why. Common sense, or at least some semblance of sense masquerading as the common variety in my head, deems such a sentiment as truly unusual given my current circumstances. I still live in Michigan, except now I have to walk everywhere. Yep. So why?
Goodness, I don't know exactly. And knowing why is so often not what it's about. All this theory and stipulation about things. Why squirrels are cute or why guacamole tastes good... Forget it. Just enjoy them.
I do really like the snow and the winter. So many great philosophical fragments and anecdotes always seem to swim around in my head during the winter. Why? See, there I go again. I want to know why. :(
Maybe it is in part because winter pushes us to realize our mortality just a bit more. Every step we take outside is met with the instant embrace of the frigid air that could very well be our undoing if we didn't take the necessary precautions of warm clothing and time-caps on our mid-winter outdoor excursions.
Those thoughts don't come around that much in the summer do they? Ah, summer. When you step outside on a sunny summer day, the air and the elements seem to gleefully reassure you of your life, your vitality. Your will to live and to enjoy life. What a contrast to winter. See, winter is a contrast to us. To life. It's the sun, being shielded ever so slightly more from us. If that process were to continue... it would get colder. And colder. And we would be snuffed out. Summer complements our state of aliveness. Winter taunts it.
Ah, I love winter. Is that bad? To love a force that could ultimately destroy my aliveness? Or is it good? To revel in the truthfulness winter offers? The secrets the howling wind whispers in one's ear: "You are not truly so stable in your aliveness. I could take it from you."
Winter, he, or she, or it, is right. The cold does possess power to end our life. That's what winter is. A biting check every time you walk out the door, making sure you aren't too "in the moment," assuring you that life on this earth does indeed end, and one would do well not to forget that.

Second topic of the day:
Diminishing return.
Particularly in practice. With my concerto... notes memorized. Check. I can play well with the piano, ensemble is good. Check. Shifts are reliable. Check. There is a dose of character and musicality. Check.

Are we done here?

Nope.
Sorry, another little reminder in life. Perfection is a thing. And it's a thing we can't reach. And the closer we feel we are, the harder it is to get there. But everyone knows that. What I'm trying to say is that when I practice, the basics come, and then with some more hard practice, the real meaty stuff, the music-making comes. And yet, I can never say I am done. I can never be over with it. As time goes on, (we all have experienced this) our endeavors seem to be giving less and less back to us. Diminishing return, of course. The closer you get think you are to the standard of perfection, the more you realize you just can't get there on your own power. I try, of course. Giving up is dumb, best attempts are always better. But we all know that's hard.
I don't know, I guess that was more of a venting/confession of what my practice life is like. But let's compare winter and diminishing return in practicing, shall we? Both highlight our insufficiencies. Aye. There's the rub. As Hamlet would say. :)

Lastly,
I am courting the prospect of learning some Hungarian. In a more serious and dedicated manner. Ladeez and gennlmen. Let me tell you. If you want to feel insufficient at something, try learning Hungarian.
That's basically all I'm going to say on that topic.



I enjoy all of these things. Winter, the finer points of practicing, and learning a language with 14 vowels, 18 cases, postpositional pronouns, no future tense, no translation of the verb "to have," and the word, "megszentségteleníthetetlenségeskedéseitekért." But why? Grrrrrrrrrr I'm asking again. I'll just say this. Maybe facing the truth of the human condition of utter insufficiency to have things perfect, or endless (what I've boiled all of these activities down to, in other words) is exciting to some, including me, because it, among other things, implies a Being from which these ideas of a perfect standard, eternity, etc. stem from.
I like that. that thought. Not fully developed, not fully or perfectly expressed. (I'm not a perfect writer, go figure.) It doesn't need to be. We all have the capacity to feel it.
It's Michigan, after all!
Take a step outside, and taste your finiteness. :)