I look for (but not directly toward, else they would seldom happen) those moments which bring clarity. They often come early in the (my) morning, particularly when walking or practicing, often coming in what I call "balls of yarn"; a conceptual understanding to unwind (usually at a later time). Some of the entries in this blog are the result of unwinding yarn balls. The following highlighted sentences are kind of an amalgam of the two. They all have to do with "managing the space", and are things I ponder on often (or pretty much continually). This all has direct application to playing music, for me, but can also be presented and understood in general terms, which is what I'll attempt to do here: 

In order to see something clearly, pull away from it.
This is my wide angle lens thing, and something that has become much clearer in practicing, recently. I'm a conceptual guy. Pull back to see the bigger (or better, the entire) picture and I can much more easily access the individual moving parts. Focus on a point of detail (apart from its context) and I'll find myself lost in the maze.

To see the entire picture is to see in a different way.
I am only beginning to come to encounter and absorb some of the science behind this (which is adding some understanding to what I've already been uncovering), so I won't even try to go there. Suffice to say, we can see beyond what our eyes can find. 

Remember that context and associations provide meaning.
And meaning to me is everything. What something is can only be understood (for me, at least) in terms of what it means. If this seems nonsensical to you, then you are blessed with not having a single wide angle lens through which to see everything. And if so (that it is nonsensical to you), then the way that you see things is also nonsensical to me, and I am blessed as well.

Seeing something in isolation has little meaning to me.
Same thing, from the opposite angle. Seeing things from multiple angles is important. And this, I would (want to) believe, would (or should) be true of everyone. In fact, this strikes at the heart of the current "political" state of affairs. I'm attempting to create a dedicated blog entry concerning this. It may happen, or else it may just seep tacitly into some other posts (which may have been the case just now, if I hadn't come out and said it).  

To see what something is, look closely.
Sometimes you need a microscope to properly see what something is, even if it means you have to borrow someone else's. In my internal process, few things are labeled, though I have come to learn that labels have their own importance (especially when trying to communicate something to someone else). Music theory class in college was a good illustration of this. The class that causes a significant percentage of music majors to drop out of school was, for me, "Oh, THAT'S what you call it" class. That was important.  

To see what something means, step back for a larger view.
You'll never begin to understand the interrelationships of the big picture if you never put down the microscope. Distancing yourself from your subject may not mean moving away from the particular thing or idea, rather toward the context or the meaning. Put another way, to have a sense of what to do with something, step back from it.

The preceding has been a glimpse inside my head. Which, by the way, never turns off, though I am getting better at putting it down (or letting go) and staring at it.    ;)

The Washington College Jazz Combo at the Mainstay, 1/27/17. From left - Michael, me, Lis, Ben, Kevin. 

Gabby and Maura (pictured here with Ben and Kevin) came on board soon thereafter.

At Washington College, I have the smallest possible faculty position; a single one credit course. I direct the jazz combo, and am delighted to do so. I'm not there because I am a professional educator (in the academic world, with a post-graduate degree). Adjunct faculty positions allow for those with relevant professional skills and experience to make their contributions in higher education. Or something like that. More simply put, I have a strong rapport with the students and fill the bill in that setting. I was already involved as an "advisor" for several years before I was given the position. One of those organic things. We (the students and I) were all there because we wanted to be. We really wanted to be. It was our thing that we "owned". And as a teacher, inspiring ownership is the primary objective; job one, as I see it. In a group setting, in particular, that will feed on itself. In our case, so much so that when the pandemic hit, mid semester, we had already fulfilled (exceeded, even) our rehearsal/performance requirements for the entire semester. As such, I was probably the only active facility member who didn't have to pivot and finish the semester with online learning. This was particularly problematic for performing ensembles, as you might imagine, and even more so for me, as, with satellite internet, two way streaming wasn't an option. I was able to assign grades and call it there (to the profound disappointment of the students and myself, but it is was it is. or was). As for going forward at the college (for reasons both involving and beyond the pandemic), major changes are in store. One of them is reduction in adjunct faculty positions. Happy to say that jazz combo (I) survived the cut, but as it turns out, not the pandemic, for this semester at least (as there will be no on campus activities this Fall). But it is nice to know that that space is left open to be filled when the circumstances again will cooperate. As with many things in my world, they don't exist because I assembled the jigsaw puzzle in the prescribed manner. rather they are like flowers in the garden; nurtured into being in the larger scheme of things, and maintained with care.  

I'd not thought much about the term "old soul" until recent years, as the term has been thrown around concerning young musicians mysteriously connected to musical traditions of generations previous. Now I'm realizing this applies to me also, and perhaps not just because I find connection to music before my time. I think I'm just flat out old fashioned. 
And if not that, something. Driven with purpose, perhaps. If you've been reading this blog over the past few months, you know the perspective I've embraced from the beginning of this pandemic; that I'd been given the gift of a "sabbatical", giving me time and opportunity to deepen my relationship with the piano, and the space. In recent weeks, I've had to begin the adjustments that I knew would be coming, as opportunities to work (which I would define as making artistic contributions for which I receive compensation) expand. It will be a long road back to "full (self) employment", even as it's been a bit of a journey to get to where I am now, somewhere in the middle. It's been a combination of making adjustments to the emerging new normal, and deepening my understanding of, and connection to who I am. One circumstance, early on in all this, was particularly illuminating. I was encouraged by a friend to apply for a small (unrestricted) grant, provided by a local organization for professional artists whose work had been sidelined. Given the small scale of this, I would imagine the process took a lot less time to complete than a typical(ly more involved) grant application (Just assuming, as I have no experience with these things). It took about an hour. Soon after hitting the send button I felt uncomfortable, and knew why. I had just spent an hour in a process of asking for someone to give me money, when I could have used that hour to make a contribution (given the opportunity). I don't intend to apply for a grant like that again, and if I would, I'd ask instead for it to be a commission. I would much rather spend my time making a contribution than (simply/only) asking for one. The lesson that this taught me (or more accurately reminded me, as it was something I already knew) is that I don't want to ask to be given money. I want to be able to earn (make a contribution in order to receive) it. In order for this to work, I need to put everything (internally and externally) in the proper place, as much as I can. I believe in what I do, and that I am called to do (be) it. I believe I am given a path to follow, one not for me to construct, but one that opens to me as I place myself (my self) to the side and allow it to be found. I believe I do what I do for the benefit of others, and that I will be taken care of in the process. 
And nothing in the last 5 months has suggested to me otherwise.