So close. And yet still so far.
I wonder if I'll ever let go.
Showing posts with label Musician. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musician. Show all posts
Lovely Lady TC
I know this note is gonna seem really weird, but I just wanted to say thank you. Your gallery idea is so bloody brilliant, and I love how even when I submit a crappy gallery pic, I've still had to think very carefully about what to post. And even if the pic sucks, I still try to make it worthwhile with my choice of words.
My last post, "Oh. Hello Stranger." has pressed so many of my buttons. It's so funny because, when I first started out on this particular Gallery theme, it WAS going to be a silly one. I've got 4 of the photos ready to go, and know what I want to do for the others.
Actually, I KNEW what I WANTED to do. But not anymore, because once again, you've made me think in a completely different way. There are mahoosive stories behind this post, which I come ever close to sharing with more and more people; had it not been for your Gallery, this teeny tiny snippet of history wouldn't have become such a public part of my blog. I know I don't give away too much; it's still incredibly raw. But I'm close; I'm so close. And that's pretty good, I think, for me.
But anyway. I just want to say thanks. So much. For helping me find an outlet in a way so natural to me. For helping me push my boundaries and make me think. For such an awesome idea. For being so inspiring for so many people.
jay xxx
I know this note is gonna seem really weird, but I just wanted to say thank you. Your gallery idea is so bloody brilliant, and I love how even when I submit a crappy gallery pic, I've still had to think very carefully about what to post. And even if the pic sucks, I still try to make it worthwhile with my choice of words.
My last post, "Oh. Hello Stranger." has pressed so many of my buttons. It's so funny because, when I first started out on this particular Gallery theme, it WAS going to be a silly one. I've got 4 of the photos ready to go, and know what I want to do for the others.
Actually, I KNEW what I WANTED to do. But not anymore, because once again, you've made me think in a completely different way. There are mahoosive stories behind this post, which I come ever close to sharing with more and more people; had it not been for your Gallery, this teeny tiny snippet of history wouldn't have become such a public part of my blog. I know I don't give away too much; it's still incredibly raw. But I'm close; I'm so close. And that's pretty good, I think, for me.
But anyway. I just want to say thanks. So much. For helping me find an outlet in a way so natural to me. For helping me push my boundaries and make me think. For such an awesome idea. For being so inspiring for so many people.
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Everyone Who Commented Previously
I don't know what to say. Apart from, obviously, thank you. My blog is changing; I didn't mean for it to happen, but it's reassuring and yet quite frightening. I'm changing as a person, it's out of my control, and I need to make sure I can BE the person I'm turning into.
Some of you know how big a change it is. Others are completely unaware. And that's ok. There's a lot to learn about me, so much more, and in nearly three years of blogging, amazingly, I don't think I've given away much of the stuff I think is huge.
But that's ok. It's coming. Soon. I'll change. Things will change. And that's ok.
So thank you, for helping me. I hope I can help you too, because quite a few of you have said you want to get your musical instruments out to play again. But you say you're intimidated. Or scared. Or nervous. Or wary. You know what? I was all those and more. So much more. But if I can do it? ANYONE can do it. And even better? We'll be here to support you. In fact, I'd love you to get in touch if you decide to play again. Even if you don't get it out. Even if you're just thinking about it.
We can support each other. I know it.
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People Who Are Keen to Hear Me Play
I am a LOOOONG way from that just yet. Or at least, I think I am. It won't be this week. Or maybe next week. I doubt the week after. But I might catch myself off guard...and it might even be tomorrow. Or next year. I don't know. I may be proud of how far I got, but I'll never be proud enough to brag of my "skills" or "talent" or whatever.
Sure I have concerts coming up. I can say that now. I'm coming to terms with that now. You're welcome to come here me play, but I'll be safely buried away in the security blanket of an orchestra.
I like it that way. For now.
Maybe one day I'll vlog me playing.
Maybe.
One day.
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JG and CB
I'm glad you're proud of me. I really am. Whether it's the cello or the camera, it doesn't matter. I'm like a kid who wants to be patted on the head and rewarded with a tiny "well done". Because no one else did it before, when I was going through the heartache. So when my best friends say things like that?
It means more than anything.
I love you.
I didn't think I'd see her again so soon. She went away last November, and I hadn't planned on seeing her again for quite some time.
A sudden flurry of emails, texts and phone calls this last month...why me? Why were people making me deal with her again? I hate that people want me to use her again. I hate the reminder of what they put me through. Sometimes I think I still hate her. So resentful. Few know why. Some should know why, but probably don't realise it. Few knew of my wrath. I'm so angry with all I had to go through; feels like it was all for nothing.
And yet, when I held her last week, for the first time in what felt like forever, I remembered. It's been 5 months. But I remember. I remember everything I've been through. I remember feeling so proud of her, proud of myself. Proud of overcoming all the insane obstacles to keep going for as long as I did.
I recognised her straight away...I've been a part of her for 26 years. It felt natural, she feels right, she feels good. I'd forgotten how much I could yearn for her. I forgot that seductive feel of her beneath my fingers. How she felt whenever I caressed her. I lusted after the emotions she provoked. I lusted after her.
Even so, I'm still bitter when I hold her. So full of envy, of what others could achieve with theirs; that maybe I would never be as good as they. They were better than me, theirs were better than mine. My eyes were always green, but it always made me work harder. Ever harder. But I could never be as good as them.
Strangely, even now, I'm lazy. I want to play with her again, but...I find excuses to not even pick her up. My slothfulness prevents me from going back to that place where I once was. That time when I felt almost invincible, with her power. The lack of power leaves me a little empty. The ever lasting energy she produced; reduced to nothing.
I know why I don't want to go back. I was punished. She punished me. They punished me. But I'm a glutton for punishment. I pick her up, and try to shove it all aside. Like I don't remember any of it. I go back though. I punish myself. I always did. Gluttonous. For punishment.
Is it too much?
No. It’s not enough. I want more. I want more than just her. I want so many things. I have a thirst. A greedy thirst to do so much more than just be with her. The greed consumes me; exhausts me, but I hunger for more.
Other passions invade, I want them all. It’s not enough to be Mother. Cellist. Photographer.
And so, I pay the price for my sins.
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This post is inspired Tara Cain's "The Gallery".
Please do not use images without direct permission from Jay Mountford. Thanks.
Every day I have a new idea. Every day I think to myself, "I wanna be like them. I wanna do what he does. I wanna be as good as her." All too often, I doubt myself, and what I can do.
And then comes the question that I dread so much; "Well what can I do?" I have no confidence in myself. The classical music industry has been such a blow to my system, with many of the people in it pretty much destroying any last shreds of confidence I had. I spend way too much time kidding myself, pretending to be something I'm not.
It's made even harder when you've spent your life, your soul, every inch and ounce of your fibre making something of yourself, only to have someone turn around and say "actually, you're pretty crap and you'd be much better doing something else". I wonder if it hurt more because I didn't want to do anything else; music was what I wanted to do. I wanted to (and very often, did) work harder than everyone else, to prove myself, to show that I could be as good as them.
At this moment in time, it feels like the most amazing waste of 24 years of my life.
I set standards high. Sky high. Often, so high, it's near impossible for me to reach them myself. This is just because of sheer determination, to show that I could be as good as the next person. But it's been wasted. And still here I am, setting high standards I can never reach.
I want to do so much. I want to show people who I am and what I can do. I want to be as amazing as the next person. I want to have a gift, a talent, and shine like no one else. Or at least, be recognised for what I'm doing. That doesn't happen in music anymore. That's been destroyed.
Maybe it's photography? I don't know. I love a lot of the pictures I take, but there's always someone who wants to come along and crap on the parade. That frustrates me so much. I'm trying so damn hard and trying to learn so much. I've had help from a few select people in terms of photography, and I'm loathe to bother people too much because I know they have their own lives to lead, without having to take my crap on too.
I'm slowly (so slowly) building my website and getting lots of help with it, and to those that have helped me, I can't thank you enough. You've been amazing. But I would hate to think it had all been in vain. I wonder where this photography thing is going to go. If anywhere at all. People keep saying "Come and do my pictures! I'd love you to do some pics for me!" which is really flattering. But that annoying voice...that voice that's plagued me for so many years since I was ill the first time, always destroys me.
I think I'm getting too big for my boots. I'm convinced there are a billion people out there who, in the words of a Fugee's song, "smile in my face then they talk behind my back". I hate this paranoia, it's destroying me, and it's all too reminiscent of being ill before.
I want my identity back. A lot of people have been posting about this lately, and sadly, it feels like everyone can even say what I want to say, better than I can.
So why do I have this horrible need to constantly compare myself with everyone else? Why do I not appreciate any of the things I can do? Why do I not know who I am? Why can I not be who I want to be? Why can't I just get on and do what I want to do?
And my only answer is a really sad one, but the only one that makes sense: it's because I became a mom. Mom's are always comparing themselves. My kid did this, did your kid do that, I do this with mine, I'd never do that with mine...
The things I loved to do don't happen any more. I haven't picked up my cello since last November. I may possibly have another concert this year, if they ask me to play, and if I'm in a position to do so. I haven't picked up any other instruments LONG before that. I love to take pictures, but whilst I think some are great (especially the unedited ones), inside I'm destroying myself about how crap they really are. Same old trite, someone else already did it.
I don't know who I am because I've never been a mom before, and I don't know who I am as a mom; after 2 years I'm still struggling to embrace it, and often make myself sick with sadness with the fact that I can't accept Noah and Isaac belong to me. I can't be who I want to be because even if I did know, I suspect it would be impossible right now. Or maybe ever. Because it's probably another goal that I've set too high.
I'm so lost and I don't know how to find myself. And I'm too scared to find myself because I'm terrified it's all going to crumble like my music did. I can't ever go through that again. I really can't. I can't trust the support of anyone because I'm convinced it's all lies. I don't know how to get help and support; I don't know how to fix any of this.
I'd just like a piece of me back. But I'm not sure if she's all gone forever.
UUURRRGGHHHHAAAAHHHAHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGUUUUURRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH
Sometimes musicians suck. Sometimes music sucks (apart from when I sing Mr Sandman to Noah while he screams blue freaking murder). Sometimes musicians AND music sucks. Sometimes I love them both. Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out to be a musician. Sometimes I wonder if I can be arsed with all the political bollocky-shit that goes with being a musician. Sometimes I think I'll quit it all and get out before it makes me want to slit my wrists. Sometimes I wonder if I'll fight the cause and keep going anyway. Sometimes I wonder if I'll stand my ground and be as shitty as other musicians. Sometimes I think I'm too nice. Sometimes I think I'm not good enough. Sometimes I know I'm not good enough. Sometimes I care. Sometimes I don't.
Today at the NCT meet up I got crowned "The Next Baby Whisperer".
Sometimes I just wonder what I might do.
Sometimes musicians suck. Sometimes music sucks (apart from when I sing Mr Sandman to Noah while he screams blue freaking murder). Sometimes musicians AND music sucks. Sometimes I love them both. Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out to be a musician. Sometimes I wonder if I can be arsed with all the political bollocky-shit that goes with being a musician. Sometimes I think I'll quit it all and get out before it makes me want to slit my wrists. Sometimes I wonder if I'll fight the cause and keep going anyway. Sometimes I wonder if I'll stand my ground and be as shitty as other musicians. Sometimes I think I'm too nice. Sometimes I think I'm not good enough. Sometimes I know I'm not good enough. Sometimes I care. Sometimes I don't.
Today at the NCT meet up I got crowned "The Next Baby Whisperer".
Sometimes I just wonder what I might do.
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