Thursday, September 10, 2015

An open love letter to the CBH Choir and Band


Dear CBH Choir family,

I am so honored to be singing with all of you this year. Will invited me to join the choir last summer before High Holidays, and I just wasn’t ready to do it then. Mostly, I was scared. (Terrified, really.) I sat at Rosh Hashanah services last year watching all of you with a mix of awe and excitement, knowing that if I could get over myself, I would get to be one of you.

So why the fear?

Quite honestly, I knew I would love it. Somehow, it felt scary to be on the precipice of doing something so potentially nourishing to my spirit. I didn’t know if I could actually let myself feel that kind of fullness and joy.

Our choir retreat a few weeks ago was very powerful for me for that reason. It was so nurturing in a way that I haven’t experienced in a long time. I cried quietly through yoga when Rebecca talked about release. I cried through “Om.” I cried through tree pose, supporting each other as we balanced in a circle. I cried through the activity of breathing with our backs up against a partner’s back. Afterwards, my partner told me, “I didn’t want to move… didn’t want to let go…. I haven’t felt like someone has had my back since I got divorced a few years ago.”

I couldn’t speak to respond to my partner because the feeling of connection to her and to the rest of the group was so strong. The energy the choir creates by being together, even without singing, takes my breath away.  

There is a lot of love and support there.

After a really rough last few years, I didn’t know that I could feel that connected to a group of people anymore. It is surprisingly hard to let go and just let yourself be loved by a lot of new people.

The CBH choir is so much more than what I imagined last year as I sat and watched all of you from the side. I didn’t know that choir members celebrated birthdays together or knew all about each other’s kids’ activities or said Kaddish with each other.

I have learned a lot through choir this year, for example:

1)   How to appropriately pronounce “Hallelujah” with long vowels
2)   How to operationalize “hushed intensity”
3)   How to read Will’s many forms of eyebrow communications

(FYI, in case you missed it tonight, the one where his eye gets big and he looks at you intently with his eyebrow raised means we are about to move onto the next section of the song.)

I’ve also learned to let a lot more joy come back into my life and to let myself fully experience it. Specifically, I love the sense of wholeness I feel in singing with all of you. I think one of our songs sums that feeling up perfectly:

"Ashira v’azameira ura k’vodi"

Rough translation:
I will sing and chant and awaken my soul
Through my voice and breath I can bring forth my own essence
Which is connected to all sparks of the Divine

I am so happy to be celebrating this new year with all of you in the choir loft (with the bubbles... that I did not put there, but feel the need to blow occasionally).

With much love and respect and awe,

Ariela

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Clarity



My birthday was earlier this week. The big 36. In Judaism this is an important year – a double chai – life x 2…. Like I’ve lived two and now I’m starting on the third. (I might not get 9 lives, but I’ll take a new one now and again!)

I have always used my birthday as a time to reflect on the previous year and envision the year ahead. This year especially, it’s hard to look back and see how far I have come, mostly because I see how far I have yet to go to become the person I want to be. My friend said that was crazy that I couldn't see the change.

I don’t want to mistake “work in progress” for lack of clarity though. The process of gaining clarity is big, but no one really talks about it. It is a very personal process. People tend to focus on the action part because it is more outwardly visible, but that only comes after clarity.

Roughly, it’s kind of like this: 

 
(Note: I’m not a fan of boxes, nor do I think that a person arrives at action and is suddenly done. This is just part of the process of becoming, and it is iterative and cyclical.)

Anyone familiar with logic models knows that the magic is in the arrows: the real work is getting from one “box” to the next.

I am seeing a lot of friends right now stuck in pre-clarity, often putting a lot of energy into thinking about circumstances, situations, or people that are not within their power to change, or making peripheral things seem like THE thing. I know that feeling well. It is full of angst, but that somehow feels safer. It is easier to remain motionless in pre-clarity, because there is no clear course of action.

Last year I was very much in pre-clarity.

Actually, that is an understatement. I was lost.

I went back and re-read a poem called "Quiet" that I had written a year ago about the experience of finally hearing my own voice again. I teared up when I read it because I recognized that Me a year ago had no idea how scary and pivotal the process of gaining clarity would be.




The phrase, “Can’t see the forest for the trees” has been echoing in my mind a lot lately when I am listening to friends: people being overwhelmed by detail to the point that they can’t look at the entirety of a situation and separate out the pieces. It’s a feeling of being stuck; perhaps not seeing a way out. All of that is pre-clarity. That was very much me last year.  

Gaining clarity is scary. It is scary to admit to yourself that something isn’t working – whether that is a job or a relationship or school or parenting or any number of things. It is hard because we have often made a deliberate choice to put ourselves in the situation, connected ourselves with others, and invested lots of love and energy. I remember thinking to myself last year, “What does that say about me if I invested wrong?”

Gaining clarity in itself is huge – the process of owning what you know to be true, no matter how inconvenient or weird or upsetting it may be to others. But clarity is only the seeing piece…. And then there is what you do after gaining clarity. 

Navigating the space between – riding the arrow between clarity and action – is surprisingly difficult.

Things actually got harder last year once I had clarity. Because then it wasn’t okay just to remain still. Because once I had clarity, it was on me to be brave enough to act on what needed to happen. Because I couldn’t sit around and say, “I don’t know” anymore.

At the outset, the options for action seemed binary – do or don’t do, keep or ditch, stay or leave. I think one of the hardest parts of action is navigating the gray space. Sometimes it is more about re-balancing and redefining, which takes even more patience and creativity than a clear cut yes or no.


Being able to hear my own thoughts clearly means I am so much more aware of my personal growth or the lack thereof. And quite honestly, it is much more in my nature to judge myself harshly than to give myself a high five. While I easily see it in others, I do not naturally see progress in myself.
 
So when I told my friend that I didn’t think I had made much progress since last year, I see now why she thought I was crazy. I didn’t realize in the moment how much bravery it had taken for me to gain clarity, and how much more bravery it took to take action. I forgot that it had taken me a week alone to hear myself think, and that it had taken even longer for me to allow myself that time!

I am excited about this next year – this next “life” or stage in life. It feels lighter, clearer, and more purposeful, even though none of it was what I could have predicted a few years ago. Somehow, knowing that I have learned how to give myself permission to listen and change course makes this next “life” already more gentle on my soul.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Attachment



Sometimes I have a tendency to get so attached to people or things outside myself that I forget to pay attention to what’s inside me. And as much as it feels hard to let go of those things, it is even harder to hold on to Me – especially when my hands and heart are otherwise occupied.

I have worked really hard in this last year to let go of things that look nice and shiny on the outside but ultimately do not serve me well. It is a lot of work to release finger muscles nearing rigor mortis (old habits that die hard) or knuckles tightened in a death grip (fear). 

Next weekend’s choir concert is really important for me. A bit of an anniversary, in fact. When I attended the concert last year I was not in a great place in my life… feeling stuck in a job that I let make me miserable and color the rest of my life 50 shades of black.

Hearing the choir sing, exactly a year ago today, was part of the turning point of learning to let go. Here’s what I wrote the day after the concert.

March 23, 2014

Most people don’t know that I get lost in music
Swimmy-head-can’t-think-about-anything-else-but-deliciously-present lost
Only a few people know about my musical obsessions
Songs I will play on repeat for days on end
Wanting to consume them and make them part of me
Because I know they were written just for me

One of “my” songs can take me somewhere else entirely
Or ground me so deeply in myself that I sometimes can’t move

The Bet Haverim choir has that effect on me too
Music that tugs at my Jewish roots
Reminds me of my beautiful traditions, of who I am

Listening to the choir last night was like hearing my own voice again
After so many months of feeling lost and silenced

Every time I hear the choir, I want so deeply to be a part of it
To become more confident in my own voice in music

But I usually tell that voice to be quiet
Because if I take that chance
It could come out all wrong
So it is probably best left alone inside
Quiet

But last night I started to feel a little piece of me cracking away a bit
Daring me to let go of the structure holding me back from fully being Me
And I stopped and wondered what it could possibly feel like to be free of the constraints I put on myself
And immerse myself in what I deeply love 
Music


So many changes for me in this last year that are so much more important than leaving an awful work situation – most notably, starting voice lessons and joining the choir – two things that seemed impossibly scary and out of my comfort zone a year ago today. And now, I can’t imagine my life without either of them, especially choir.

I spent many years watching the choir with awe.
Watching Joy, so true to her name, light up the sopranos with her bright smile.
Hearing Gayanne’s soulful voice fill the room with life and love.
Seeing Will create and perform songs so beautiful they move me to tears.
(Every. Single. Time.)

These people who were once just familiar faces are now treasured new friends.
Carrie, whom Elena has adopted as her special aunt down the street.
McKenzie, whom Elena calls, “The lady with the happy eyes and beautiful hair.”
Brad, whom we fondly refer to as “Mustachio” after Purim.
Nefesh and Irene, who give amazing hugs.
Shana, my alto rock and old friend who can always make me giggle.
And so many others I can’t imagine not seeing each week.

All of these people, I may never have been able to hold in my heart, had I not been able to let go of some other things that seemed so important for so long.

----

On a recent beach trip, collecting shells along the shore, I thought about how the ocean inspires me to become less attached to things. The waves come and go, bringing with them new treasures and taking away others. I thought about how if I hold on to everything I just found, I have no room for what is yet to come. That if my focus is on making sure I keep what I have, I can't notice anything new, let alone decide if I want to make a trade.

It’s hard to change and grow without letting go of something. 

And all of that process revolves around fear. Not having enough faith that what could be next will be the right thing for me in that moment. It is so much easier to be attached to what is known, even when I know I no longer need or want it.


My friend once told me, 

“May this Passover be the year you bring yourself out of your own personal Egypt.”

As I work on leaving behind fear in favor of faith, I am wondering… 

What are you letting go of this year?




Come to our choir concert on Saturday! Information found right here!

Monday, January 12, 2015

Patience




When I was a freshman in college, my brother had a series of seizures and ended up in the hospital. I flew home, and I was in such a hurry to get off the plane so I could go see him. I am sure all of my fidgeting and loud sighing was quite annoying to my fellow passengers. 

At one point, the woman in front of me turned around and said pedantically, “Patience is a virtue, my dear.”  

I believe my response included narrowed eyes and something along the lines of, “Yes, but it isn’t one of mine.”

And unfortunately, 18 years later, I think that’s probably still true, particularly when it comes to patience with myself.   

Sometimes, with the deepest things that matter most, that I am so afraid to do wrong, I find myself paralyzed. Taking myself so seriously that I can’t do anything. The impatience with myself just feeds the cycle of non-action. Just me getting in my own way.

I have been thinking a lot about how to navigate these unhelpful spaces.

Rabbi Josh and I talked last week about the meaning of the word “patience.” He explained that it’s not about the ability to wait, but rather the mindset during the waiting time. The tolerance of discomfort.

Yeah, I can wait. Waiting is just an action. But I have noticed that my mindset during the act of waiting can influence the outcome, particularly when it comes to trying to be patient with myself.

Example: Voice lessons are so hard for me. Probably the hardest thing I have ever done. The barrier, again, being me getting in my own way – the nerves…. the anxiety…. Feelings that are not particularly familiar to me that I just want to go away! And yesterday! (This mental tape says, “OMG! What is wrong with me that I can’t just relax and sing freely??!!”)

I was trying to explain this to my voice teacher, Gayanne, last week. That when something is hard, I either decide it doesn’t matter and walk away, or I decide I need to conquer it and put all my energy towards that goal and get it done. The latter approach has served me well for things requiring brain power. Seems reasonable that I could apply that to singing, right?

Gayanne aptly pointed out that maybe my voice doesn’t want to be conquered. That I need to give it space to emerge. That the more I push it and get frustrated with its slowness, the less it is going to want to come out.

Because voice thrives with space and time. Patience, not push.

It will come out when it is ready, just as the people will get off the plane when they can. Being impatient just makes the experience worse, and mostly just for me and those unlucky enough to be in proximity.

Gayanne also reminded me that I’ve only had five voice lessons and that all of this is part of the process. And that I need to let myself sit in the nervous feelings. I need to learn to tolerate the discomfort. Patiently. Because “push” isn’t helpful in these situations, as much as it has worked well for me in others.

My pep talk to myself changed when I focused on patience and gentleness rather than, “Get it done, girlfriend!” We’ll see how that goes for me. Thus far, it feels… safer. 

Yet… despite this realization, I am still wondering: Can I push myself to be more patient or is that just doing patience all wrong?!

Your thoughts on cultivating patience appreciated below.