Friday morning as I was getting ready for my defense and exam, I was stopped in my tracks by memories. I distinctly remember Mr. Richter's Business of Music class where I at once decided that a profession in the music industry was not my thing, and sometime during the semester wrote a paper and gave a presentation on music therapy. I found it the other day. It's terrible. I also remember actually giving the presentation, back when I was terrified of speaking in public.
More importantly, I remember telling my boyfriend Kyle about music therapy, and him saying "I think this would be a really good thing for you to do." See, because it was the Spring of my Junior year in college, and I was starting to freak out because I didn't know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
The original idea had actually been there all along. I was to go to music school first for performance, then med school. I had always been fascinated with how music effected the brain/body because of my own experiences using the piano as my own punching bag to deal with my mom being sick and my parents' divorce. I was actually a dual music/premed major for awhile. Then I took chemistry *shudder.* I think if I had the maturity and the drive I have now, I could have done it, but I just wasn't ready.
So, halfway through that paper/presentation I was doing, I got two really important phone calls. First from Kyle. "Did you know that the national conference for the American Music Therapy Association is in Austin this year?"
Huh? Tell me that isn't Providence.
The next call was one I had with my sister. "Hey, Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, you're going to the conference." I didn't even know what that meant, but I was really grateful and really excited. At that point I even had to go against an organization I had just joined in order to attend the conference. The decisions I now had to make were dealing with the rest of my life, way past the scope of band sorority business, and it was a huge paradigm shift for me. It no longer mattered that that was the beginning of the end of some friendships, that people would probably think I was crazy for changing my concentration to ethnomusicology when I originally HATED music history. I had finally FINALLY found my niche. Besides that, I had learned that I was fascinated by world music history, and filled my schedule with as many ethno classes as I could get my hands on. My mediocre grades also drastically improved over those last three semesters. What a difference finding my way made.
I cannot even tell you the...sigh of relief, the overwhelming, giddy sense of peace that I got when I walked through the doors of that conference. There was a band singing praise songs and so many presentations on music's effect on everything from Autism to learning and memory in the brain that I often found myself going to two presentations during the same hour. I was enchanted. Also super enchanting was the spreadsheet that Kyle made for me. I still have it. It's an exhaustive list of every music therapy school in the country, their audition requirements, tuition and fees, and length of music therapy equivalency programs. I think that was actually one of the first times that I thought, "I am going to marry this guy."
So yeah, all that came rushing back as I drove to Denton and set up my computer, prepared my notes, and started answering questions about my thesis and the last four years of my education.
The choice to become a therapist is not an easy one. It means developing a sense of self that others are often allowed to ignore. One has to constantly be in check with oneself...am I getting enough sleep? Am I responding therapeutically to every situation? Is there a reason there could be some kind of counter-transference here? Sometimes I feel like I am a pitcher and if I'm not careful I will pour too much of myself out and have nothing left. I'm not saying any of that like "Oh I'm so self-aware it's amazing." I actually describe myself as painfully self-aware because I tend to really overdo it.
I think all that said it really means that graduate school, especially as means for a therapy ends (any kind, OT/PT/Neuropsych) is a meat grinder. A fun one without any real homework. One with mirrors in a fun house that constantly reflect you back to yourself and then asks, "what are you going to do with this? how are you going to help others with the gifts you've been given?"
The whole process on Friday was nerve wracking. I didn't sleep soundly for three days, couldn't eat the day before, and had to pull out all my reinforcements including my power panties, the clinical strength antipersperant/deoderant and even yes, the belting and tucking in of a button-down shirt. The thesis defense was actually a breeze. Relatively speaking, I guess. The rest of it was really cool and tough at the same time - the whole purpose of a defense/exam is to make sure you have the vocabulary to hold your own as a Master of Arts in Music and also as a music therapist with a higher than entry level degree. So, we basically just had a big conversation on topics from score analysis to Debussy (why does my life always come back to Debussy? That's a whole other blog post.) and Ravel, symbolism, impressionism, exoticism, behavioral and cognitive behavioral techniques in the psychiatric setting...everything.
Apparently I held my own.
By the way, after a national and regional presentation, I am no longer terrified of speaking in public. I have learned to play the guitar, to improvise (sort of), to conduct research, to do what I've always wanted to do: use music and help people.
Speaking of pets, I know we've been talking a lot about getting a second dog, but...um...we really want chickens. K has found a really cute design for a chicken coop, and with the plans we have to start in on some sweet flowerbeds in the back yard and the recent research I've done regarding the awesomely nitrogenous-ness of chicken poo and how good it is for plants, well...we're getting chickens first.
