In the words of the song by George Harrison, all things must pass. I believe quite a large part of my retirement life has recently done just that. It happened three weeks ago but I’ve only just been able to bring myself to write about it. That’s a measure of how painful or call it stressful, it has been for me to deal with.
The event in question is the end of my jazz piano class on a Monday night. It had no sooner got started after the pandemic than, after two sessions, I decided that on a cost-benefit analysis, the costs were outweighing the benefits by some distance. More pain than pleasure. I’m not sure I can easily explain, even to myself, the pain side of the equation because, as is usually the case with me, the pain was complex.
Complex in the sense that it was a lot of little things* rolled together. And yes, I know I’ve often written in these retirement blogs the key to a happy life is not to roll all the bad things together but rather to tease them apart and deal with them one at a time.
Which I still believe is good advice but, in this case, they wouldn’t stay sorted and the effort required just felt ridiculous for what is essentially a voluntary, self-chosen activity and one than is meant to give me retirement pleasure. Even at this emotional distance I’m not sure I can make sense of why I felt so over-whelmed and thought bugger this for a game of soldiers. But when I walked out at the end of the class 3 weeks ago I thought, that’s it I’m not going back. And I haven’t.
It’s been very hard, especially on a Monday night when, if I allow it, I imagine the rest of the group enjoying their jazz experience. This will be my third absence and so far I’ve had no emails enquiring as to my absence or begging me to come back. And the thing is I’m pretty sure I don’t want there to be.
It’s not 100% clear cut but then very little in life is but it’s damned close and that’s different to anything I’ve felt in the past. But feeling untalented and unloved is a heavy burden and if I don’t need to bear it then what’s the point? Thing is I’m still not sure whether my decision is brave or cowardly but the more distance between me and that decision the easier it becomes if not necessarily the more correct.
There’s a slight problem in that I really like jazz but, in the light of recent events, I can’t bear to listen to it, it’s too painful. I ask myself should (interesting word in this context) I be looking for another jazz group. A kinder more supportive one? So far the answer has been no, that’s just too challenging.
So I’ve been looking for less emotionally demanding forms of playing. I could always go back to what I did for many years before Monday night jazz came along, i.e. play along to my own accompaniment – guitar, piano, drums, bodhran, violin, banjo, even harmonica somewhere. I have all the instruments if not the talent to play them but with that choice you’d think one of them would take up the slack, so to speak. Well, we’ll see.
In the meantime there’s always my folk fiddle group, the one where I play guitar and to which I belonged prior to the pandemic, but apart from seeing their appearances on Facebook I’ve had no contact with them so they’re not exactly beating a path to my door.
But then in this funny old world, on same FB, I see an announcement that they are appearing / performing at Headingley farmer’s market that coming Saturday. I’ve seen them there before it’s all very low key and just down the road. On this particular Saturday we had to be there that morning, at the doctor’s not the market, for our flu jabs. Just round the corner. No harm in stopping by.
Now you’ll have to take my word for it but, hand on heart, etc. I had no thought of being asked to re-join the group. Honest. Anyway to cut a long story short, that’s what they did. Now Celtic music plays an important part in my life, not the same as jazz piano, but a part nevertheless. But I hesitated, is this really what I wanted. They were insistent and I agreed to go to their session this coming Thursday night. All I can say is that it felt really nice to feel wanted.
So that’s where I am at in my musical activities in my retirement life. It’s messy and could get even messier but then I’ve always been clear that music needed to be a part of my retirement so it’s inevitable that, along with the potential pleasure that this aspect of my retirement can bring me, there’s bound to be some emotional pain whatever form it takes.
Just where the balance will lie in the near future, I don’t know. I think I can safely say that the jazz piano part of it has gone forever unless I join another group. But as to what the Celtic guitar folk fiddle might lead to, and on the grounds that as one door closes another opens well is this a door opening or will it slam in my face. You may have to wait a while to get the answer to this question. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you?
*I’m not going to go into detail about what went wrong. It’s still too painful. When I do write about it all you will know I’ve healed.
PS At the time of my jazz class I’m at home playing my Celtic guitar, make of that what you will.