Musicked Out (Or When the Nice Jar Runs Low)

Music teachers love teaching music. Why? Because we love music. We’re fortunate enough to share our vocation as our profession. On our best days, we count our blessings every time a student walks into the studio, plops their little behind onto the bench, and turns to us—eyes shining—to announce they practiced every day (and twice on Tuesday).

Okay, if you’re quietly throwing up into your mouth right now, I get it. It’s June. At this point in the year, if students even make it to their lesson on time, their eyes may be shining with unshed tears from sports injuries or perhaps the realization that not one jot of practicing has taken place (despite the exam being in twelve days and they still can’t identify a Perfect 4^th). Brains are sluggish, ears seem stuffed with cotton, and their fingers are as uncontrollable as a herd of cats. In the meantime, we’re in the midst of preparing students for music tests, juggling lesson reschedules for baseball tournaments, swim meets, cheese-rolling jamborees, and toe-wrestling finals.

It’s hardly surprising, then, that we start to feel cranky, dragged-out, bloated and/or itchy and about to lose it if we hear one more F natural in that Clementi run. Under these conditions, it becomes nearly impossible to remain charming, engaging, cheerful, and endlessly patient as our supply of “nice” dwindles to drought-level four (mine tends to hit Death Valley dryness around mid-March).

Know this: you are not alone.

At some point, every teacher gets tired—tired of teaching, tired of solving the same problems in new ways, tired of hearing ayres, inventions, and sonatinas in endless succession—just plain “musicked out.” We crave silence. We fantasize about triple padlocking the studio door and disappearing for a while.

So how do we refresh? I suggest finding a hobby.

Now, for many people, music is the hobby—the thing they turn to when they’re stressed or overwhelmed. For us, that doesn’t quite work. To complicate matters further, many of us spent our formative years practicing instead of developing other interests. The result? When we need a break from music, we’re not always sure where to turn.

And yet—we are more than musicians, and a good hobby reminds us of that.

One of my colleagues likes to fish. Others garden. One is currently working through the community calendar, signing up for every “how-to” class that catches their eye. As for me, I like to build things. In fact, I’m (ahem) constructing a cabin out of recycled materials. My summers are spent sawing, hammering, swatting mosquitoes, and occasionally yelling at cows. By September, I’ve gained a muscle, a couple of bruises, and a noticeably calmer outlook.

If you’re looking for ideas, check your local paper, community boards, or even your neighborhood Facebook group. The key is to choose something active—something that engages both body and mind in a way that teaching doesn’t.

A change of rhythm can do wonders.

Keep playing (games)

Keep learning (new things)

Keep loving (always)