I just watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Nagano, and I cried. Cried all the way through the thing. Two hours or so of tears streaming down my face. My face is hot and tight, my head pounding with the aftermath of emotion. What on earth is wrong with me? The Olympics? Can't be some sudden rush of patriotism or pride in athleticism. Virtually all sports profoundly bore me. But not to tears, in this case, because this was just the opening ceremonies. There were a bunch of cute Japanese kids dressed up as snowballs dancing around the stage, followed by the parade of athletes looking cold and cheerful, followed by an inexplicable ballet, and topped off with a performance of the final movement of Beethoven's 9th symphony. Nothing to cry about.
Christ, I don't know. Maybe it was just the accumulated tension of one more week of one more job I can't reconcile myself to. It could be related to going off my panic attack medication after five years. Perhaps the seratonin inhibitor inhibited other things. They told me there would be some minor side effects when they prescribed it, but I had to do whatever it took to stop the adrenal gland from convulsing uncontrollably, which is what panic attacks are. Anxiety attacks are something else, and I don't have those. No, my anxiety takes a totally different form. Like sleeping too much, or crying.
Admittedly, I did cry hardest at the Beethoven, but that's perfectly reasonable. It's a outstandingly beautiful work of art. I've always cried during certain choral pieces. Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus, for instance. That was the first classical chorale I ever learned, and it still causes me to dissolve into tears when it's well sung. Brahm's Requiem reduces me to a quivering heap, as does the Gloria of both Vivald and Gabrieli. The massed voices, the interwoven harmonies, the sensation of endless variables harnessed to one great pattern and becoming more than the pattern; god, I love the human voice en masse. If I had to choose desert island music, I'd choose voices and violins.
It's been a long, long time in so many ways since I sang for a living. I passionately loved being a classical musician. Being a music major in college was the best. There were times I'd walk between the Music Building on the University of Washington campus and my apartment feeling almost lost with joy and beauty. I sang for churches on the weekends, soprano for hire. Standing in the back of St. Patrick's Cathedral in Seattle, singing Gregorian chant during Latin Masses, there was nothing but the music and the sense of being wholly given to something larger than myself. Too bad it didn't pay the rent.
Larger than myself. That's the key to all this recent heartsearching, I think. Hang on, could this be nothing more than a classic midlife crisis? Let's see: turned 40, hates meaningless job, wants to be more than a consumer, is considering a radical career change. Sounds a bit iffy, doesn't it? On the other hand, I coped with turning 40 just fine. I've always had meaningless jobs, and I've always hated them. I've modified my consumption habits, trying to walk instead of drive, bring my own carryall for groceries, recycle as much as the city will let me, etcetera blah blah. And I'm always considering a radical career change, always. I just never have done it before. Every single job I've had in the last 15 years has been office work of some variety. Born to administrate, or at least inclined that way. If only I didn't have to talk to people to do it.
Because that's what my dislike of my jobs comes down to. I'm bored by people. I hate having dull conversations, using tired old office-style phrases, sick of laughing all fakey when trying to get along with others. I loathe it when I hear that fake ha-ha laugh. It's part of the polite fiction that any of us in any office are actually interested in whatever anyone else could possibly say. And don't tell me to just be myself. I've been trying that all along and it does not work. If I am myself, I get into so much trouble it's just not worth it. Instead, I've perfected my office persona. It fools most of the people most of the time, and that's the breathing space I need.
So, let's review. I hate everybody. I like to sing with people. I think sporting events are yawnfests. I spent two hours watching the Olympics ceremonies. Welcome to Lucy's Downer Diary with a side of conflict and extra bummage on the side. Sheesh. Sometimes, despite my best efforts, even I don't get me.
Time to get out the CD's. I've got a copy of the 9th somewhere. I'm going to crank it up. Let the tears fall where they may.
