Yesterday I played my first solo wedding with the big, beautiful harp. I loved it! Beforehand I was a puddle of roiling nervous energy, much like the puddle of roiling nervous energy out of which the mythical Étaín was born as a fly (if that makes no sense at all to you, no worries; but if you’re interested, check out the early Irish tale, Tocmarc Étaíne, or “The Wooing of Étaín.” Or skip the years of learning early Irish and listen to my collaboration with Tim Janis, Étaín. Come to think of it, though, we didn’t go into the odd metaphysics of transformation via steam. We spent more time on the woman-becomes-swan theme, which I’m sure you will agree is much more picturesque. So you may need to learn early Irish after all!).
Anyway, I was nervous. Did I have enough repertoire? Had I chosen a good song to accompany the bride on her mythic walk to join her groom? Would anyone come to me and say, “Clearly you have not studied formally, as it’s clear you have zippo technique and are merely inventing your own as you go along!”?
Happily, I had plenty of repertoire. I played longer than asked because I enjoyed it so much. The song I chose for the bride’s procession is a beautiful Irish song, Ar Éirinn Ní Neosfainn Cé hí, (For Ireland I wouldn’t tell you her name), and she and her dad – a friend from town who chairs our local arts committee – walked with grace and beauty to meet the beaming groom. And no, no one accosted me for my lack of training or technique. Quite the contrary, I’m glad to report!
I recently found a journal entry from a rather dark period of my life. I had just started teaching writing at Harvard, and I felt overwhelmed, overworked and full of anxiety much of the time. I moved timidly. I flinched. And yet, I also sent out poems, did my best to play music out in the world, and kept writing and making things. I wrote in my journal that even with no confidence at all, something essential in me just keeps going – almost as though dismissing the inconsequential buzzing of a fly. “Yes, I know you’re scared. Yes, I can see you’re nervous to sing this today. But just come over here for a minute and write down that poem. Yes, put your name on that open-mike list. Yes, you can keep buzzing about how nervous you feel. Don’t mind me: I’m over here creating quite happily.”
And so yesterday was a wonderful day for me, another milestone of trust. That buzzing fly-voice that worried and fretted diminished to a drowsy hum. Will it ever disappear entirely? I don’t think so. But nor will that other part that just goes on creating, making, inventing, and daring: that’s the swan. So many ways of flying! It’s what wings want to do – and I mean to let them. Hope you will, too.
