"Hey, Unto you a child is born"

My hands have been resting on this keyboard for the past five minutes and I have had no idea how to write anything. I have never blogged before and I see this moment as possibly the most important event in my mid-twenties life. I have no idea what will happen when I enter this world of blogging. The blogs I read are so witty, so full of insight and humour. And here I sit with some urge to blog but no idea how to blog. I would love for this entry to be eloquent and graceful. However, I have realized that my life is not one of elegance and graceful steps. But more one of awkwardness and mistakes.

I have realized that the reason I love children's Christmas concerts so much is that they are full of awkward moments and mistakes. They are so imperfect and flawed. However, at the same time, they are full of joy, eargerness, and excitement. That is what makes them so beautiful and heart warming. The little kid that is trying to pull her dress up over her head or the boy that is waving to his parents in the middle of his solo. The two kids that get in a fight during "Silent Night" or the child that refuses to drum her drum like all the other kids. i love the rebellion against conformity in the plays. Well, I love them as long as I get to observe. Being in charge is another matter.

I am facing a concert myself and I will be the one in charge. I am trying to learn to approach the concert with a sense that whatever happens...happens. I have brought the students this far but i cannot control the outcome of the evening. I'm also trying to understand that the outcome of this concert is no reflection on my worth as a person.

Growing up in the music world engrained this attachment between how I played and how important I was. I don't even know how those things start. I think that music began to be the defining factor in who i was. It was all people ever talked to me about. And the lines begin to blur between yourself and this music thing that people say defines you. I have come a long ways in that area of life but that sneaking suspicion is still there. The sense that if I don't play this perfectly then I might as well just go home.

I want to learn to look at life, as I do the children's Christmas concerts. To learn to see that the thing that makes those concerts fantastic is the imperfection of it all.

There are a few different types of children in a Christmas concert: there are the behaved children that are unaware of the other shenanigans that are transpiring, there are those causing the shenanigans and then finally there are the mature children who are accutely aware of the shenanigans and embarassed and anxious at the mistakes that are being made.

I fear in life that I am the mature four year old who is mortified by the child next to me singing out of tune and out of rhythm. Waiting impatiently for those that can't quite do it right to get off the stage and for this escapade to be over. But I don't want to be the mature four year old. I want to look at the different ways people do things and smile on them for their creativity and risk taking, and not frown on them for their inability to do it "the way" they should. As if there is a "way" things should be done. And in all reality the perfect Christmas concerts are fine to go to and people will applaude and sit quietly. But they lack the life and vitality of one with mistakes.

And why do I pretend that things should be perfect? We all know that nothing is perfect and it is only our sick way of wanting to be in control. And if something is perfect it's mostly boring. It's the unexpected that bring real joy I think. If we learn to live life without expectations of how a day should be or what the outcome of something should be, then I think we will be able to find joy in anything. We won't see a mud puddle as an annoyance on the sidewalk that we have to side step. Instead, we might see the worms soaking in the rain and wriggling with glee.