Cake
"I can't do it!", I complained. "Can't what?", Alexei answers, impatiently. It's Sunday evening and I'm having a crisis. "I'm so tired right now, how can I ever be productive, I just need rest!". I want to write. I was thinking about it all day, all weekend, but still hadn't done a thing. I hadn't written for weeks. I was lying on the couch ready for sleep at 8:30pm. The thought of ever achieving anything in this life was quickly and dramatically escaping my grasp.
It's a question that both frustrates me and drives me on. Is it possible to achieve something of great worth, of excellence and yet be rested enough to live a joy-marked life of meaningful connection? Or simply put, "can I have my cake and eat it too?".
Two nights in a row that week we inadvertently watch two movies that answers this question at two extremes. Whiplash and Radio.
Whiplash, the story of a drummer's obsession for perfection under the tutelage of an almost psychopathic, toe-curlingly abusive but brilliant musician. His tactic is to grind his students to the ground with the obsessive hope of uncovering a glimmer of world-class greatness. In this story, this approach works for the drummer - for one moment, but not without a mammoth cost - loss of relationship, joy, loss of childhood. Drumming is an agonising, possessive beast that poisons his every movement. The drummer's life is in tatters as he enters the stage for the final scene where Carnegie Hall witnesses his rising. And it is a truly breathtaking scene, there's no denying the beauty and awe in this performance, you even feel admiration for the hideous person who teases the excellence out of him.
At the other extreme, Radio, the true story of an intellectually disabled young man who is taken under the wing of a brilliant football coach at a local high school in the 1970's - a time when institutionalisation of the disabled is rife. His presence is initially an interruption, but Radio is embraced by the local school community and flourishes. His speech develops, he finds joy, relationship and most of all, the surrounding community and particularly, the football coach, reaps the benefit of Radio's presence. Not surprisingly, with this new divided focus, the football coach doesn't produce the expected results from his team. Members of the community press for Radio to be removed ("institutionalised") to deal with the "issue". The football coach, realising what is truly important, resigns as coach and takes measures to ensure Radio has a safe place to thrive in the local school, as long as he wishes. Now, in 2019, Radio aged 72 is still performing his duties at the local high school. Coach Jones is Radio's best friend.
I connect with both stories, to different degrees.
As a vocal student of the Melbourne Conservatory of Music, I had one vocal teacher who was livid at my every little flaw and didn't hold back. The car drive to her lessons became ridden with anxiety and I would stand scared, tense next to her piano as she taught, terrified to make a mistake. I got my best ever performance score under her tutelage. A year or so later in 2001, I was re-auditioning on location for entry to the St Petersburg Conservatory of Music, Russia. The auditioner told me while he could see I had worked hard, I did not have the talent or physiological make-up required to produce a great singer. I could only stay if I could find a vocal teacher who "wanted to teach me". I did find a teacher. I found two teachers. Several years later when we were ready to move back to Australia, I was clocking up 3-5 individual singing lessons a week with a brilliant vocal coach and was on the path to success. My coach advised me not to leave, I needed more time to develop my potential. We left anyway. I worked hard but it wasn't enough. I never got there.
15 years later the birth of Andrew started a new story. An unexpected diagnosis of Down syndrome sent us on a path filled with therapy, hospital visits and uncertainty. Our business saw a significant downturn in the months to come. Just weeks after Andrew was born, a well-meaning friend asked what I would do with Tielka, our tea business? How would I have the time to keep things going, what with all the therapy and so on? Was this the end of my hope for contributing financially, for making a meaningful mark on the world, for success?
Unexpectedly, this interruption of Andrew's new life has brought so much richness, connection and joy.
His brothers adore him, and continuously compete to hold him. We laugh at Andrew's antics as he muddles through mouthfuls of custard and music at dinnertime. I see Alexei hold him close to his face and I want to capture the moment forever.
I watch him crawl after a table tennis ball that bounces time and time again and my heart is filled with so much joy as I see his determination push him past beyond what he is capable of. I am so proud. It's the exhilaration of a world-class performance, only there are no crowds to watch and cheer, no one to write about it so it is forged in history never to be forgotten.
It's now the end of 2019 and I can't yet answer if I can have my cake and eat it too. It's been an epic, rewarding, insanely difficult year and quite honestly, I'm exhausted. We've been working hard on the tea business, Tielka, and it's just starting to gain ground - and recognition. And while the pressure of 2019 hasn't always brought out the best in us, I'm finding new ways to support being productive without descending into the life of a perpetually exhausted recluse. I make time for friends, family and my morning cup of tea.
And to be honest, if I had to choose one story to live, I'd choose Radio over Whiplash in a heartbeat.