It had been just one of those days.
The tension at work has been building for the past few months, and escalating recently. There's nobody to blame. It's nearing the end of the semester. The seniors are freaking out. Since we provide services, there are always complaints, or frustration, or annoyances. The stupidity of people slaps us daily. But since people are stressed, things get emotional.
And today... well, yesterday it all smashed up, so today was... unpleasant.
I did my work, same as usual. Plugged away getting jobs done, answering the phone. But being around that level of tension gets to me. Always does. I can't not notice it. I can't not feel people's frustrations. And I can't not understand why everyone feels the way they do, and wish so much I can ease away the misunderstanding and hurt. Of course, there wasn't much of anything I could do. So I did my work.
And eventually, right near the end of my shift, the let's-deal-with-it conversation happened. Could have gone much worse. Could have, theoretically, gone better. They all spoke their pieces. Apologies were made. Issues were set aside. Ways were parted.
Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It's over now.
But I was still tense. The air hadn't settled. Better, but not done. Argh.
Then...
I heard something.
A sound ecstatically familiar, sweet.
And thought, no, it can't be. That, here?
But the notes continued. And pulled me out of my chair, through the door, nearly shaking with the question.
And it was. Oh, it was just what it sounded like!
On the stage, a man played his steel pans. They were sweet. They shone. The tones shimmered and tugged, and for once I didn't care that this someone was a stranger. I had to speak to him.
So I walked over, expectant.
'Excuse me. Excuse me, sir? Are those double seconds or double tenors?'
And we started talking. And he handed me the sticks. And showed me a couple chords, showed me a C scale. Left me, playing, while he kept setting up.
A complete stranger let me play his glorious double tenor pans.
My insides burst forth in glorious joy. Giddy, unexpected joy. I played, memorizing the scale. Arpeggiating. Remembering the feel of the sticks in my hand, bounding gently and sweetly against the pan. Oblivious to anything and everything else.
He said I had nice tone. (He said this multiple times, pleased.) He approved of my playing! Gave me his card. Smiled at me. Told me a little about Andy Narell's training.
And when I stepped down from the stage, my smile exploding through my face, all there was was joy. Sweet joy.
Oh, thank you, my Father in heaven! For knowing the best gift to give. It surprises me, every time, how much I love those instruments. And how much it transports me to play them.
It has been six years. But I still am in love with the pans. And my day is transformed.
The tension at work has been building for the past few months, and escalating recently. There's nobody to blame. It's nearing the end of the semester. The seniors are freaking out. Since we provide services, there are always complaints, or frustration, or annoyances. The stupidity of people slaps us daily. But since people are stressed, things get emotional.
And today... well, yesterday it all smashed up, so today was... unpleasant.
I did my work, same as usual. Plugged away getting jobs done, answering the phone. But being around that level of tension gets to me. Always does. I can't not notice it. I can't not feel people's frustrations. And I can't not understand why everyone feels the way they do, and wish so much I can ease away the misunderstanding and hurt. Of course, there wasn't much of anything I could do. So I did my work.
And eventually, right near the end of my shift, the let's-deal-with-it conversation happened. Could have gone much worse. Could have, theoretically, gone better. They all spoke their pieces. Apologies were made. Issues were set aside. Ways were parted.
Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It's over now.
But I was still tense. The air hadn't settled. Better, but not done. Argh.
Then...
I heard something.
A sound ecstatically familiar, sweet.
And thought, no, it can't be. That, here?
But the notes continued. And pulled me out of my chair, through the door, nearly shaking with the question.
And it was. Oh, it was just what it sounded like!
On the stage, a man played his steel pans. They were sweet. They shone. The tones shimmered and tugged, and for once I didn't care that this someone was a stranger. I had to speak to him.
So I walked over, expectant.
'Excuse me. Excuse me, sir? Are those double seconds or double tenors?'
And we started talking. And he handed me the sticks. And showed me a couple chords, showed me a C scale. Left me, playing, while he kept setting up.
A complete stranger let me play his glorious double tenor pans.
My insides burst forth in glorious joy. Giddy, unexpected joy. I played, memorizing the scale. Arpeggiating. Remembering the feel of the sticks in my hand, bounding gently and sweetly against the pan. Oblivious to anything and everything else.
He said I had nice tone. (He said this multiple times, pleased.) He approved of my playing! Gave me his card. Smiled at me. Told me a little about Andy Narell's training.
And when I stepped down from the stage, my smile exploding through my face, all there was was joy. Sweet joy.
Oh, thank you, my Father in heaven! For knowing the best gift to give. It surprises me, every time, how much I love those instruments. And how much it transports me to play them.
It has been six years. But I still am in love with the pans. And my day is transformed.
