[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I would like to start this post by saying that I really hate sport. I don’t play it. I don’t watch it. I don’t really understand why people do. I see the benefits that it gives you, and the way it encourages working with others – but its not really my cup of tea. I have never been great at playing with others, as most of my school reports will attest, and I just can’t really see the point of running after a ball with others in some kind of short covering on my bottom half.

My one-and-only time I was put on a netball court shows what sort of a sportsperson I am. I was tall, so was put near the goal-thing. I was told that some other player would come up with a ball, and try and get it in the hoop. My job was to stop her. Those were my instructions. So I was left in some silly brightly-coloured top thing, and the game starts. Sure enough, someone came up with the ball, and looked like she was going to throw it in the hoop-thing. Just as she was about to, I stamped on her foot. Job done, I figured.

But no. That wasn’t the right thing to do. I wasn’t meant to touch her, apparently. This had been left out of my instructions. I was sent off. I think it was meant to be in disgrace. I was just relieved, actually. Needless to say, netball and I aren’t great friends.

So it came as a great surprise to me how much I liked yoga. I now go to this excellent studio just around the corner from me. I love it. I’ve learnt a great deal about my body, and the teaching is really fabulous. (Most teachers appreciate good teaching when they see it – and I am no exception here.) This year, I’ve embarked on an in-depth course at the centre. It started last month, and will go until the middle of next year. And I decided that if I was going to do this thing, I was going to do it as best as I could. So I’m also going to a few scary weekly classes, where I feel totally out-of-my-depth. My comfort zone and I do not meet at any point in these classes. I decided that I would try everything to the best of my physical ability, and do it with a smile on my face, if I could.

Well, yesterday I was tested. I was asked to balance on my forearms and kick up backwards onto a chair and hold myself there. This, basically. It involved me supporting all my not-inconsiderable weight on my not-very-strong-yet arms, and doing a big backbend onto something I couldn’t really see. I know I am prone to exaggeration. But this next sentence is not. I was terrified. My whole body started shaking. I do not do physical stuff like this. I play the cello and teach music. This crazy stuff is not something I do, or have ever done.

The teacher (who has totally sussed me out) came over. ‘I will help you kick up’ he said. ‘I am frightened.’ I said (Big believer in admitting to fright.). ‘I will help you’ he repeated. ‘Get ready.’

Now, I’m writing this at my desk, so you’ll surmise that I survived this crazy pose. Actually, I did it twice. And the second time I didn’t shake. And it got me realising how many times I think I can’t do something, and yet actually, I could. And here’s another interesting thing – my cello playing has gotten very free and risk-takey (ok – not a word, but you get it).

So if you’ve made it to the end of this post (does anyone?) – here’s my thought for the day. Do something that frightens you today. Don’t be crazy about it, like jump off a cliff, or something like that – but do something that you don’t normally do. And then see what else happens. Did anything else change? It’s a good experiment, I think.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Anyone who reads this regularly knows how much I admire teachers. I’m going to climb up on my soap-box again about them, because, well, I can.

As adults, we go through our lives interacting with other people. We often tread on people’s toes. I’m always reading about powerful people in business who are bastards – who tear people down, belittle people, never say sorry – I’m sure you’ve read them too. It also seems that a lot of grown-up people aren’t very good at saying sorry. Sad, but true.

Actually, I digress. Because I didn’t want to talk about saying sorry. I wanted to talk about forgiving. Well, grudge-harbouring. As adults, we do this. OK – you mightn’t (although I’m pretty sure you do), but I do. I like to pretend that it’s so I don’t get hurt again, and I’m just being protective of myself, but it’s also avoiding certain people and situations. I don’t think someone has behaved well? I’ll try not to have to interact with them again. (C’mon – I’m sure you do it too, if you were going to be really honest.) Have you wronged me in some way? I’ll remember it.

You know a group of people who don’t do that at all? Teachers. (Well, the good ones. I see a lot of these.) Teachers who constantly let children in their care turn over a new leaf. Day after day. Clean slate. They don’t harbour grudges. A parent criticises them? They’ll not allow it to affect their dealings with the child. I see this happen, and it takes superhuman strength. I’ve seen a teacher get dressed down by a parent for not treating their child the way the parent believed the child deserved. Really dressed down. Actually, the child wasn’t behaving well, but the parent wasn’t going to admit that. Hadn’t behaved well all term, in fact. (But what would I know? I’m just the music teacher…) And then the next day, this particular teacher came up with a way forward (sorry – I hate that phrase. Reminds me of a politician, but I can’t think of another way to describe what I saw…) where they addressed the child with a nickname, and gave this kid a way to start completely anew. And it worked. The whole class started to use the nickname. This kid was a new person.  And I was full of admiration for this teacher. Still am.

Where else do you get people doing that for others? Where else do you see people able to do that for others?

Don’t get me wrong – I do think there should be consequences for your actions. But the next time you see a teacher, just remember what they do. Remember how they forgive each kid they teach. Over and over and over. And over again.

[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]This above all: to thine own self be true.

I think this is very good advice. I try to do this as much as I can. When I was at University, I would talk a lot about being honest – to myself and others, but often I think I was brutal and unkind (to others, but often to myself). I don’t think that’s the best way to live – but I think to be true to yourself is the best way to be that I know.

I’m doing lots of thinking abut yoga at the moment – and this is also good advice. I’m doing a lot of thinking about where I want to be teaching, and what is the right way to teach – and this is what I’m using as my standard. I think part of the reason I am such a good teacher is that I try to be as honest and truthful to my craft as I can. I also think that’s what makes me such a good musician too. (I don’t mean to sound like I’ve disappeared up my own arse here – I hope it doesn’t read that way.)

I think self-authenticity is under-rated you know. I’m not sure it’s valued as much as it should be.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I don’t like to be cranky. I mostly pretend to be cranky in classes, usually. Every so often I really am cranky, but most of the time, I amuse myself by pulling a few faces and getting a little bit snarly if I need to. Really, if the truth be known, I love the kids I teach so much, and admire them so enormously for just getting to school and smiling their way through the day, that being a bit wriggly in a music lesson doesn’t really matter to me one way or the other. I just work a bit harder to get them to engage.

But something happened last week that really did make me cranky. It wasn’t from a child in a class. It wasn’t from a teacher I work with. It was by someone who should know better.

I am in a school where I have two huge choir groups – one of 90 at a time, and one of 150. When I have told other music teachers about this they look at me with eyebrows raised. I don’t have a pianist with me (I can’t  – there’s no piano at the school), I don’t have a microphone. I do have teachers there helping me with crowd control (some more that others) – but actually, I don’t need anything else. The kids are all engaged (apart from about two. I haven’t been able to win them over. Not yet.) and I actually have a really good time. There are jokes, and laughing, and me doing little dances, and blowing kisses to kids doing a fabulous job, and lots and lots of singing. And lots of smiling.

Lots of engagement. Lots of joy. Lots of fun. And huge, huge groups of kids.

Now, I know my teaching methods are… well, not normal. I think of the teachers that I admired at school, and university. Their teaching methods weren’t conventional either. But I remember the joy of learning from them. And I like to think I do this for the children I see. They laugh with me. They laugh at me. The older ones call me ‘Rach’. At no point do I think they disrespect me, or what I do.

I also have lots of banter going with another teacher. I adore this teacher. He’s like the brother I never had. I re-write songs poking fun at him. He gets his class to write songs poking fun at me. We are a double-act on the day I’m in there. We greet each other with a hug in front of all the kids at the school. They see how much we respect each other, even though we tease one another. And these kids are learning how it is possible to laugh and joke with someone, but not step over the line, and not be cruel. And also how to laugh at yourself. And do you know – not one of the kids we see tries to do it once they leave music.

This person-who-should-know-better came to see these huge choirs. He saw the engagement. He saw the smiling. He saw the joy. And he saw the banter. And then he questioned it. But not to my face.

The carpet was totally pulled out from under my feet. I was angry. I’m not anymore. There’s no point. I won’t get an apology. But I was cranky. Really cranky. My brother-from-another-mother acted as I knew he would, and was horrified on my behalf and had my back. But I may have said some words I can’t type. And stomped around the house a bit. And kicked some furniture.

Grr.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I have just had an amazing last week teaching at a school out in western NSW. I blog about it a lot. I love going out here. And I’m writing this as I sit on my first night home, pretty tired and worn-out – but on a huge high. I taught for three days, and then was lucky enough to see their talent night – lots of class groups, solo performers, gymnasts, poets, you name it – performing to raise money.

I’m pretty brain-dead, but wanted to write something tonight as I’m packing up all my lesson plans and getting ready for the new week ahead. And when I’m tired, I tend to like lists – so here’s one after my last week.

1. The kids at this school are beautiful. And they love music.
2. The teachers are an incredible bunch of people. They are some of my favourite people to see and work with. Thank you for all your love and support – and your excellent drumming.
3. I like sitting around fire-pits enormously. It’s a great way to spend an evening.
4. I laugh a lot at this school.
5. Teaching music is a tremendous privilege. I love music so much – and I love that these kids have such a positive start on their musical journey.
6. I feel very loved at this school.
7. One of my favourite moments was telling a parent how much I loved teaching her son, and how beautiful he is in drumming classes, and watching the range of emotions on her face. It wasn’t what she was expecting to hear, I don’t think. And it was excellent to say it to her. He deserved his praise.
8. Being out in ‘big sky country is good for my soul.

I have used the word ‘love’ too much in this post. Sorry about that. I’m tired.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]