Sometimes You Just Want to Connect....

I couldn't take it anymore.  I was addicted, I admit it.  So I had to do something about it.  And, I feel strangely liberated because of it.  Yes, I did it: I quit Facebook.

Here's what I had to say in my last post:

This may be a little “TLDR,” but it will be my last post for a while, so bear with me. 

I’m a social scientist.  I’m very proud to say that I am, in fact, a real scientist.  Granted, I’m not into quantum physics, advanced mathematics, or astrophysics, but I am a researcher, and mostly, a teacher.  I’m well versed in behavior theories enough to know when something is awry and needs to be either limited or eliminated.  I’m at that point with Facebook.

I believe that Facebook is a wonderful tool by which people can connect with people, businesses, organizations, and events with which they want a relationship. It also is a way in which people can insulate, inculcate, and withdraw from a civil discourse in the greater community outside the pixilated walls we create.  In short, I’ve seen too much hate, bigotry, ignorance, and anti-intellectualism on here that I am feeling overwhelmed by it.  I also must protest Facebook’s use of our information to conduct experiments on us.  I am not willing to be complicit by my own inaction to this activity on Mr. Zuckerberg and friends’ part.

Instead, I am hoping to enrich my own experiences.  I have spent far too many hours on Facebook.  It’s not healthy for me and for those whom I love dearly.  I would rather talk to them in person or on the phone rather than see “feeds” as our lives pass by.  This is not an indictment or some kind of vilification of those who use Facebook.  This is me, getting in touch with who I am and what I want out of life.  I am not finding it here on Facebook.

So, with that, I ask that if you want to see what I’m up to, please give me a shout at (913) 558-1142.  Or better yet, let’s get together and discuss grandiose philosophies over tea.  I’m going to maintain my SMNW Orchestra Alumni page, SMNOFI page, along with the pages for my music business and books, because as a business owner and teacher that just makes sense.  Now it’s time for me to read books, do some research, write some music and a book or two, and reconnect with the people in my life the old-fashioned way.  I wish you only the very best and I hope that we stay in contact, because if you’re reading this, you’re important to me.

Yeah, so that's it.  Now what?  Well, hopefully the people who matter are reading this and know how much they mean to me.  As for me and mine, well, we're going to be reading, writing, researching, and making connections.  Because, that's what's really important.

Pax omnibus,

Jeffrey

May I? Oh, yes I May.

Wow.  It's May already.  I mean, really?  It was just Christmas Break, wasn't it?

Or was that Spring Break?

Huh.  Well, either way, here we are.  And where are we,  exactly?  We're at the end of another year of teaching.  My twentieth, by the way.  Twenty years teaching music to kids.  I need to let that roll around in my head a little bit. Twenty years.  It's funny, really.  Twenty years ago I took a part-time gig at a local high school while I was finishing up my master's degree in conducting.  I was planning on getting the degree and go straight to a doctoral program.  Didn't know if it'd be in conducting or composition, but I knew I wasn't going to be teaching, that's for sure.

Boy, was I wrong about that.  And thankfully so, I must add.  That first year of teaching I fell in love with the kids, with the process, as archaic and bizarre as education can sometimes be, and I just ran with it.  I remember being in the "teachers work room" my first week when an older teacher tried to run me out of there.  "This is for teachers only," she snapped.  I showed her my brand-new district ID and smiled.  "I'm the new band guy," I said.  She slunk off, embarrassed.  And, now that I think about it, I never did see her again.  I also remember how badly the choir teacher hated me and resented my ability to get through to students.  Those two situations taught me my first two important lessons about teaching: 1) Learn to laugh; 2) Wherever there are people there are politics.

A couple years later I won a national composition prize while teaching here in my current district.  I was a long-haired whipper-snapper who thought I was pretty big stuff.  "Award-winning composer, that's me!" I thought.  But, then as now, my students didn't really care about that.  Or the conducting gigs across the country, or the fact that I have a hundred pieces published.  Around here, I'm just Mr. Bishop.

I'm the Mr. Bishop who is up at school early in the morning and stays too late some afternoons.  I'm the guy who writes the most amazing recommendation letters, well, as long you deserve a really amazing one.  I'm good at writing letters that don't say much, either.  But I try to avoid writing a bad one at least.  I'm the Mr. Bishop who guides kids through the murky waters of college auditions and deals with the tears when the boy/girlfriend is found to be less than perfect.  And I am the guy who gets to stand in front of the most amazing young people on this planet when they rise above themselves and play absolutely sublimely, if only for a moment.  Because, at the end of the day, I'm just Mr. Bishop, their teacher.

Twenty years ago, sitting in the band office of that old high school in an urban core, I was daydreaming about writing movie soundtracks or conducting a major orchestra.  Now, I'm sending students out to do just that.  Two former students of mine were chosen, from two different masters programs, for the Yale School of Music doctoral program.  I'm sending another student to major in composition for the first time in my career. And, I'm happy to report, he's already writing music better than I did when I was thirty!  I've got several music teacher alums, too.  And that makes me so very proud and happy.

May is rough.  April is brutal - more required events (concerts, contests, festivals) than all the rest of the school year combined - and it doesn't let up until graduation.  But, like tonight, as I'm sitting here in my studio with the sun streaming in, the fan in the window blowing in the smell of fresh cut grass, and the cat lounging nearby, waiting for a belly rub, there are moments in May that I harken back to that first year of teaching.  That moment when I decided that I wouldn't be pursuing what I thought was my dream, but instead looked around me and saw that I was already exactly where I needed to be.

It's trite, but it's true: teachers often learn more from their students than the students learn from the teacher.  And, as May bashes her way past me once more, ineloquently pushing me to the ground as she makes a mad dash for June, I think I'll just lie here in the cool, fresh cut grass and enjoy the view as I think about all I've learned these past twenty years.

And, if you happen to be one of those students from whom I have learned so much, I invite you to stop by, plop down in the grass beside me, grab a dandelion or two, and just sit and listen to the clouds pass overhead.  And, if you can't do that, well, let's just leave it with "Thanks. I wouldn't be here today without you."

Peace,

Jeffrey

To begin again, anew.

It's tough sometimes, to remember what it's like to feel the rush of something new.  That exhilarating thrill of "Wow! I want to try that!"

I've been at our state MEA Convention (Music Educators Association) for the past couple days and I can honestly say that I have been inspired.  Not only by the very fine concerts I've attended (I heard some amazing bands, choirs, and orchestras), but also by the sessions given by my peers and guests from across the country.

I'm often asked to give sessions while I'm guest conducting at an event (all-state or regional orchestra conventions).  It's a lot of work to prepare these sessions, so when I'm able to attend one (or three), it's a  pleasure to just sit and ABSORB.  Too often we teach in a vacuum, surrounded by only our students and, if we're lucky, some great colleagues on the music staff.  To be able to attend sessions where you are given great information that make you want to get back to the classroom as soon as possible, well, that's a little piece of heaven, thank you very much.

Sometimes it's the littlest ideas that give you the biggest push.  And I'm thankful for my colleagues that have helped me renew and revitalize my teaching as we head into the busiest part of the school year for us music teachers.  It's time to begin (again).

I wish you peace and a little bit of rejuvenation,

Jeffrey

Well, there you are!

Here I was frantically finishing up my first string quartet, getting stuff ready for my Pilot Study in preparation of my dissertation, and then *BOOM* it's a new year.

Funny how that happens.

But, that's life.  And what a great life it is.  I have so much to be thankful for as we begin a new year: an amazing fiancé whom I am marrying this summer and starting our family together; a career that I thoroughly love and through which I get to work with some of the most amazing students in the country; and an education that I'm enjoying so much that I find it hard that I'll be "done" this summer (well, except for that whole "write the dissertation" bit).

Whether you've been part of my world through playing my music, being part of a commission, or a student for years or only a couple days; whether you're a friend or part of my amazing family; whether you brought joy into my life by either coming into it or leaving it, I want to thank you for all you've done for me in 2013.

And I wish you only the very best life has to offer you in 2014.

Peace,

Jeffrey