And home again.

Ok, so I'm cheating again. Well, no excuse except that we were on a plane all day yesterday and all I wanted to do when we got home was forget that the plane ride happened. Took forever and was about 80% perfect except for the 30 minutes that Cara decided to throw food and writhe on the floor and scream in tiredness. That made me really tired. Other than that, it was peachy. 

Flight going there was incredibly perfect. Flight coming home not so much. What a difference that extra hour going westbound makes!

We arrived to 5 degree weather. With the wind chill, definitely in negative temps. But this girl adores the cold! 

Cara was a bit confused by the snow. 

My new Uniqlo down jacket served me well!

There was lots of awesome cousin bonding. These kids really did not even know each before this visit. When we saw Hudson and Margot last, everyone was too young to remember each other. But a few days together and these four were a newly formed crew of troublemakers.

Pretending to trick-or-treat.

Enjoying a moment of warmer weather at the beautiful park near the local reservoir.

Uncle Danny and Auntie Kristen even came with red envelopes in hand!

The day before we left, a few inches of new snow fell to the ground. It was beautiful, making Suzi and Dave's backyard into a winter wonderland.

All in all, a great visit with some of our favorite people.

We arrived home to pouring rain(!), right as rush hour started. Google said it would take 1.5 hours to get home from LAX; everyone was complaining. So we decided to make a dinner pit stop at the Korean market food court. The kids fell asleep on the drive home and we somehow magically transferred them to bed without waking them, which has never happened before! It saved about 1.5 hours of bedtime routine, so I guess we made the traffic time back. Elisa woke up at 5am needing to pee, but other than that, I think they were glad to be back in their beds.

Ah, home sweet home. 

New Jersey

I know this three-day post is cheating, but this trip has been full of times of such rich conversation that I have not had much time to sit down with my computer. And it has been hugely therapeutic to be off the grid for a few days, so to speak.

New Jersey isn't the most alluring destination for a family vacation, but actually, this visit has felt like a vacation in many ways. First of all, it's felt very foreign. We're not familiar with the part of Jersey that Paul's sister has just moved to, and don't know our way around. We were also not familiar with the 7 BR house that they just bought - the place is so huge that it is easy to get lost inside! It's a colonial-style home built in 1885 with original details like stained glass windows, decorated moldings, and chandeliers. It even has a servant staircase and dumbwaiter. Umma (Paul's Mom) and Halmuni (Grandma) have their own rooms, and there is a guest wing with 3 extra empty bedrooms. The home has so many lovely interior touches that feel quintessentially East Coast to me. Everything here is so steeped in history. It's also foreign to see Suzi driving a Honda Odyssey with automatic doors, baking brownies, and making chicken soup. She's an ambitious, MBA-holding ex-banker that seems more grounded and content than ever after moving to the suburbs. It's a beautiful thing to see her embracing this phase of motherhood with vigor.

We also had the pleasure of hanging out with Danny and Kristen for a few days as they vacationed here for a few days, going into the city every day to hang out with friends, see the opera, go to shows, and just being awesome in their late 20's. We didn't even bother going into the city during this trip with the various kinds of treacherous weather (below freezing, snowing all day, torrential rain) we have had when there is a whole play room with dozens of toys for the kids to enjoy all day. Instead, we let the kids have their cousin time, played in the snow when it was not quite as freezing, ate tons of Korean food prepared by Imo (Paul's super-Aunt), played an epic and hilarious game of Cranium (Suzi/Dave vs. Danny/Kristen vs. me/Paul - we won due to his knowledge of the moon's phases and my expert humming skills), had long conversations with Suzi and Dave, and enjoyed the new 65-inch TV mounted above the decorative fireplace. Perfect vacation.

Snakes on a Plane

I told Paul the other day that I'd rather be on a plane full of snakes than with two toddlers that I am responsible for. Because venom? Yeah, whatever. But tantrums? Especially two-year old tantrums? Oh God, no.

But we're doing it - tomorrow we depart for the magical land of New Jersey, where fluffy white stuff will fall from the sky and E will bask in her winter wonderland once again. The last time we went to the east coast, there was literally a blizzard on our last day and our flight got cancelled for a day. So we went sledding in the backyard of the rental house and E still talks about it as the best thing ever. We'll see how this trip turns out. Not much on the agenda except getting there and hanging out with friends and family - my mother-in-law I haven't seen since Cara's 1st birthday. So hopefully we will have some rich times together! I'm ready to pack in the Korean food.

Luckily the girls were well enough to be at school all day and I think every single kid there had equally runny noses to theirs, so I felt less guilty about dropping them off. Today was a non-stop day of work - went from two conference calls to being late to a duo rehearsal, to teaching, picking up the kids, and trying to endure this wretched 90 degree weather. Paul has been working non-stop and had had one of those all-nighter type deals last night. He was sleeping when I called him on my drive home to ask about dinner plans. We went to our default - Souplanation. Very romantic. 

One of my calls today had to do with restructuring a staff position for the non-profit I work for. I handle most of our staff transitions and I am trying to prepare myself for a difficult conversation next week. Also had one fruitful conversation with a composer about an upcoming recording project that I am really excited to see coming together, slowly. Those two things have been mostly preoccupying my mind in between nose-blowing and imagining worst-case scenarios on the airplane tomorrow. Better finish packing!

This girl.

 This girl.

This girl has me so exhausted. It is barely past 8:30 and although I was going to do a home workout, I really just want to crawl into bed and pretend this day full of tantrums did not happen. Really nothing out of the ordinary for a 2.5 year old who is still getting molars and recovering from yet another cold. It's just, well, does everything have to be such a battle? Today I got tears, screaming, and feet stomping over:
1. Which color cup I put her milk in.
2. Which socks she chose. (Gray hearts, not pink.)
3. Me helping her put on one of her shoes. We had to take it off and let her put it back on. Took about 14 minutes.
4. There was a speck of cheese on her meat at lunch.
5. Not wanting to drive past the park without stopping. I caved. And then,
6. Not wanting to leave the park once we got there.
7. Not wanting to get in her car seat.
8. Being offered a meatball. She didn't want it, so I ate it.
9. Wanting a meatball. Whoops, I ate it.
10. Not wanting to go to bath.
11. Not wanting to go to sleep. Still happening.

On Beyoncé

Lenten blogging year 3 begins here.

I am returning to a place where my thoughts live in this very private place called the Internet because it helps me have a record of them. Thoughts can be so fleeting. If not for just 40 days each year, then when?

Right now I am inspired by Beyoncé. I am amazed at her audacity (although I suppose that being a millionaire and multi-Grammy winning modern-day superstar gives you a certain amount of boldness) and I am inspired by the fact that she almost pulled a fast one on America. While most of us sat down in front of the TV with our seven-layer dip and wings waiting to only be entertained, she seized that moment, owned it, and sought to somehow bring meaning into a place where the rest of us just wanted to be wowed. And wowed I was, not just by the synchronized dance moves, but by the provocative cultural symbolism of the whole thing. I was floored and I didn't even really know what was going on.

Three days of cultural criticism on the Interwebs later, we see that America isn't quite ready for such an unabashed display of what blackness means, and that race and culture are still grossly misunderstood in our country. It makes me sad. But it also made me glad to think that the pop diva of our time still made an attempt to say something about this volatile culture we live in. Because a conversation about the "Formation" video and anything and everything in it is still better than where we were last week.

I long for any sound that I produce as an artist to have meaning. Some kind of meaning. And though I seldom find inspiration through pop culture, I tip my hat to Beyoncé for using this opportunity to say something - even if it was narcissistic, materialistic, or whatever other type of criticism one can think of. It wasn't inauthentic. And I think that's what matters.

Purpose, from a red stool.

We saw the new movie "Martian" yesterday. It was a mid-week, middle of the day, kids at daycare afternoon date. I expected very little, but have to say I was genuinely inspired. The human spirit is capable of so much. 

I came home and sat down at my desk, mulling over some of the thoughts I've been having this week. The main one that has been plaguing me is this: Who cares?

Sometimes there is a futility about everything in my work. I cleared part of my schedule this year so that I could do what I missed the most last year - practicing. And now that I have three afternoons of the week cleared for it, I often just don't want to do it. I still have a hard time enjoying the creative process that comes with being a performing artist, and haven't felt the desire to identify with it much lately. Without a deadline or a performance, I don't really delight in just doodling around on the guitar or playing for fun. It is work to me, and work is hard. 

I thought about this while I was eating an early dinner before four straight hours of teaching. The guy behind the counter recognized me as I ordered my gyro platter, smiled, and said, "Enjoy it" as he handed me my food. But then I saw him take out his smartphone and space out with a vacant expression, and I couldn't help thinking that he was probably feeling the same thing I was. Who cares? Why does what I do matter?

I stumbled upon a Ted talk by Elizabeth Gilbert that has given me a little perspective. A few years ago, I put out an album that was met with great success in my tiny corner of the world. I got gigs from it, did interviews, sold CDs, and essentially put myself out there as a classical guitarist. I have struggled to find my next project since then and struggled even more to feel like I'll ever have anything original to say ever again. I guess this was like my own version of Eat, Pray, Love. And Liz (we're on a first-name basis now) says that you just have to keep doing it, doing that thing you love "more than yourself" (I don't know if this is true for me, but I can understand what she means), regardless of whether it means you will succeed or fail. Because I am wired in a very goal-oriented, accomplish one task at a time sort of way, the nebulousness of the creative life feels antithetical to my very existence. 

But after Paul gave me a pep talk the other day, I believe I can change. I believe that if I commit to sitting down on my red stool for two hours a day and practicing, practicing anything really, not only will I prepared for the concerts I have this season, but I will be in a different place artistically and spiritually than I was before I committed to doing this. If I can stop asking the question, What is this for? and start asking the question, Who is this for? - then I believe I will get somewhere. 

And it does not matter where. In the end, I believe will always be called back to sitting on my red stool.

Purpose, from a La-Z Boy Chair.

It started with a discussion on calling. I don't know what this means anymore; I've analyzed and reanalyzed it in my head so many times that I have completely confused myself. But on that day, June 29, that I returned from the annual guitar nerd convention that usually marks my year, half hungover and completely sleep deprived (we had a 7am flight, and my boss insisted that we stay up all night with 12 bottles of wine instead of sleeping), I laid down in my bed on a Monday morning for a well-deserved four hour nap and was awoken by the strangest news.

"Baltimore."

Huh? It took me almost an hour to come out of my grogginess, not feeling refreshed from my half night's sleep at all. That was not my favorite place. I love cities, but never really got attached to that one. No desire to move anywhere, thanks. Especially not East. Been there, done that. I hate snow.

And so the news broke that Paul's company wanted us to move to Baltimore. This job "offer," ultimately rejected, sent us on a now two-month journey into rediscovering purpose in our lives, and sent us into many late-night conversations about why we live where we live, what we want life to be like, our greatest ambitions for our careers, our deepest dreams for our daughters. It's a conversation that we haven't had in a long time. Something was moving us to discuss this thing called life that has been blowing by us with such great rapidity as we go through the mundane week after week, feeling little respite and rejuvenation. 

But it's not rest that we're seeking. 

When we moved to LA 7 years ago, I was ready to plant down roots. We had moved three times in the span of two years; I was sick of it. I wanted to settle into the City of Angels, sprawling though it was, and take it by storm. And so I did. We lived here. We love it. We had babies. We bought a house.

I guess once in awhile God does something to shake life up a bit. I am not sure why. I would be perfectly content going about life, playing this game of trying to get my kids to bed as early as possible, surviving until the next weekend that comes up. But that is no way to live life, is it? I realized that we had settled into child-rearing like it was a La-Z Boy Chair. Just trying to be as comfortable as possible in something that could potentially be really ugly. (Case in point. I realized a year ago when we were furniture shopping that I really love recliner chairs. We always had one in my house growing up. Paul thinks I'm weird.) Bad analogy. Children are beautiful, yadda yadda, I love mine to pieces and would give all my organs for them if they ever learned to ask politely...but it's really hard. The rearing part, I mean.

I digress. Basically, I haven't thought about my life in awhile. The more we talked about it, the more we realized this. Why haven't we thought about life in awhile? 

The more questions we asked, the more questions came. In short, I found myself on a hot July day at the Glendale Galleria (a big mall) trying to return something, as I have a habit of doing. I was driving up and down the aisles of the huge parking structure looking for a spot, trying to decide whether to park in front of Target or Macys. Hmm, decisions. Suddenly, it happened. The song "Oceans" came on in my Spotify playlist, and something hit me like a ton of bricks. As the music swelled into the repetitive middle section and the ambient keyboard got drowned out by the crooning vocals, these lyrics echoed through me:

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior

Me: (in my head) Oh, no, no, no. I'm not letting go of this place I call home, this comfortable, sunny life, this routine I have. I have a good thing going here. 

This went on for a few minutes. I started crying. And then I felt this:

God: Follow me. Let this place go. Let LA go. 

I will call upon Your name

Keep my eyes above the waves

My soul will rest in Your embrace

I am Yours and You are mine

At this point, there is something being wrenched from my heart. It's painful. I think it's some kind of idol. My clenching onto of all that has become familiar and easy. And then I felt broken. I was weeping. I was still looking for parking. It felt symbolic somehow. I was, at that point, bawling, and I couldn't see very well. It all felt so futile. I finally found a spot very far from the Macy's entrance, and took a few minutes to collect myself.

God chooses the strangest places to intervene. 

So here we are. We are following, we are listening, we are waiting. Things are not clear yet. But one thing is clear to me. I am called to live my life with more purpose than I am doing now. 

To be continued.

-----

PS. E asked me a funny question tonight.

E: When I was a baby and I was in your tummy, who did I play with?

Me: Well, you were alone in there. So I don't think you played with anyone.

E: Well, what did I eat? And drink?

Me: Um, fluid. Kind of like water. Maybe you played with me sometimes. I could feel you kicking. And hiccuping.

E: What did it sound like?

Me: (makes cute hiccuping noises)

E: Well, maybe I was doing a joke! 

Me: Maybe.