Fermata Living

There is a musical notation for holding that looks like a bird's eye called "fermata". It is a pause of unspecified length on a note or rest. The musician (or conductor) interprets and determines exactly how long to hold the notes before continuing on, building anticipation for what's to follow. That's where my song has been these past weeks - in a fermata hold.

There were six weeks of hobbling with a cast, waiting for the healing of bones. You'd think that would be long enough, but then the work of regaining movement had to begin. Muscles are now working better but strength and stamina are slowly developing and so the fermata continues.

When you're in pause mode, it's easy to want to stay there. I'm enjoying the space and time to read, to post some blogs, to compose music and to connect with friends. At the same time, I can see how this break could make the next part more musical, since I'll be more rested in mind and body.

As much as I'm enjoying this slower pace, there's a sense of restlessness and growing anticipation about what's to come next. I feel like I've grown during these days of healing and now I wonder if things will look different when the music starts up once again. Will the sudden increase in tempo make it hard to apply what I've been learning?

Will there be a greater expressiveness to my music, as I try to listen more intently to others before jumping in to solve things? Will there be a greater articulation of phrasing to my music, as I try to keep from being swallowed up by unimportant details? Will I be able to keep the overall purpose of teaching in mind as I work with my students? Will I have the musicianship to express all this when the tempo is fast and lively?

Only time will tell. Until the music resumes, I'm listening to the sweetness of balance, savoring the pause before the notes and rhythm sweep me along with it. My trust remains with the conductor who leads this song, knowing that he loves to create music sweet to the ears.