As last weekend’s massive snowstorm came to an end, we braved the roads (which were clear by then) up to the University of Utah to attend a concert by one of my boyfriend’s friends. The performance was one of two concerts that he will have to do for his Masters degree. He performed several pieces, many of which would have been too complicated for me to follow without the help of the program. He performed primarily on the marimba (often pairing it with the piano), but also performed on other percussion instruments, including an amazing piece on a snare drum. The speed was unbelievable.
The concert was inspiring. While I’m not creatively drawn to making music (although I do still want to take piano lessons at some point) I think that any creative performance can inspire creativity of all kinds. Lately, I’ve wanted to write more. In fact, I have been writing more. Last weekend I was reminded that one of the best ways to inspire art of any kind is to expose one’s self to art.
After the concert, I wanted to go home, read, think. Maybe the concert would serve as a catalyst to more writing. Instead, Boo wanted to get coffee and food with his brother and his brother’s girlfriend. While my impulse was to go home for introspection and to absorb the (very moving) concert, I also knew that getting together with the family was the right thing to do. I do love these people after all, and I can go home and think my thoughts at any time. At least that’s what I told myself. And besides, it’s not every afternoon that I can’t justify a cherry pie (served warm) with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.
Being with family and having people to talk to is important to me, especially since, as an introvert, it’s something I can easily neglect. My bigger realization from the weekend is that being in a relationship means that I don’t always do the thing that is my first choice, but that my first choice is not necessarily the best thing for me anyway. A relationship means that, more frequently, I’ll be pulled in two–usually equally good–directions. Of course, I worry that I might lose the alone time that I thrive on, but I suppose that concern is small and does not have to correlate to having a boo (who also happens to have a big damn family). Seriously, you could spend your whole life cycling through them having pies and ice cream and just when you think you get a break, it’s time to cycle through them again.