Journal Prompt #5: A person of interest

Image by On Being via Flickr
...And are we not of interest to each other?


The very last line of Elizabeth Alexander's poem- to which I'd only been half listening as I prepared breakfast with the radio on- came into my consciousness in such a profound way that I literally tripped over the garbage can, knocking it over, on my way to the computer to go and find it and re-read the whole thing.   


And I again came to rest on the last line:


...and are we not of interest to each other?


How beautiful!


You are by now, I'm certain, well aware of my love of good questions. So, as you can imagine, on principle, I love Elizabeth Alexander's ideas about poetry and how it leads to inquiry. Here is what she had to say about the matter in the interview she did with Krista Tippett from On Being:


I was thinking about the act of asking real questions in poems as a kind of spiritual practice. I ask questions relatively often in poems and I ask them because I don't know the answer. And I ask them because I think that poems are fantastic spaces with which to arrive at real conundrum kinds of questions, to go as far down the road as you can of understanding something and then sometimes that road ends with a real question.


I wonder if one might describe the process of music therapy (and, indeed, maybe someone already has) as a form of collaborative poetry-making and inquiry- an effort to create an evolving piece of relational art- one that often ends with more questions than answers. And one that invites deep self-reflection and, as my mother (who is a poet) often points out, frequent editing. 


...and are we not of interest to each other?


Elizabeth Alexander elaborates:


[The question] ...to me isn't about, oh, you know, I like her shoes or ...he has a fascinating job. It's much deeper than that. Our human beings who are in community, do we call to each other? Do we heed each other? Do we want to know each other? And I think reaching across what can be a huge void between human beings.

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As you consider your work as a music therapist (and as a participant in life), you might ask, not only do we interact with each other, but how do we interact with each other, who are we to each other, and in what ways are we with each other?


More questions to ponder: 
*Are my clients "of interest" to me? In what ways are my clients "of interest" to me? As in, what do I mean when I think of someone as being "of interest" to me? How do I define "interest"? Is it as "you're an interesting person"? Or is it deeper than that? And how deep am I willing to go?


*Are my clients "of interest" in terms of how I am defined when I am with them? Are they "of interest" in terms of: "This is who I think you are in relation to me"? In other words, is the "interest" defined largely by the roles we play? And how willing/comfortable am I to look beyond the assigned roles?


*Does being "of interest: mean that I know certain things about you as my client? And how does that affect the power dynamics in our relationship? On another level, what and how much am I willing to know about you? 


*What do I, as your music therapist, want you, the person called my client, to know about me? Are there things I wish you could know about me? And whose need am I meeting in wanting that?  


*What if our clients don't hold our interest? What then? 


My deepest thanks to Elizabeth Alexander for her inspiring poem and to Krista Tippett for the willingness to "go there" in her interviews! 


You can read the entire poem and learn more about Elizabeth Alexander and her books of poetry here. And you can listen to (or read) the entire conversation (and many other engaging interviews) with Krista Tippett here.

Journal Prompt #4- Uncertainty

Image by cowbite via FlickrOne of the hardest aspects of being a music therapist, at least for me, has been working to come to terms with the experience of uncertainty as I work with clients. I'm sure this won't come as a surprise to you, because I've written about it a number of times (here, here, and here- to name a few).


I think part of what makes it difficult to sit with the sense of "um, I'm not sure what's going on here" is this mythology we tend to buy into as music therapists (I guess as any kind of therapists, really) that tells us "you must always know what's going on with your clients and have the perfect intervention and/or response to address it."   


Even after doing this for 24 years, there's still a nagging sense of "I should know" in the back of my mind- even though I know (intellectually anyway) that I don't have to know, and even though I'm well aware my clients aren't always ready for me to know (or aren't ready to know for themselves), and even though I realize it's just a matter of sitting with the feeling and trusting the process.  


I understand that some of my uncertainty comes from the fact that I work with people who don't use the usual means of communication or ways of relating to people. Using a process-oriented approach (and not a product-oriented one) also increases the likelihood that I won't always know what's going on in my sessions. 


And, really, I'm okay with all of that. I'm just...very aware (shall we say) of a feeling of "hmm" when I'm faced with a situation and I'm not sure how to proceed. 


So, lovely readers, I invite you to join me in looking at this part of our work as you journal.


-Do you allow for a bit of uncertainty as a part of your music therapy practice? If you do, in what ways? If you don't, why not? 


-How do you approach uncertainty when it comes up in your work as a music therapist? Do you power through it on your own? Do you seek supervision or consultation? What kinds of questions do you ask yourself?


-How do your beliefs about what it means to be a "good music therapist" affect the way you deal with uncertainty? What does it mean about you, about your abilities as a music therapist, about how people might view the field of music therapy to "not know" what to do or how to approach a therapy situation? 


-What if the "perfect" song or intervention isn't coming to you and you're in the middle of a session? 


-What are some of the things you're doing in your music therapy practice that help you avoid the experience of uncertainty? How does that affect the therapy relationship? What might you be communicating to your clients?


I'd love to hear your thoughts about uncertainty (written out, sung, played as a piece of music, acted out as a play, whatever works for you), so please share them freely. 

Journal Prompt #3 (When music therapists go bad)

Image by Esparta via FlickrYesterday, I felt like a bad therapist. 


I was tired from awful allergies (and the ends of a lingering cold), and I didn't feel great physically (and, let me tell you, there was some serious whining going on). And, yeah, okay, the truth is I just plain started out the day with an attitude. 


But I figured, "Come on, Roia! It's Saturday, you only have three sessions with three different guys. They're good guys. You really like working with them. It'll be fine. Stop your kvetching, and go do your sessions and you and your aches and pains will survive." 


Great. Pep talk done. Let's do it!


Maybe it was because it was a holiday weekend (with little hope of their seeing family members), maybe it was that it was a fairly nice day outside and they were all stuck indoors, maybe they all had allergies, maybe they thought my sunscreen smelled weird...I don't know what it was!  But my clients weren't exactly in jovial moods either. 


So. 


There we all were with our collective attitudes in the various sessions, and there I was just...not making sense, not saying or doing anything particularly- I don't know- therapeutic. I found myself wondering why the heck I was saying what I was saying.


And all I could think was "what is with you today, woman?"


I was so not being a shining example of music therapy and all the fabulosity that goes with it. 


Yes, I know that I probably wasn't as awful as I felt  I was being. And, yes, I realize that it's all "grist for the mill" (as my clinical supervisor has always said), and it's all part of a much larger process/context. And, sure, it's true that even a bad day of music therapy (when you live in an institution) is probably not as bad as all that, but I like my clients. I want to do right by them, and I felt kind of badly that I was less present than I would have preferred. 


And I was also annoyed that they were (at least in my perception of things) making me work so damned hard! Waaah! [We're whining...we're whining...]

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So, perhaps you can journal (or sing, or play, or create some form of art, or develop your own whining rant) about a day (or, heck, a week or a month) when you felt as if you were having a hard time being the kind of  music therapist you like to think you are.

What are some of the idea(l)s/myths you have about who/how you "should" be as a music therapist? 

What are some of the idea(l)s/myths you hold in your mind about who your clients "should" be and how they should act/respond/deal with stuff when they're in music therapy with you?

And how do all these idea(l)s and myths affect how therapy goes some days? And how do you cope with days when you feel as if you are less than stellar?

Bring it on, my fellow bloggies!

Video journal #1 (So THAT's what Countertransference Sounds Like)

Seriously. What is with me and all this numbering? 

Anyway...

With all this conversation about trying different forms of journaling (okay, maybe there wasn't any actual conversation, but it's definitely something that's been on my mind), I decided I wanted to try a video journal. So I did an improvisation after a session. Here's what that looked/sounded like: 

After I listened to it, it occurred to me that it sounded sad and sort of poignant. I was struck by how extremely consonant it was as well. I didn't think it would be. I guess the point is that maybe on some level I did know what might have been going on in the session, but it just hadn't become conscious yet. 

Journal Prompt #2 (Who are you again?)

Image via WikipediaWow! First, let me thank all of you who were kind enough to join me in this path of self-reflection and exploration! It has been so neat to hear from you and read your thoughts and responses. I've truly been honored that you've taken the time to share your experiences, and I'm excited to hear/read/see more as we progress!


For my part, I have started to make short videos after some of my sessions (particularly with clients who challenge me or about whom I find I have a lot of feelings) in which I share my thoughts and reactions regarding the therapy experience on that particular day and then play a musical improvisation describing what it was like to be in the session.


It has been interesting for me to hear how being with different clients "sounds" (at least from my own musically and verbally expressed point of view). Of course, it's hard not to hear my own issues and musical patterns creeping into the music (oh, yeah, therapy 'til I'm dead, baby). 


I'm sort of wanting to share some of the videos, but I want to be sure I'm not violating any ethical rules and/or regulations in order to do so.

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Meanwhile, it got me to thinking about Journal Prompt #2:


For most of us, during our busy weeks, we see lots of clients. And there are always the people we work with who stay with us and stick in our minds. 

But there are also clients we completely forget until we see them the next week.
And I started to wonder, why?

Who am I forgetting? Do I forget this person/group all the time? Or is there something going on with this particular client/group that I just want to avoid? Or that I don't like dealing with for some reason? 

What is this person triggering within me? Is it something about this person? Or is something going on with me? Why is it this person/group that I forget?

What is it about this person that feels "forgettable" to me? What might the fact that I'm forgetting this person/group be helping me know/learn/wonder about how this person perceive(s) him/herself? 

How does my forgetting this person/group have meaning in the context of this individual/group's life?

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As you can (plainly) see, it was kind of difficult for me to formulate the questions, but, for me anyway, that's part of the process- figuring out better questions to ask myself. If you come up with a better question to ask (or simply find a better way to word the questions I already tried to ask), do tell.


As always, if you feel comfortable sharing, you're welcome to use the comments section to offer your thoughts or (if you blog) post a link to your blog post or You Tube video. Perhaps you might want to play contrasting musical portraits (a Ken Bruscia suggestion) of a client you think of often and a client you tend to forget, and either video or audio tape the improvisations. Or write a song about a client you've forgotten and share it with us. 


I so look forward to your latest installments!

Journal Prompt #1 (The sounds of silence)

Inspired by the very pleasant time I had with the "Joys of Journaling" workshop participants last night (thanks, guys!), I thought it might be cool to dedicate a weekly (or so) (we can always hope) blog post to sharing ideas with you of things you might like to explore and process in some form of journal.


You could do your journaling in the "old fashioned way, with pen and paper and keep it private (which would be glorious). Or you could do it in an alternative (and more public) form (such as in a blog post, a vlog, as a song, a musical improvisation, a piece of artwork, poetry, or in whatever fascinating form you come up with that I haven't even thought of yet).


The way I see it, you'd be welcome (heck, you'd be encouraged!) to share your thoughts through the Comments you leave (just share a link to the web-place you'd like us to visit to check out your thoughts, ideas, insights and artwork). 


So, in honor of this being the very first journal prompt (hence the title: Journal Prompt #1- not a particularly inspired title, I know, but this is about you and your journaling journey and not so much about me and my weird blog post titles), I'll invite you to think about what we worked on last night:


Think about the experience of silence in your sessions:

Have you had a session in which there was silence for a period of time? Either your silence, your client's silence, or a silent group?

Explore what this silence felt like?

If you could have given it a sound, what sort(s) of sound would best express this silence?

How do you usually respond to silence (outside of your work)? Why?

What was it about this silence that evoked the particular response/reaction you experienced?

Ask yourself: if I were to visually describe this silence (or perhaps create a piece of art or movement), perhaps to kinesthetically express this silence, what would it look, sound, and/or feel like?

What are the qualities you'd find yourself exaggerating? And what are the qualities you might have ignored?

If there aren't any silences in your sessions at all, what's that like? And why?

Go for it, my friends! 

The Joys of Journaling

Image via WikipediaI will be conducting a workshop tomorrow evening (that would be on May 5th, or Cinco de Mayo, as it were) on The Joys of Journaling. It's a part of the Kardon Institute for the Arts Self-Care Series down in Philadelphia.


In honor of this event, I dug out my very first diary which I got for Christmas when I was ten years old. (I know, I know, why the heck is a person with a Jewish mother and a Muslim father getting Christmas presents? What can I tell you? We like giving/getting presents in our family, and we like Christmas songs. I mean, what's not to like?)


Anyway, I've been reading some of the things I wrote back when I was a mere 10, and I have to say they are hilariously funny and sort of poignant from my now forty-five year-old perspective. 


It's interesting (okay, and it's a little embarrassing) to re-visit my younger self and to remember what was so important back then that it caused me all manner of angst. 


It's been an absolute delight preparing for this workshop, because it's no longer (ahem) 1976, and the options for journaling have expanded exponentially. I mean, with the advent of technology (let alone the gradual expansion of my no longer all that young mind) there are, literally, no limits to the many fascinating and creative ways we can come up with to record and to explore our thoughts, feelings, reactions, ideas, identities, and general...stuff!


Admittedly, even though I very much enjoy writing (and reading!) blog posts, and I've certainly written my share of songs that started out in journal form, I remain true to my favorite form of journaling: I have a big stack of trusty wire-bound, college-ruled notebooks filled with the scribbling of whatever comfortable fine-tipped ball-point pen was serving me at the time. 


Now, the plan for tomorrow is to try out some journaling exercises, and I'm hoping to work some music-making in there as a part of the self-discovery process as well. I'll be taking along my little Flip camera and my tape recorder (yes, I did just say that- it's a great gadget, and I adore it for writing songs), so we can try out some alternative journal forms. 


I truly love the act of journaling (even though I sometimes actively avoid it for a period of time until I'm ready to jump in there and look at my stuff). The way I see it, journaling is a conversation I have with myself. 


In terms of being a music therapist, it's helped me define who I am, what I think about the work I do, and, most importantly, it's helped me to learn how to pay attention.


Writing in my diary gives me a chance to say things I can't say to my clients, and it helps me think about why I want to say those things in the first place. It gives me a chance to think through sessions that confound me, and it's a wonderful way to explore the things within me that make it hard for me to hear what my clients (and the other patient people in my life) are trying to say. 


I'm wondering if there are others of you out there who find journaling to be helpful in terms of deepening your work as a music (or any other kind of) therapist. I'd love to hear of your experiences.