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!
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.
I realize this is going to sound like I'm ranting. And not only that, I'm fairly certain I'm going to sound judgmental. And you know what? Maybe I am. This issue is so profoundly important that I think it deserves a bit of a rant, so I'm going to ask you to bear with me today, because this is serious.
It's not exactly news to anyone that I work with people who have intellectual and developmental disabilities (many of whom also happen to have autism and many of whom do not use speech). When I'm talking about clients (below), I mean it to apply not only to doing music therapy with folks who have a whole bunch of labels, but I'm talking about working as a music therapist in general.
So, why am I carrying on? Let us commence with the rant now, shall we?
I have an important question I want us to consider: Is it our clients' jobs to listen to us? Or is it our job to listen to our clients?
I ask this, because I've been noticing what seems to be a tendency in music therapists to go in to a new session and expect their clients who have severe disabilities to just do what they ask them to do. As in, "here are the planned activities/events, and here's what I think you ought to do. Your job, client of mine, is to perform these tasks/activities. And my job is to get you to do that. Period."
Well. Okay...but...
Let's pause a second and think: whose need are we here to meet?
If we want to teach our clients to be better listeners, are we modeling that by listening to them? If we want to help our clients to be be better at paying attention, how willing are we to pay attention to them? If we want people with significant disabilities to engage with us, what steps are we going to take in order to engage on their terms?
If we can't understand the language someone is speaking (particularly if their language does not contain words), are we truly serving that person when we expect him/her to do what we ask before we even make the effort to try to learn about who they are?
Again I ask the question that my college music therapy professor asked us all the time: whose need are we here to meet? And is that need best met by our coming to our clients in a music therapy session and expecting that they will do what we'd like them to do?
Or is that need best met by asking that person to help us learn about who they are (even if they don't use speech to say it) and then creating the musical space within which our client can find a way to communicate and then making a point of hearing it?
We are music therapists. Let us honor that fact and work hard to develop skill in the art of listening.
Let me end by saying this: when we work with folks who confuse us (and even if we think we know what's going on), the first place to start- always, always, always!- is by paying close attention and listening as hard as we can!
