On the road

I’m not too far away, but still sleeping in a bed that’s not my own, which is especially difficult tonight because I’m not getting to snuggle with our new kitty, Cleo! (I promise I’ll post pictures upon my return.) I’m just outside of Portland, OR, where I’m singing a Mozart Requiem on Sunday. On the way down this afternoon, I was listening to it in the car, driving by flag after flag flying at half-mast, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions -- with sadness, of course, for the thousands of people dealing with the loss of loved ones this week (this concert is held annually on September 11, but it will be the victims of Hurricane Katrina that will be in everyone’s hearts this year, I think). But perhaps even more than sadness, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude, that I have the opportunity to sing this great work, that provides both comfort and a way to mourn for so many people. In times like this, I am struck by the reality that we as performers are servants, in the best sense of the word. We are servants to our audience, yes, and also to the universe, to the spirits of the composers and the pieces we are asked to perform. I suppose we are ourselves mediums of sorts, letting the healing and cathartic powers of this music flow through us to those, hopefully, who need it most. And, amazingly, through this, we ourselves are healed. In the car this afternoon, I knew, perhaps more intensely than ever, that this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. This is the gift I can give back, in my own small way, to the world. If even one person leaves on Sunday evening feeling touched by what we’ve done, then we will have done our jobs.