Let us be well

I awoke to heartbreaking news this morning of the death of one of my favorite singers;   Scott Hutchison, the lead singer of the Scottish band Frightened Rabbit was found dead at Port Edgar, Scotland.  Although the cause of death was not determined, from the response of his family and bandmates (and indeed anyone who listened to his music, and knew his struggles), it was clearly suicide.

Mental health among performers and artists has been in the news lately, and Scott’s death feels like a devastating but timely reminder of both the toll it can take and its prevalence in modern society.  Yet it still feels like a taboo topic in this Instagram/look-my-life-is-perfect world, and if there’s anything I know about mental illness, it’s that the more you bring it into the light and share it with others, the less likely it is that it will take you to dark places.

While mental illness per se isn’t a taboo topic amongst classical musicians, it’s not something that’s widely discussed.  Which is interesting, because so many musicians I know deal with anxiety, particularly when it comes to performance;  at any given orchestra performance there are probably at least a dozen (if not more) players on beta blockers to combat stage fright.  My husband, Paul LaFollette, endured debilitating performance anxiety throughout his career as a French Horn player; despite being one of the most beautiful players I’ve ever heard and playing on many prestigious chamber music tours, it was ultimately what led him to pursue a different career.

While stage fright has never been an issue for me (being onstage is in fact one of the most comfortable places for me to be), my closest friends know that I live with sometimes crippling depression.  It has been with me for decades;  as a kid I was prone to anxiety and a sense that all was not right with the world, and it just progressed from there.  Its intensity tends to come in cycles and is often amplified by real-life events or situations, from bad weather to fertility struggles to workplace woes to the suicide of my father (a topic for a future post).

Some days it takes a long internal discussion to convince myself to get out of bed.  Those are often the same days in which, later, I’m smiling on stage and dancing on the podium – I’m sure many would be surprised to know that I’m struggling.

I’ve learned to rely on those things that help me maintain a balanced perspective, which include some truly wonderful therapists and the unwavering support of my husband and friends.  Meditation is a go-to for taking me to a place of quietness and letting emotions pass through.  My dog, Pinkerton, provides me with countless reminders of the simple joys of life, from romping through the park on a sunny afternoon to cuddling on a hotel bed after a long day.  Running keeps the endorphins flowing.

Music, of course, is key for me, partly because it allows me an outlet to release, in a physical and wordless way, all the complicated emotions that are swirling around.  It’s performance, in particular, that I find therapeutic;  there’s something about being onstage in front of so many people, both in front of and behind me, and feeling that energy.  And I have so much to keep track of when I’m conducting that my mind doesn’t have time to ruminate.  It’s when I feel most present and in the moment.

They say half of life is just showing up;  I’d argue that showing up is life.  When I can be present to what is happening just at that moment, the past and future melt away, and I feel a quiet peace.  I can keep the darkness at bay.  And for those of you who have your own struggles, remember to just show up.  We’re all going to be OK.