The glamorous life

I was in Belgium a month ago conducting concerts with the Antwerp Symphony.  I’d never been to Antwerp before, and was delighted to discover a city of beautiful architecture (Central Station), exquisite art (Rubens) and delectable food (moules frites and waffles).

The orchestra was great, and their schedule was such that I had enough time to make the hour long trip to Bruges, which was utterly charming, if overrun by tourists.

On a sunny Saturday morning I set out for a run in the brisk autumn air of Stadtpark.

And on the afternoon before my last concert I had time to troll the city for the best chocolate boutiques to bring home some sweet gifts.

Now, from seeing my various social media outlets and reading this blog post, you might get the impression that the life of a world-traveling conductor is, if not glamorous, at least full of exciting travel to fun locales, days full of sightseeing and delicious meals, and adventures in some very picturesque settings (not to mention working with wonderful orchestras across the globe).

And I won’t deny that those things are true, and that I feel privileged to do the work that I do, and that I treasure the opportunity to see the world.  But the truth of life on the road is a bit more complicated.

When I travel domestically, Pinkerton is always with me.  He makes my life immeasurably better with his goofy presence and his lap dog proclivities.

But when I travel internationally, I’m alone, no dog, no entourage, just me and my enormously heavy suitcases full of scores.  And those few weeks ago, finding myself in an unfamiliar city (Antwerp) and and an unfamiliar language (Flemish), I was struck by my own loneliness.

I think there’s a fundamental difference between solitude and loneliness.  While I often seek out moments of solitude to ground myself without the chatter of others around me, loneliness is a nagging emptiness, an unwanted disconnectedness.  It makes me feel unmoored, marooned on my own tiny island in a vast sea.  My way out of loneliness on the road is to create agendas and set goals for myself, finding beautiful things to see, cool things to do, interesting things to eat, connecting to the city in which I happen to be.  It keeps me occupied in my non-working moments and makes fo a pretty Instagram feed.

But those curated pictures bely the reality of the constant jet lag, the solo dining, the erratic sleep schedule, being away from family and friends for weeks on end, and navigating a new city (and sometimes, language) every week.  Travel, especially from the West Coast to Europe, is wearing to the body, particularly if it’s only a 4 day stint that has me jetting home and then immediately setting off for the next gig.

I guess I’m struggling a bit here to express what I’m feeling – it’s the sense that while I love what I do, it’s more physically and psychologically challenging to me than I want to admit to myself.  I’m tired all the time.  I’m mildly anxious and stressed all the time.  I don’t have the time to do the things I love to do at home (trail running, joining a meditation group, hanging out with my godsons, cooking elaborate meals with my husband).  It’s hard to feel grounded in the moment, enjoying life as it unfolds, when even my days at home are filled with packing and unpacking, booking the next flight, learning music for that gig 5 weeks down the road, preparing for a future that, right now feels incessant.

I imagine work/life balance is a fundamental struggle for many of us, and for now when it gets a little overwhelming, I try to breathe through it, ask for help when I need it, and give myself the necessary self-care to keep going.  That being said, I’m about to start 10 straight weeks of work.  Stay tuned to see if I survive…