New Rooms

On getting uncomfortable and trying again.

When I was about 13, we had a jazz violinist come to our orchestra to teach us how to improvise. We did a half-day workshop with a few other middle schools and then performed a concert with him in the evening for our parents and any loyal friends we could coerce into the auditorium. I don’t remember much about what we actually played except that it was some new-age jazz for string orchestra, but I do remember when he gave us all the opportunity to take a minute or so and come up to the open mic and try our hands at improvising.

Slowly, a handful of boys hauled their cellos and violins to the mic and gave it their best effort. I didn’t hesitate much behind them, viola in hand. I wasn’t any good in the moment, but I begged the red in my cheeks to stay under control and made it through the moment to a generous applause. Across the three middle school orchestras, I was the only girl who got up and gave it a try.

This is not some feminist trailblazer sort of heroine story. I’m perfectly happy to set a good example and call sexism as it is, but I also cannot hold much more of the world’s injustices or I will explode. What it is instead is a reminder that taking risks and feeling a little uncomfortable are a healthy and important part of life.

Every so often, there comes an opportunity to be in a room that feels like it doesn’t fit. I’ve done this from multiple angles at various stages, and it usually ends up being for the best.

We had another school visit at my son’s new elementary school today. From my end, it feels like a great fit. The school is quieter, there are lots of places kids can go to just be, and the schoolyard is unbelievable--two huge playgrounds, a large sports field, and lots and lots of trees. From his perspective, it’s another step on a ladder that’s been rife with challenges and trauma, and he was less than cooperative. We’ve got a plan for a smooth entry this time, thorough, and so hopefully entering a challenging room proves to be a step towards growth and wholeness.

We decompressed in a cemetery up the street, tucked among the garden plots and singing birds. It wasn’t enough to assuage all the fear and the anger and the frustration, but we did it together, coming off the challenge of the meetings and setting down our swords. We chucked at some of the old German names, admired the statuary, and breathed for a minute.

Because then I had to gear up for my own uncomfortable room. Weeks ago, I accepted an invitation to the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation’s awards night for the seven professors that they’ve endowed to bring their research to life across Germany. Ranging from macroeconomics to bioelectrical engineering, these researchers have been awarded a top prize and the celebration in their honor was to be held at the Berlin and Brandenburg Academy of Sciences .

Which sounds like a pretty fancy place to have your name on a list, especially when it’s so easy to feel like my work pales in comparison. I waffled on whether or not to attend at all, finally reminding myself that networking is part of why I’m here.

So I wiggled into some pantyhose and put on a flowery dress--I skipped the makeup after all the filming last week--and made it with a few minutes to spare. I found my name badge, got a synchronous translator, and picked a seat off to the right of center.

The evening was fine. The quartet was fantastic and the keynote speech was interesting. There was lots of talk about the importance of supporting research and academic freedom, lots of thanking the government, and the foundation, and the academy, and the people along the way. Everyone else was dressed fancier than I was, but no matter. Next time, I’ll wear a blazer.

After two hours of talks, they opened the bar and the buffet. I made a pass through, filling up my plate and grabbing a sparkling water and then wandering awkwardly through the space looking for a space to eat. I sidled up to a table with two Brazilian people, but they didn’t talk to me beyond saying it was fine that I use that space. I made another pass through the buffet, grabbed a glass of champagne that I didn’t really want, and tried again, an awkward pass among the tables, hoping to catch someone in a conversational lull.

To no avail.

I set down my flute, still mostly full, and keyed in on the one other person who looked like they were doing the same as me--wandering without a purpose. I flagged her down, introduced myself, and chatted with her for a few awkward moments. She works on the committee that selects the award recipients. It was fine, not particularly titillating, but fine.

The hot lights and the red in my cheeks from that middle school improvisation concert lives under the surface in moments like these. I’ve always been a little awkward, stumbling my way through life even as the echelons get higher. I survived again, like I always do.

And just like my son, now I know what to expect next time.