When I am a Teacher.

I opened the bag to find, to my dismay, I had only bought yellow ones. Yellow, on a day when you feel like blue, is insulting and ghastly.

I’m going to be a music teacher. I don’t want to just teach my children. I want heaps and busloads of kids with freshly sharpened pencils and newly bought notebooks (be they yellow or blue), kids who know me only as Mrs. Schultz. Or perhaps I’ll let them call me Mama Schultz, or Madame.

I won’t decorate my room with the same old boring posters of sunsets and gag-me pseudo-inspiring phrases. No, in my room there will be shelves of books (on every topic) and music, fine art and truly inspiring things. Things, words, I mean, to help my pupils see that yes, yes, they, too, are human beings with things to contribute; ideas to bring to fruition; imaginations to let loose; art to create.

This isn’t about winning at festivals or going on tour or having fun together. This is about being an excellent musician, developing and working at a skill that will follow you around the rest of your life, begging to be released—it will only benefit and enrich your existence upon this earth. It’s about connecting with yourself—your body, your emotions, your inner life.

The more you learn about being a human being, the more you can teach others how to be better humans. Humans who are more emotionally intelligent, more compassionate, more connective and kind, more aware of some grandiose big picture of how everything links up. For this end, music is the vehicle I choose. I’m gonna get to it.