Even the Sun Needs to Sleep

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Jan 17

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Taking a chunk of time off for a trip to the Arctic Circle in the midst of various big projects – namely my culminating master’s recital seven weeks away – let’s just say that even before the plane tickets were booked, and knowing myself, I knew the timing of this trip would be anxiety-inducing. Unlike being able to throw on shoes and go for run just about anywhere, I can’t lug my piano around the world with me to be able to practice. This meant some planned time off, knowing it would be at an unideal time.

But, there were some very good reasons to go. It’s a long story, but this stemmed from a unique opportunity to go on a mostly-free trip to Scandinavia–specifically, Swedish Lapland, the Lofoten Islands in Norway, and Gothenburg, smack dab in the middle of winter. This was one of those once-in-a-lifetime things, and fortunately, I had the time. If not now, when?

What ensued was a snowy, ethereal, frigid, magical, very cozy trip to a winter wonderland. Being so far up north, and with only a few hours of daylight at a time, I felt as if I had been transported to another world. One of the most impactful things for me was all of the colors. I’ve never seen such brilliant, yet subdued colors in a natural landscape with my own eyes. Imagine golden hour but stretched out over several hours, with all kinds of shades of gold, pink, coral, and peach in the sky being reflected by snow-covered pines and mountains; lakes frozen in ripples with hues of cerulean, cobalt, and arctic blue. The sun would just barely rise over the horizon, then the light would linger and very gradually dim well after sunset, which at the time was before 1pm.

Along with some time off from piano on this trip, I took some time off from running too. In my first weekly training diary for the season, accessible to paid supporters of this newsletter, I shared about how running during the school semester felt like a chore. I was served some friendly reminders on this trip: I feel the happiest when I’m able to move. This was apparent after spending two days skiing following several days traveling sedentary in planes and cars. I am totally not a skier–you will find me on the bunny slopes–but wow I was happy zipping and gliding up and down those mountains all day. And after taking over seven days off running, then going for a four mile jaunt around Gothenburg, I can’t believe how giddy and alive I felt. All just from one short run I wouldn’t normally think twice about. I’ll try to remember that next time I grumble about “having” to go for a run.

For the most part, I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing, but there were two specific times on this trip where I could not get my mind to stop racing, thinking of impending due dates, how much music I still need to learn, how far behind I am in writing, and how quickly my recital is coming up. Sheer panic and dread. I had the reoccurring thought, “I wish there was a switch in my head I could turn off” so that I wouldn’t feel that way, because logically I knew worrying wasn’t going to help anything, and there’s literally nothing I can do in the moment anyway. And of course I want to enjoy and appreciate where I am. It’s a horrible, unsettling feeling of helplessness. Usually my answer to anxiety is going directly to the source and doing something about it–making progress toward my goals. To be in a holding pattern and not being able to take charge of my progress was very hard in those particular moments of distress.

Perhaps it was good to sit with those feelings and try to understand why they came up. I like to be prepared and I care about being excellent. I worry that my performance will suffer if I’m not devoting every moment of available time to my disciplines. I don’t want to just squeak by or present a mediocre version of something that could be great. But how much does it matter to be technically proficient at an artform without having rich life experiences? Would I be a happier person swearing off human contact and toiling away by myself at the piano if it meant being my best? Would I have anything to say if I stayed in my own little bubble? I ask myself these same questions on multi-day FKT attempts, where my main objective is to move and take care of my basic human needs as efficiently as possible. I have written about how I’ve wondered during these times if I’m the most boring person in the world. An eating and sleeping machine. A person that sits at a piano bench for hours on end. But I know that’s not true. I do have something to say. I want to experience all life has to offer.

When I think of my audience for this upcoming music program, it’s likely to be a small gathering comprised mostly of family, friends, and colleagues. It’s not an audition, and I won’t be receiving a score or a grade. It all simply comes down to playing X minutes of music of my choice, and deciding what story I’d like to tell. Thinking of it that way makes all the worrying seem silly. I know I will make the best use of the time I have to prepare between now and then, and I trust in my ability and artistry that I’ve spent my life cultivating. One could certainly apply that to hiking too, and many other things. Being fast or the best doesn’t make one more or less worthy of sharing their story. This theme has come up quite a bit in my writing now, maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder I need for myself.

I’m writing this on my flight home, on which I’ll arrive in Boston in the evening, followed by the first day of the spring semester, followed by rehearsing for and performing in a full length recital in three days, followed by working on completing a composition due basically now, followed by a whirlwind month to prepare for my graduating recital (for one of two degrees; I will actually graduate in spring 2025), while juggling schoolwork, my fellowship, odd jobs, and attempting to train at some sort of high level of running through the winter in Boston. I do it all to myself! And what a complete privilege it is to be striving toward any of these things at all.

The title of this post, “Even the Sun Needs to Sleep”, it’s just a little phrase that came to me when thinking of all of the above, inspired by the dark, peaceful days up north that were some of the most beautiful I’ve experienced. Of course the sun never sleeps, it’s constantly burning. I don’t think the “striving” part of me will ever be a switch I can turn off, for better or worse. Flipping off the “anxious” switch will always be a work in progress. But seeing the world in a new way, sharing a special experience with a special person, letting my legs and fingers rest, returning to my familiar practices with a new perspective. These things are worthy of making time for.

💫

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Even the Sun Needs to Sleep

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