This blog is for the two of us whether you know it or not.
How do I know?
First things first: you’re reading. That’s a good sign! We both have a degree of intellectual curiosity that’s poking around for something, something in a different vein, something other than, say, a You Tube water-skiing squirrel. And before you assume I’m a You Tube prude, yes, I’ve watched said aquatic squirrel - so no judgement call from me. Every life is entitled to a little You Tube brain candy.
But maybe you’re here because you’ve read something I wrote somewhere else, something that nudged an emotion.
Maybe we had a chance conversation years ago.
Maybe you’re an administrator?
Or you're here because you are a teacher, or a musician, a composer, a guitarist, a pianist, or a writer. Because I happen to be all of those things. Or maybe none of them.
Maybe we are friends. Maybe you don’t know me at all. Maybe I taught you – or with you. Maybe you taught me. And trust me when I say that if I taught you or taught with you, I hoped there was plenty of mutual learning to go around.
Maybe we made music together. I hope so.
Maybe I played at your wedding. Or spoke at your school. Or we met at a conference. Or at a watering hole. Maybe you brought me a glass of much-appreciated cold water in the middle of a hot summer solo gig under the sun.
Maybe you’re a college music major getting ready to become a card-carrying music teacher and someone said, “Yeah, this guy’s been around and knows some stuff. You should check out his blog.”
Or maybe you’re the practicum student who observed me teach at the Leach School and wrote to their college professor, “I wasn't at all certain about what I would think about this observation.
It's not that I had a problem with the idea of working with disabled children, it's the fact that since I decided I wanted to be a music teacher when I was in seventh grade, all I wanted to do was teach a band. So I felt like, in a school for disabled children, I wouldn't be using everything I was learning in my music classes, and therefore this wasn't a job I could ever want.
Today, my outlook completely changed. When I saw those kids smiling and trying so hard just to clap their hands and sing along, I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get up in the morning and know you're going to make one of those kids smile, or know that because of you, one of those children will go home and squeeze their mother's hand for the first time just because you learned to do it in a song."
Maybe you are a thriving music educator, living the best professional life you can. Maybe you’re burned out. Maybe you’re getting ready for your last year of teaching. Maybe you’re retired and some of these words take you back to that other time.
Maybe you are like me and music is so intertwined with your life that somedays you don’t know where one begins and the other ends – but what you do know is that there are so many musical touchstones in our life stories that it’s got to be more than just coincidence.
Maybe you came here for an argument – because you don’t agree with me. Or maybe we agree on a lot and you like the feeling of affirmation I provide.
Maybe what draws you to this page is that you think I am a musical truth teller. I don’t know about you, but for me, there is nothing more refreshing than the truth. That first whiff of “truth” is like what I used to tell kids was my favorite smell – the initial bouquet of flavor from a newly opened bag of potato chips – that aroma of truth that feels so welcoming and familiar. And just like when a band aid is ripped away from skin, the truth provides that honest, momentary flinch, that sensation that rapidly morphs into some other perception or emotion and reveals the miracle of healing.
I’ve done more than my fair share of falling down and as far as band aids go, I’ve lost count.
Maybe you know that while I‘ve professionally pushed myself for decades, my occasional intent here is to only nudge you for a few minutes.
And maybe you’ll agree with some of what I say as well as push back when you feel the need.
In any case, I will always be here pulling for you, no matter your walk of life, your lack or abundance of experience, or your silence.
My goal here is to add a post two or three times a week that draws from my past lives as a musician who taught music as well as to respond to questions and queries from those in or approaching the field of music education. And don't worry if you consider yourself musically reclined - I have those days, too.
I’ll be here, somewhere in the cloud behind the words I leave, and I hope you’ll come back to revisit these words.
So, no matter how we met or how you know me, as a teacher, or a friend, or as a co-musician, on these pages I will be “Boyd Holmes, the Writer”. Or "Boyd Holmes, the __________". Your call.
As I like to say, “I’ve suffered for my career and Art. Now it’s your turn.”
Because, after all, this blog’s for you.
How do I know?
First things first: you’re reading. That’s a good sign! We both have a degree of intellectual curiosity that’s poking around for something, something in a different vein, something other than, say, a You Tube water-skiing squirrel. And before you assume I’m a You Tube prude, yes, I’ve watched said aquatic squirrel - so no judgement call from me. Every life is entitled to a little You Tube brain candy.
But maybe you’re here because you’ve read something I wrote somewhere else, something that nudged an emotion.
Maybe we had a chance conversation years ago.
Maybe you’re an administrator?
Or you're here because you are a teacher, or a musician, a composer, a guitarist, a pianist, or a writer. Because I happen to be all of those things. Or maybe none of them.
Maybe we are friends. Maybe you don’t know me at all. Maybe I taught you – or with you. Maybe you taught me. And trust me when I say that if I taught you or taught with you, I hoped there was plenty of mutual learning to go around.
Maybe we made music together. I hope so.
Maybe I played at your wedding. Or spoke at your school. Or we met at a conference. Or at a watering hole. Maybe you brought me a glass of much-appreciated cold water in the middle of a hot summer solo gig under the sun.
Maybe you’re a college music major getting ready to become a card-carrying music teacher and someone said, “Yeah, this guy’s been around and knows some stuff. You should check out his blog.”
Or maybe you’re the practicum student who observed me teach at the Leach School and wrote to their college professor, “I wasn't at all certain about what I would think about this observation.
It's not that I had a problem with the idea of working with disabled children, it's the fact that since I decided I wanted to be a music teacher when I was in seventh grade, all I wanted to do was teach a band. So I felt like, in a school for disabled children, I wouldn't be using everything I was learning in my music classes, and therefore this wasn't a job I could ever want.
Today, my outlook completely changed. When I saw those kids smiling and trying so hard just to clap their hands and sing along, I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get up in the morning and know you're going to make one of those kids smile, or know that because of you, one of those children will go home and squeeze their mother's hand for the first time just because you learned to do it in a song."
Maybe you are a thriving music educator, living the best professional life you can. Maybe you’re burned out. Maybe you’re getting ready for your last year of teaching. Maybe you’re retired and some of these words take you back to that other time.
Maybe you are like me and music is so intertwined with your life that somedays you don’t know where one begins and the other ends – but what you do know is that there are so many musical touchstones in our life stories that it’s got to be more than just coincidence.
Maybe you came here for an argument – because you don’t agree with me. Or maybe we agree on a lot and you like the feeling of affirmation I provide.
Maybe what draws you to this page is that you think I am a musical truth teller. I don’t know about you, but for me, there is nothing more refreshing than the truth. That first whiff of “truth” is like what I used to tell kids was my favorite smell – the initial bouquet of flavor from a newly opened bag of potato chips – that aroma of truth that feels so welcoming and familiar. And just like when a band aid is ripped away from skin, the truth provides that honest, momentary flinch, that sensation that rapidly morphs into some other perception or emotion and reveals the miracle of healing.
I’ve done more than my fair share of falling down and as far as band aids go, I’ve lost count.
Maybe you know that while I‘ve professionally pushed myself for decades, my occasional intent here is to only nudge you for a few minutes.
And maybe you’ll agree with some of what I say as well as push back when you feel the need.
In any case, I will always be here pulling for you, no matter your walk of life, your lack or abundance of experience, or your silence.
My goal here is to add a post two or three times a week that draws from my past lives as a musician who taught music as well as to respond to questions and queries from those in or approaching the field of music education. And don't worry if you consider yourself musically reclined - I have those days, too.
I’ll be here, somewhere in the cloud behind the words I leave, and I hope you’ll come back to revisit these words.
So, no matter how we met or how you know me, as a teacher, or a friend, or as a co-musician, on these pages I will be “Boyd Holmes, the Writer”. Or "Boyd Holmes, the __________". Your call.
As I like to say, “I’ve suffered for my career and Art. Now it’s your turn.”
Because, after all, this blog’s for you.
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