Losing My Dream ... or When one door closes

I wasn't always obsessed with drums. I managed to get half-way through my teen years before becoming addicted. Then I jumped in with both feet. Hard.

Everything I did for the next decade and a half was drums and music. I played, I studied, I taught, I joined rehearsal bands, and I worked in a music store. At its worst, I played with 6 different bands, taught, and commuted to study in a university jazz program, where I also played, taught and gigged regularly. And then it all caught up to me. The noise I'd been subjecting my unprotected ears to won the day, and the resulting hearing damage forced me to walk away from the music business.

At the time I actually thought that I had an easier time of it than some other musicians. One fellow I worked with was getting arthritis in his hands, but he could still teach and compose and play a bit. Because of my hearing damage and the accompanying noise sensitivity, I had to jettison everything to do with drums and even music. As a result, I was able to avoid having a daily reminder of what I didn’t have ... mostly.

Starting with a clean slate meant I could go anywhere and do anything, as long as it was quiet. I think if I'd been sort of able to do music, I would have been too frustrated. I wanted to play, but I ended up working with computers -- nice quiet computers, as my COBOL professor put it. But it wasn't long before a passionate interest revealed itself. I was hired to do some database programming, and during the lulls I found a ready supply of people who needed technical help. When I finished that project, I landed a few college computer courses and discovered that, oddly, I loved being at the front of the class room despite my general shyness. Subsequent jobs were all heavy on teaching and writing. After I left the IT field, I landed back teaching at the same college.

People teach for a lot of different reasons. For me, it's the buzz I get when a student gets it. I can almost see the wheels turning and when the light goes on. And if there's no ‘ah-ha' moment, I love the challenge of trying again.

As a teacher, I take failure personally. If a student fails to grasp the material, then I have not done the job I was hired to do. It's a little tougher to do that in a college setting, but I rarely had students fail, and I have pretty high standards. My students did well because I made sure they were learning.

If I hadn't been forced to leave music, I might never have discovered my passion for teaching. I’d enjoyed teaching drums to a handful of students, but it was always more of a side-gig. And although I had done some writing, the amount of writing needed to be a proper professor made me a better writer. Teaching also required a lot of research. It’s something I truly hated when I was at Uni, but for some reason loved to do when it made for a better lesson.

It took a long time for my ears to settle down and to find ways of coping with a pretty debilitating condition (tinnitus, hyperacusis, recruitment). Today I can do a bit of playing and that has enabled me to teach again, and that’s where I think I’m really meant to be.

Photo Credit: Petr Malohlava