The Mensan Meets the Artist

Dr. V. would be thrilled to know how many deeply philosophical posts are inspired by our lessons together. But I don't think I necessarily want her to read these things. It's sort of like those teachers who have you keep a personal journal -- and then turn it in. Even if you believe that they honestly think that they want to hear your thoughts, you still end up writing what you think they want to hear.

Okay, that's a string of awkward sentences. If this continues like this, I might never publish it.

Anyway, I was very honest in my lesson today. Dr. V., as noted before, is big on the sensation of playing. How does it feel? And sometimes, whether or not she says I made the right motion and sound and everything, it honestly doesn't feel any different. It's like at the optometrist's -- he gives you choice one or two, and you know you should be able to choose which is better, but you can't tell the difference. So I told her that I really couldn't feel whether or not I was releasing tension in my thumb. Then, for the second time in the past couple weeks, the question of whether or not I suppress my emotions arose. Do I overanalyze? Do I hid behind a facade?

In a way, I suppose I do suppress my feelings to some extent. In reality, I'm awfully sensitive. I used to end every day exhausted by my emotions and the emotions of those around me, and then I'd be so caught up in them that I couldn't sleep at night. I can't live that way. I can't survive or even function if I'm ruled by my overly sensitive heart. I can't cope with that sort of turmoil. Instead, I allow my brain to take charge. If I can think through every action, every reaction, every situation, than I have a certain amount of control over myself. I don't want freedom from that control -- I've tried that. I go nuts. Just ask my mother about my childhood sometime.

Then, too, my brain doesn't really turn off. I can divert myself, a skill I developed after a tendency toward morbid introspection became evident. I can think light thoughts, heavy thoughts, simple thoughts, complex thoughts, but I can't imagine thinking nothing. Besides, it doesn't make sense to me. Dr. V. likes the bath analogy -- imagine that you are stepping into the tub, relaxing into the warm water. In that totally honest moment, I admitted that I think quite logically when stepping into the tub. If I didn't, I would probably break my tailbone. I analyze the motion of the ripples. I day-dream. I plan my next course of action. It's a pleasant time, certainly, but my brain doesn't stop. Should it?

Must I choose between my brain and my senstivity? Does one path lead only to the physics teacher and the other to the musician? Dr. V. would have been surprised to know how close to tears I've been since our conversation. This re-ascendence of my over-sensitivity is more than a little bit alarming to me. I don't know what to do with it. And when I can't figure out the proper action, I really do begin to suppress. What a mess I am.