By: Allison Ballard
My world is sluggish. After two weeks of holiday binging, I am full of food and rest and family. The winter is cold and dark and everything seems to be moving in half-time. Everything except my schedule. My post-holiday schedule is as full as my pre-holiday schedule…the difference is me. My body is heavy and my mind is slow and I am returning to a world that seems only vaguely familiar. Where is the music to that song we were working on? How did that rhythm go? How did we have the drums set? As I am preparing for Fort Wayne Taiko’s first post-holiday class, the work feels foggy and far away.
And then comes a stream of text messages, drummers letting me know about last-minute conflicts making it difficult for them to get to this first-class back. A thought flashes through my head, “Maybe we should postpone this post-holiday resurrection until next week.” But this thought is immediately countered by a deeper, wiser (and gratefully louder) voice that says simply, “Go drum.”
In spite of my resistance, I recognize its wisdom. And I appreciate the sweet simplicity in the directive. I don’t really have to know what’s going to happen in class. I don’t have to worry about who may or may not be there. I don’t even necessarily need a well thought-out class plan. But I do need to show up. Everything else stems from that simple truth. I need to lace up my shoes, put on my coat, grab my things and go. I need to drive to the studio, walk upstairs, unlock the door and turn on the lights. I need to set up a drum, get some sticks and play. Something. Anything. It doesn’t really matter if anyone else shows up or not on any given day. The point is I am a drummer. I need to drum. I could drum at home, but drumming at the studio is an invitation for others to join me. So I head out the door.
I set up a shime drum and sit down and start playing through a song I worked on at home during the holiday break. The drummer who usually plays this song with me walks in the door saying excitedly, “I was just thinking about that song!” She grabs a drum and sits down and joins me. The two of us are quickly immersed. Another drummer arrives. She’s never heard the song. “What are you playing?” she asks curiously. We invite her to set up a drum and join us. The three of us play through it, get to the end and smile. We play it again. And again. And again. Not because we’re preparing for a show. Not because we’re fulfilling an obligation. Just because it feels so good! Just because it’s so much fun!
It is true with drumming as it is with everything else. Resistance only has as much power as I choose to give it. If I’m willing, I can shed my resistance as easily as I can take off my coat. Half the battle is just showing up.