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Everyone needs to find their own way to escape themselves and see the world as something more than just a place to live. Sometimes it’s a person, sometimes it’s a story, and sometimes it’s a particular place. For me, one of the places is the Detroit Institute of Art. Seeing all the art and the various times and places they come from helps me to connect with the world and see all the beauty and ugliness within it. This world is more than just me, it is a society of millions of people with billions of ideas and never ending possibilities. I find it truly beautiful to see all the diverse artwork in a single place. This where I can truly find the world outside of myself.

I had a very powerful moment in the DIA the last time I visited. I went to my favorite exhibit, the Islamic Art collection. I love this part of the museum because the exuberance and detail that they put into their masterpieces. My favorite display is this absolutely gorgeous Qur’an with colored pages and flecks of gold. I find it stunningly beautiful. This piece is my favorite part of the entire DIA, it is what I think of first when I think of the DIA. This is what connects me to the rest of the world. Through this Qur’an, I see the history of mankind, our struggles, our triumphs, and the incredible beauty that we try to infuse in our everyday lives. This was an incredibly powerful moment for me. It’s a little embarrassing, but I was honestly on the verge of tears. The recent tragedy at Chapel Hill did not help in this matter either. Through this incredibly art, I saw the beauty that mankind can make, but I was also reminded of the horrors that we inflict. I was no longer myself at this point; I was part of a collective of minds that survived until today.

Through this art, I was able to leave myself. I think this is a necessary for every person to experience and be able to return to. It is incredibly helpful to leave yourself and see the world outside of your personal struggles. So find the thing that makes you see the world and not just its parts.

The Qur’an: http://www.dia.org/object-info/edae52d5-4d47-4321-be4a-e99ee48f0f10.aspx?position=53

Summer,

My nearest, dearest friend. It really has been a long time. Do you recall that time I laid on my front lawn beneath the maple tree with my headphones holding my head like two hands positioning my face to the sky–your sky?

I do, I remember. I remember the swell of that song in my ears. I remember the way he sung my favorite lyrics:

I’m getting lost in your curls
I’m drawing pictures on your skin, so soft it twirls
I like your looks when you get mean
I know I shouldn’t say so but when you claw me like a cat
I’m beaming

Your warm wind’s fingers ruffled the grass like my hair, and my hair like the swaying grass. I didn’t have sunglasses to block your rays–do you recall how you shined on my face and warmed my freckled cheeks? I closed my eyes and breathed the moist air you breathed on me.

I remember feeling the ground shivering a little when my friend’s old, gold, Chrysler pulled into my driveway. I opened my eyes to your unbroken sky and took in the clarity of the day at the same moment Bluish by Animal Collective fizzled to its end. I remember thinking that I couldn’t think of a better word to describe that day, your sky, my mood, my life in those few utopic months–bluish. Do you remember how we got up and slid into the passenger seat?

I remember the way you climbed in with me and blew my hair back as we drove. I remember the way you made the world seem like it existed only in primary colors–pure and saturated during those months. It felt like you had placed a soft, warm filter over those long days. I remember the way you made me feel and the way you brought everyone together. Only four months stand between us now. I look forward to our reunion–to rekindling our nineteen-year romance.

I look forward to laying in the grass in my parent’s yard, to drives in that old Chrysler, to focusing my eyes so hard on the sky that I believe I can see microscopic debris falling down on me, to swims in the warm lake water, to breezes that soften our skin, and your sun’s soft kisses that ignite our cheeks and foreheads.

Come soon, come in your entirety.

all my love,

Cait

“…there whenever your car won’t start…Marvin’s Auto Parts… ”

The final note of the jingle lingered in the air as thousands of television screens across the city popped with the reappearance of local morning news. The news anchors were dressed in crisp suits, and their bright smiles flashed a shade of white only the harshest of chemicals could fake. Mothers and fathers sipped coffee and children fought for the maple syrup, their yellow teeth hidden behind tight lips as their eyes fixated on the day’s news report.

“The latest news developing today comes from NASA scientists, who say that a meteoric collision has sent a great ball of fire and rock our way. Experts say we have less than one hour until this meteor, who the general public has fondly named Steve, makes contact with the Earth and threatens the future of the human race.” The male anchor squinted at his notes sheet through the thick black rims of his glasses, trying to remember whether or not he had even read the news report this story came from.

“Well, Rich, looks like everyone should invest in a pair of sunglasses,” said the female anchor by his side. Adults everywhere peeked out their windows at the cloudless sky as she started on the next piece of news. “A girl in the Midwest was filled with embarrassment after mistakenly emailing her professor a love note written to her favorite fictional character. Sharon Nichols had apparently been trying to send in the final paper for her sociology class when she attached the wrong file. When the story went viral, Trey McCallister, who plays the lovelorn character on TV, caught wind of the story and tweeted at Sharon, saying ‘@SharonXLovesXAlfie You’re a star student in my eyes! (;’

“Now here for a panel discussion on whether or not Sharon should receive a passing grade in her class is social media specialist Sophie Walters, Jayneville Community College professor Andrew Davis, and our very own meteorologist, Jason Jeffries,” said the anchor, shuffling her papers absently before turning to the panelists. “Let’s start with you, Sophie. Should Sharon get credit for her effort?”

“Well, you know, in the age of social media, I think we need to look differently at the ways we define success,” began Sophie, “Did she fail to complete the prompt by turning in this love note? Sure. But did you see that tweet she got from Trey McCallister? It takes fans hundreds of copied tweets flooding his feed just to get an angry reply from him, and she secured a winky face! This girl is going places.”

“Listen, I don’t care whether or not some dude with windswept hair tweeted her back,” cut in college professor Andrew Davis, his eyebrows swooping down in frustration, “chances are her professor doesn’t use twitter and has no concern for the number of followers she gained from this little blunder. What is important here is the content of the love letter. I’ve never seen such a moving piece of prose in my thirty years of teaching.”

“Ah, yes the love letter,” said the news anchor, “she posted it online for people who follow her blog to see. Do you think it was a quality piece of writing?”

“I do! Any professor who doesn’t see the raw talent in this girl’s work is blind, end of story. You’ve got to give her an A,” Professor Andrews said as he banged his fist on the table.

“Excuse me, but while this is all rather, um, interesting, don’t you think we should be talking about how the world could very well end any minute?”

The meteorologist had finally found the nerve to speak up in what was becoming the most bizarre and pointless conversation he had ever been thrown into. The debate fell to silence as the rest of the panel stared at him with bewilderment and disbelief. After fifteen seconds of radio silence, the news anchor finally piped up.

“Ahem, well. I’m not really even sure why we asked you to join us. Meteorology isn’t even a real science. Anyways, back to what you were saying, Sophie -”

“What, of course it-”

Every television in the city turned to black as the power grid went down. Citizens throughout the city ran to their windows, gazed at the red sky, and thought, would I have given her an A?

Freshman year, as I walked back to my dorm, I pondered how my sense of humor had taken a shift over the course of the semester. My wit had sharpened, my sarcasm become more dry, and even my laugh had begun to sound like that of my roommate. She was rubbing off on me. Much earlier in my life, as I was struggling to figure out my adolescent identity, I asked my mom in a panic “is it bad to take bits and pieces of the things you like in other people and do those things too?” I was terrified of becoming an emotional version of Frankenstein’s monster, but she assured me that this was only natural. It’s really amazing to think about the people who have shaped me and inspired me to act better, think more critically, and embody their good qualities in myself. Learning the lesson that it’s okay to be a “copycat” when it comes to finding yourself also showed me that it’s okay to change. In early high school, everyone’s biggest fear was always that of change. Whenever a pair of friends would drift apart, the mutter of “she’s just so different now” was always cast as a sort of blame on the changed one. When I said that leggings weren’t pants and I’d never be caught dead in them, but a few months later found myself sporting them on a regular basis, I had changed. When I walked into my first course on women’s literature, I did not identify as a feminist; I have changed. The ides exchanged in that classroom and all of the things I loved about my professor changed my thoughts about myself and my own identity. This is not a bad thing. The fear of hypocrisy and the fear of becoming someone you weren’t a few months ago overwhelms our culture, but as someone who is learning all the time, I think I change every day. This change is just growth and I’m learning to embrace it.

Technically, Professor Martha Sheil is just my voice teacher. Technically, her job is simply to teach me how to turn notes on the page into music that one day (hopefully) will earn me a paycheck. Yet, over the past four years Martha has served as cheerleader, makeshift therapist, and second mom – all while teaching me how to sing and constantly reminding me why I do.

Last year, Martha announced that in May 2015 she would retire. For a studio with a cult like reverence for their teacher, this news was devastating.

Last semester I strategically avoided thinking about her impending retirement or that in a few short months I would have to begin the search for a new voice teacher but Saturday night the department, the studio and I had face that the end was near, and that her departure was a few voice lessons away.

Saturday night was her final recital as a professor, entitled Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History. Besides demonstrating her technical prowess, musicality and stage presence that immediately drew every eye to her, Martha touched every person in the audience. One student started crying the moment Martha began to sing because she knew how nervous Martha gets backstage. Another lost it when she sang their song – a piece which they learned at the same time and grew to love together. Others lost it during “surprise Tosca” when Vissi d’arte, Vissi d’amore (I live for art, I live for love) was performed although it did not appear on the program. Before the final piece I numbered among the few audience members who were not yet reaching for a tissue, but as she sang Final Monologue from Jake Heggie’s Maria Callas, all hope was lost and the entire auditorium was in tears.

I’ve know since that night that I wanted to talk about Professor Sheil in this week’s blog post yet every time I start to type I stop. Saturday reminded me that she was leaving but writing about it makes it real. More than that, how do I put into words someone who has changed my entire life? How do I convey that, other than my parents, she has been the one person who believed in me when the music school said I wasn’t good enough, who ordered me to ignore everyone that told me that double majoring was stupid, and who has dealt with a dejected, disappointed and defeated Alexandria more times than I care to admit?

For the past four years Martha has been a constant in my life. Every week she has returned me to sanity and every week I have grown as a musician and as a person. She has seen me through audition disappointment, performance success, break ups and musical breakthroughs. She has given herself to her students selflessly and has taught me more about music and about life than I had ever thought possible.

As I write this, I feel an immense desire to try and explain who she is and what she means to me but anything I can say will fall short. All I can say is thank you. Thank you for giving me more than I can ever repay and for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for turning me into the musician and person that I am today. Thank you for every moment we have shared and for the ones which we will share in the future.

In May everything will change. While I do not graduate, the people I have grown up with and grown to love will scatter across the country. Martha will retire and I will focus on finishing my engineering degree leaving behind a world which has defined me my entire college career. Endings are always hard – even when you know it is all for the best – and I’m sure more tears will be shed before my final lesson. While I know I will no longer have my weekly sanity checks with Professor Sheil I will continue to learn and grow, knowing she is only a phone call away.