Betrayals of Fate and their Silver Linings

I cycled family slides on the television monitor. I could cycle our hiking slides, but Cindy sees enough of those when I practice the first four movements of the American Discovery symphony. This is the time of day when I practice the last remaining movement that I have yet to sync with slides. Instead of finger picking the classical guitar while seated, as I do with the other movements, I sling the strap of my acoustic guitar over my shoulder while standing. I pick up one of the pebbles I took from the beach at Cape Henlopen, Delaware, which I will use for flat picking this last movement.

I pick out the individual notes in an F major seventh chord, then an A minor, then an F major seventh chord and back to A minor again. This is both the beginning and most often repeated sequence of chords for which I pick each individual note. I have practiced this syncopated arpeggio until I “can’t get it wrong.” Practicing until you “can’t get it wrong,” no matter what happens, is the recommended approach for professional musicians and athletes. When I practice in front of Cindy something always happens.

Today she is squinting at the beginning, not really looking at the slides. I just play on through the opening progression and well into subsequent chords before I make the first mistake. I do a few reps to correct my error, but not enough to “can’t get it wrong,” because I know that would bore Cindy without her knowing why.

Fortunately, I never aspired to be as good a musician as some of the people advising me on this project: Kim Scharnberg, Rhonda Larson, Kevin Good or my brother Bob. The reality of my situation is I typically practice until I “get it right,” instead of until I “can’t get it wrong.” Still, I am a much better guitarist than before this final journey of ours began, since playing guitar is one of the daily routines I can do with Cindy. Maybe I am no professional, but at this point I have graduated beyond mere recreational status.

Now I look forward to performing on the guitar when the opportunity arises. The symphony will be my main gig, but I look forward to performing other songs as well. As the songwriter for “The Bards of Balance” I composed songs intended for a better society. I am adding traditional songs about freedom, friendship, love and peace to my repertoire. These old chestnuts come in handy when I feel Cindy is getting fed up with the symphony movements. There is something about “We Shall Overcome” that engages an audience … which, of course, is the intent of such songs.

Cindy stops squinting and looks at me, at first with searching eyes. Is she searching for answers to what she is feeling? For who I am even? I smile at her while continuing to play. I broaden my smile until she cannot help but smile back brightly. I reflect on how this will be good for me when I perform for an audience. A good performer emotes. If I can emote sunshine while observing Cindy’s condition that may make up for a lack of practicing until I “can’t get it wrong.”

Cindy looks away towards the slides on the television. She smiles at some baby pictures that flash by, but eventually returns to squinting. She seems to be going through some inner struggle that I internalize without knowing exactly what I am internalizing. I often cannot know with Cindy, only feel.

I am at a place in the movement that merely calls for fast strumming. There is still technique I could get wrong, particularly while using a pebble instead of a real pick, but no one would know the difference and I feel no need to correct whatever mistakes I make. I play through while my mind drifts to my latest coping mechanism.

“Woe is me,” no matter how justified by circumstances, is bad for one’s health. Yet while I can turn on a smile and some charm while looking at Cindy, and hopefully while performing in the future, to pretend there is nothing to be “woe is me” about is denial. This is where my new coping mechanism comes in, which I engage while my fingers fly up and down the guitar neck, modulating between the themes of the movement.

Fate betrayed my plans at crucial junctures in my life, in defiance of logical and probable outcomes each time. My educational plans were thwarted this way. Yet in retrospect my educational goals were flawed and fate likely dealt me a better hand than the one I intended.

Similarly, illogical and improbable fate derailed my intended career. I always geared my career decisions around benefiting society. During my intended career as a teacher I won an “Outstanding Teacher” award and received thank you notes from students that still stay in contact with me. I once received a standing ovation from the entire student body, prompting the history teacher standing next to me to whisper in my ear: “In my thirty years here that has never happened.”

Whenever I bumped into my former principal he always encouraged me to get back into teaching. I still struggle with how and why fate illogically and improbably steered me away from this particular career. Yet my subsequent endeavors still benefited society and my mind is content to land on “meant to be” rather than dwell for too long on “what if.”

Cindy lets out a sigh and I make a mental note to bring her to the bathroom as soon as I finish the movement. As I observe Cindy’s discomfort I reflect on another betrayal of fate at another critical juncture in life. Cindy and I were going to have grand adventures all over the world during our golden years. How a vibrant Expedition Woman could be derailed by dementia seems illogical and improbable once again. This should not have happened.

My new coping mechanism switches sad feelings into being puzzled over how unjust fate has been, both with Cindy and prior head-scratching events. This becomes mental pondering rather than emotional anguish. Am I just fooling myself? Yeah, probably, but this reverse “bait and switch” of the mind seems to work. The negativity of pondering unjust improbabilities seems much less harmful to me than pondering unjust sadness.

Cindy looks up at me again and momentarily smiles, as if detecting my presence in the room for the first time. This adds her own sunshine to the silver lining running through my mind. Each time fate was unjust in the past I made adjustments and carried on. My competency now with pedicab and guitar, competencies that illogical and improbable fate forced upon me, should be great assets in my golden years. Who knows, maybe I can combine the two, though the audiences differ a little. Those who might benefit most from a pedicab ride differ from those who might benefit most from songs about love, freedom, peace or discovery.

The last theme in the movement begins with the same F major seventh and A minor arpeggios. Once I get beyond these chords I make a few predictable mistakes, my mind still preoccupied with the betrayals of fate and their silver linings. Oh well. I may never perform at Carnegie Hall, but I should be able to arrange for my own personal SPA treatment, equipped with guitar and pedicab, catering to both the infirmed and the vibrant. I’ll adjust and play through, because life never ends up being something we can practice until we “can’t get it wrong,” but with perseverance perhaps we sometimes can “get it right.”