Music, music, music pt. 3

The Peace Corps became spiritual home for me and remained so until I retired from it in 2003.  It wasn't a complete joy ride at the beginning--I left Boston in 1973 to become  a recruiter, working out of an office on the Chapel Hill campus at the University of North Carolina.  That wasn't a permanent position, however--had to be at headquarters in Washington, D.C., to land one of them.  I moved to DC and discovered I couldn't even attract flies at the Peace Corps, much less a job:  I didn't qualify for anything.  Normally that makes no difference for returned volunteers, as long as they apply for a job within one year of completing their overseas service.  During that window, they are given preferential treatment for staff positions--"non-competitive eligibility"--meaning as long as you have some relevant experience and you're not hanging from chandeliers you can probably get a job.  My problem was that I had waited longer than a year, so I was treated like any civilian walking in off the street.  I got temporary positions and was well-accepted by colleagues and bosses, but couldn't land anything permanent because I didn't have a year of qualifying experience under my belt.  One thing led to another.  Deals were made and broken.  I spent most of the 1970s either doing temp jobs at the Peace Corps or working for the DC office of the AAA--and making music.

I continued to compose, sang at parties and had the occasional club gig.  I really got pretty good--I'm still quite proud of my output from that period.  But the essential pull of my life was still towards stability, and then a new wrinkle appeared--I actually wanted to settle down with somebody.  I was nesting!  This latter development was an utter surprise.  I had never imagined myself "married" in any way; I truly enjoyed single life.

Nineteen-seventy-nine was a signal year in my life.  I was 33 years old.  I was still a green-stained map marker at the AAA, but I had also landed a regular singing gig at the Potter's House, one of the most respected coffee houses in DC.  Then by sheer chance I ran into an old Peace Corps colleague, someone I knew from one of my temp incarnations at the agency a few years before.  He worked in the Peace Corps travel office and told me they had an opening and that I should apply for it.  (Lo and behold, all those years working at the AAA made a difference after all, giving me the year--and then some!--of relevant experience I needed to qualify for something!)  I knew and liked everyone in that office, and they liked me--I was virtually assured I'd be hired; the application was a mere formality.

Then in July, 1979, I met Steve.  Here at last was someone I could take home to Mom.  Steve and I were perfect complements in virtually every way.  He could do things I couldn't and vice versa.  He was a loner by nature and so was I, though I was and am still a bit more "social" than he--another complementing attribute.  I moved from the
DC rooming house I'd been living in to the little Virginia garden apartment complex where Steve was--we didn't move in together right away, but we were near each other.  I literally forgot about the coveted Potter's House gig--I stood them up one too many Friday nights and they fired me.  It was a relief.  My starving artist days were over.  I started the Peace Corps job at about the same time Steve and I rented a house together in 1980, and in 1981 we bought the house in Arlington, where we stayed until we left for this new North Carolina adventure in 2009.

I stayed with music performance for several more years.  I still sang at parties, and I joined the Paul Hill Chorale, a prestigious choral group in DC which did several engagements a year at the Kennedy Center.  Composing, however, which requires a great amount of solitude, came to an end.  I didn't miss it because I no longer needed the singing as a crutch to make myself special.  I was now living many of the things I had imagined in my songs, and the real thing was better. 

Music performance receded in importance, as well--I quit the Chorale after 10 seasons.  We still had my piano, taking up a huge space in the living room, and from time to time I'd plunk on it, but eventually I stopped that, too. (It was a big deal to give that old baby grand away, but I found a family whose young daughter was just starting lessons, and I knew the piano would get more loving use in a week than I'd given it in years.)  Though music no longer plays the big role in my life it once did, I still identify completely with performers when I see them at the top of their game, and occasionally I fantasize about being back on the stage, performing.  But other things became important and I have no regrets. 

Next time:  I said all that to say this.