New Chapter, New Location

Hello!

It's now time for this blog to live somewhere else. If you have been reading and musing with me, I invite you to continue to do so over here.

I'm so excited to pick back up with regular musing and blogging in this new life chapter and new year.

See you soon!

Music and Food, Dentures and Therapy

Imagine with me for a moment that music is analogous to food. In many ways, this isn't really a stretch.

No human culture exists anywhere, or ever has, to the best of our knowledge, without music.

Music is so important to the human experience on this planet that when it's not provided for us, we seek it out or make it ourselves.

Music sustains and nourishes us on so many levels throughout the lifespan. On some level, we all intuitively understand this. Music is a unique form of nourishment, essential to human striving and thriving.

Now imagine for a moment that I proposed giving a steak to a newborn infant. Or nothing but doughnuts to someone with Type I diabetes. Or perhaps a crunchy salad to someone with poor-fitting dentures.

Just like our intuitive understanding of music as a form of human nourishment, we also understand that one size does not fit all when it comes to providing food to human beings.

We understand that "food" is not a broad, all-encompassing label that means anything we call "food" will be safe for everyone to eat, and nor will any one "food" meet the nutritional needs of every person.

We readily adapt the specific foods we provide across the lifespan to accommodate each person's needs. We feed infants foods they can digest. We accommodate food allergies. When older adults, or anyone, has a high risk for aspiration due to difficulty swallowing, we add thickeners to their liquids. We puree food for those who can't chew. We even have advanced techniques like NG tubes or other feeding tubes. If necessary, nutrients can be supplied via an IV.

Sometimes we can make an intuitive guess on what sorts of foods are both safe and nourishing (effective) for certain individuals. And sometimes we must consult with medical experts who are qualified to advise and make adaptations to meet an individual's needs.

We understand all of the above very well. But, in my experience, that seems to be where the understanding stops.

There are many who assume that music is, in fact, a one size fits all kind of food. As a society, in general, we fail to consider that not all music, in all contexts, for all individuals, will be both safe and beneficial.

"But it's just music!" many protest. Surely, music is always beneficial. How could something so wonderful possibly cause harm? Well, food is just food, right? How could food possibly cause harm?

Music is powerful. We know it impacts human beings deeply on physiological, psychosocial, and spiritual dimensions. Anything that can help can also harm. I'll say it once more. Anything that can help can also harm.  Food. Prescription medications. Stretching. Music.

Just as we must carefully consider and assess the limitations, needs, and preferences of an individual when providing food for them, so does a clinical music therapist carefully assess the limitations, needs, strengths, and preferences of each patient or client before providing them with music-based interventions.

We know that not all music will safe for a premature infant in the NICU, nor will anything under the umbrella term of "music" be effective in meeting their medical goals.

Music therapists also know that not all music experiences will be safe, comfortable, or effective for individuals with dementia or PTSD.

Safe and effective are our watchwords when it comes to involving our patients and clients in something as powerful as music.

I'll tell one story that illustrates my point.

I had just started my internship with a hospice and was completing a day of orientation with a chaplain. We arrived to a nursing home to visit with a woman with advanced Alzheimer's. She was asleep sitting up in a reclining wheelchair, parked near a large speaker. There was a community Southern Gospel band there to provide entertainment.

This group had a lot of things right. They were using music within the preferences of many people in the room. They were providing music that was loud enough to accommodate the many individuals who were hard of hearing.

Our patient, however? They started to play, and she immediately looked highly uncomfortable. The music was far too loud, too fast, and too stimulating for her current state of consciousness. Before the music began, her face appeared calm and peaceful. But with this music, she was grimacing, frowning, moaning and crying out, and beginning to shift restlessly in her chair.

The chaplain and I wheeled her back to her room. In the quiet, she began to calm back down. I very softly started to sing acapella, choosing old hymns that were likely to be familiar from her childhood, based on the background information the chaplain had given me. As she continued to become calm and responsive, the chaplain and I sang together, a little louder. Our shared interaction culminated in her open eyes, smiling brightly, reaching to touch and hug the chaplain and me.

Both instances involved providing this woman with music. One scenario made her feel worse. One scenario brought her into meaningful connection with her fellow human beings.

"Food" isn't just "food," "medicine" isn't  just "medicine," and "music" isn't just "music." Seeking the services of an MT-BC ensures a high standard for safe, clinically effective musical experiences for all patients and clients.

A Q&A with Nancy Leigh

I recently attended a Drury Business Network morning meetup group, where I was so fortunate to connect with Nancy Leigh Crandal, another alumna of Drury.

We struck up conversation about the work she does with interior design, aimed at helping older adults and people with physical limitations to better and more safely occupy their home spaces, which has an enormous impact on overall well-being and quality of life.

As a board-certified music therapist, I also use creative arts mediums to improve the quality of someone's environment as a way to improve their health, feelings of well-being, and quality of life.

I was recharged and inspired by hearing Nancy's perspective on her work as an interior designer, and I am thrilled to have the chance to share some of her thoughts with you. Nancy graciously agreed to let me interview her via email for my music therapy musers.

1. Q: Will you please share with our readers a little about your education, background, and your design experience so far?

A: B.S. from MSU in Residential Planning & Construction. B.A. from Drury University in Art and Bach. Of Architecture. Worked in the building profession designing, project management in residential and commercial area.

2. Q: I was so inspired to meet you recently and learn about your current project of using the elements of design to improve the environments and quality of life for older adults and people with disabilities. What initially inspired you to apply your background in interior design to improving the lives of this group of people? 

A:Universal Design & Aging in Place, to me, is a Holistic approach for the life you live. It encompasses all aspects of a balanced life.  My emphases is the environment you physicality live in connecting it to comfort, health and quality of life for all.

3. Q: When we spoke, you mentioned that even subtle elements of the environment such as the color of household appliances can make a big impact on health, safety, and quality of life. Would you please share a little more about how the environment impacts human health and functioning?

A: Our environment affects all our senses. When it is pleasing to our senses, gives a feeling of safety, and connects with our inner beings, we are just more content.

4. Q: You also mentioned that you are seeking individuals who are willing to help you conduct some field research. Can you explain what it is you are looking for and how people should go about contacting you?

A:I find face to face a great way to connect with people and see and hear how they live in their space and what they would like to improve for ease of comfort. It takes about an hour of me listening to how one functions in their environment. It is not a design session ,it is a listening session. I can be reached at 417-569-9414 or nlcreativedesign@sbcglobal.net.

5. Q: What else would you most like to share with the community about your work?

A:My goal is educating and simplifying the space you occupy.

My thanks go out to Nancy for sharing her passion for her work, and I hope my readers will spread the word so that she can continue to learn about the needs of our community. 

In the Trenches

When will the healthcare we offer be as warm, as human, as authentic as the people to whom we offer it?

Seriously. I'm asking.

I work with and for real, living, loving, breathing, hurting, healing, and dying human beings, each a complex universe of human experience unto him or herself.

One of the reasons I was so drawn to hospice work is because the hospice philosophy of care is acutely aware of this reality, and every policy in place reflects this reality for providing individualized patient care.

But earlier this week, my therapist heart got slammed up against a wall because of someone I wasn't working with. In short, it hurt and it made me intensely frustrated with the big, overall umbrella of providing healthcare to older adults in this country.

I pulled up to outside of an assisted living and skilled nursing facility where one of my patients resides. I was there on my employer's time to see someone on my hospice caseload. This means I don't have the luxury of interacting with every resident in the facility.

That's why my heart sank as I wound my way past the nurse's station, guitar on my back -- I heard a gentleman call out from behind me, "Miss? Miss! Is that a guitar? Are you going to share some good, old music with me today?"

I turned back long enough to wave at him, to give him the warmest, most compassionate smile I could, and said, "I'm so sorry, but I am here to see someone specific."

I tried to ignore the pangs in my heart as his face fell and I kept moving.

After a beautiful, delightful routine visit to my patient, I passed back by this gentleman and several other ladies, all parked in wheelchairs, dozing or making hushed small talk in front of the nursing station.

This time, the gentleman leaned forward and asked me what kind of guitar I owned. I told him, and his eyes lit up. He exclaimed, "That's a great guitar! I used to have one, but with 12 strings. I had to get rid of most of my guitars when I moved here though...not enough room." The lady next to him joined our conversation, asking me if I knew the entertainer that was scheduled to appear later that afternoon. They invited me to join them sometime and said they wished I had been there to see them.

I lingered just a few moments with these people. I had other patients to see that day and paperwork to finish after that. By way of parting, I started singing the old standard, "Show Me the Way to Go Home."

A woman had been sitting silently this entire time, with her head bent way down over her lap and her eyes closed. I started singing this song and she immediately sprang to life. Her posture changed. She made eye contact, and her eyes began to sparkle with the smile that was now illuminating her entire face. She opened her mouth and sang the entire little song in beautiful harmony to my melody. In an instant, she was transformed into a former, vibrant version of herself.

The facility staff that observed this brief interaction remarked that she had a cousin who was a famous singer and that she had occasionally sung duets with him.

This woman said nothing, but continued to smile at me expectantly, as though waiting for her next cue to sing.

That's when my heart slammed into the wall.

I was not there for her. I cannot bill for time spent interacting with her. No one has asked me to assess her needs, limitations, strengths, abilities, and responses for clinical music therapy.

I wanted nothing more than to advocate for her access to a certified music therapist. To speak with the facility staff about the real and significant changes in her when a live person interacted with her using her preferred music. To demonstrate the ways in which I could meet her care plan needs and improve her quality of life.

I wanted to see what other songs she remembered and took joy from. I wanted to provide human touch as I supported her in playing small rhythm instruments with me, if she was willing.

In short, I wanted to serve as music therapist to her -- to use music to bring her out of the world in which she spends her days drooped silently over her knees in a wheelchair.

The gentleman who had to give up his guitar collection, this woman, and every other resident there were warm, human, authentic.

But I had to rush along. That's what it's like to work in the trenches of healthcare in this country.

The trenches are where I meet my fellow human beings and offer them help and therapy through the medium of music.

So the trenches are where I want to stay. I want to change the culture of healthcare from the inside.

And today I am asking...when will he healthcare we offer be as warm, as human, as authentic as the people to whom we offer it?

The Top 5 Reasons I LOVE Providing Music for Memorial Services

This past week, I was very privileged to provide the music for two memorial services. That's a mark of a great week to me, because as a hospice music therapist, using music in this way is a part of the job. It also happens to be one of my favorite parts of the job. People are often surprised to hear me say this, so without further ado, please allow me to explain the top 5 reasons I enjoy this so much!

1. My Own Closure
While I try to keep one eye on the on-call updates from the nurses, and it is always my policy to offer a visit if my patient is actively dying, the reality is that I don't always get the opportunity to tell my patients goodbye. Sometimes their dying process moves in a way no one is expecting and I don't get the opportunity to tell them one more time how much our client-therapist relationship has meant to me and what an honor it was to serve as their therapist. I don't  always get to say I will miss them and remember them. Being asked to provide the music for their memorial service meets that need for closure for me. It gives me one final task to complete within the context of that therapeutic relationship.

2. The Family's Closure
Having a member of the hospice team, such as the music therapist, or the chaplain, facilitate some aspect of the memorial service assists the grieving family with an element of closure, as well. In hospice, the family is my "patient," too. The whole hospice team builds relationships with the family as we journey with them through their loved one's end of life. The family realizes they are going to miss their wonderful nurse coming to see them, and just how much they had been leaning on their social worker or chaplain in the days, weeks, or months prior to their loved one's death. Having a chance to tell their hospice team goodbye is good for the family, too.

3. An Opportunity for Grief Support
I'll be honest - I never memorized my multiplication tables and my dancing abilities are suspect at best. However, one of my personal and professional strengths is sitting comfortably with the grief of others. My social work friends may know this concept as "leaning in" or "holding space," for others. For me, it is my ability to show up with an open heart and non-judgmental compassion and simply BE with someone else's grief. This is a strength of mine that I am not afraid to embrace, and it's not a skill I get to use as often as I would like to. Being involved in the memorial service gives me a chance to function professionally in a way I find deeply fulfilling.

4. Precious Gems of Insight
There is something extremely surreal about getting to know a person even better after they have passed away, but it is also deeply gratifying. I LOVE getting to see more pictures of my patients when they were young and to hear their close loved ones reflect on their life. It deepens my sense of awe and humility that I am allowed to accompany these incredible individuals through the final miles of their journey. I cannot say enough about how much I treasure every insight into someone's life I gain by being present at their memorial.

5. Bringing Beauty
There is a reason humans offer one another flowers in  times of unspeakable sorrow. Sometimes the best and only thing we have to offer to one another is the gift of something beautiful. Most people bring flowers to memorials for this reason. As a musician, first and foremost, I bring music. It is my hope than an experience with something beautiful will help soothe some of the ache that is felt with each loss of a human life. Musically, I take the music for a memorial service VERY seriously, because high-quality music is a precursor to anyone having a transcendent, healing, aesthetic experience. Whenever possible and appropriate, I also invite those in attending to make music WITH me because shared music making is one of the most healing, transformative, and connecting experiences available to humans.

So, there you have it! The top 5 reasons I love providing music for memorial services! If you also find yourself providing this service, please sound off in the comments and share your reasons with me!

Same Bottle, Different Contents

Almost daily, I have experiences in my clinical hospice work that cause me to reflect back on all my education and training. This is fabulous because it means I am continuing to stretch myself and grow as a clinician, and my patients and their families deserve nothing less from me.

I had one such experience recently. I made two routine hospice music therapy visits back to back and I found myself singing the exact same song during both clinical encounters. That, by itself, is not unusual or noteworthy. Many of my patients share similar demographics that play a significant role in determining their music preferences, and by nature of having a life-limiting illness, many of my patients will present with similar clinical needs to be addressed in music therapy.

What really stuck out to me was how very different the experience was of using this song with each patient and family. Again, there is nothing too shocking here. Responses to music are highly individualized and depend on a massive variety of factors and variables. The same song that brings me comfort and peace of mind might be reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard to you. As a board-certified music therapist, this knowledge was part of my training and it is part of my job to continually assess my patient's responses to music via their own self-report and my clinical observations.

So, if it's not unusual for me to use the same music with multiple people, and I am fully prepared for each person to respond uniquely to the same song, what exactly about my day was significant enough to stop me in my tracks and prompt me to blog about it?

It was the degree of absolute contrast between those two home visits that got my attention. The same three minutes of organized sound functioned in two polar opposite ways for each patient-family group.

In one home, my patient needed distraction and refocus from physiological discomfort. The song in this context functioned as an upbeat, external focal point to divert attention from pain and discomfort. Here, this song is associated with happy memories and current happy experiences. In this home, the song elicited smiling, laughing, toe-tapping, and intentional optimism as a coping skill. As a music therapist, I expected to see those responses and that is why that song was used over any of the other hundreds of thousands of songs out there.

In the other home, my patient and their family needed a safe place to openly grieve a deceased loved one. This song was a favorite of their loved one, and here, the same song elicited tears, naming of grief feelings, emotional catharsis and active grief processing. Bittersweet memories of this song came rushing to the surface and the lasting connections with their departed family member were strengthened. Here, too, I was expecting and prepared for this reaction and had a good sense of the appropriate bottle to take off the shelf and open.

The experience of using one song to remember joy, and less than an hour later, the same song to appropriately channel sorrow was surreal to me. Opening that musical bottle in each home revealed something very different inside.

This experience has sharpened my awareness of the way the same bottle can hold dramatically different things for two people. It has pushed me to dig deeper in my clinical work, to always strive to observe more closely, listen more intently, and keep building my musical skills and repertoire so that I am always prepared to offer the best clinical experience to the people I serve.

10 Things Your Hospice Music Therapist Wants You to Know

I was recently contracted to provide hospice music therapy part time with a hospice in my hometown. 

I love what I do and I know many people have not had previous exposure to music therapy, or music therapy in the hospice setting. 

There are frequently things I wish my patients could know before I ever meet them, so here are 10 things I would want you to know if you were my patient.

1. I Care About You

My paycheck pays the bills, but the real payoff of this job is my relationship with you. I treasure every moment of your company I am privileged to receive. I am invested in your happiness and your quality of life, especially now that modern medicine can no longer extend your life expectancy. I genuinely long for joy-filled days for you. I am humbled and honored that you allow me in to share such an intimate and vulnerable time in your life. Thank you. I care about you. 

2. You Don't Have to Be a Musician

Please don't be shy about letting me come by to visit you for the first time because you have never had any formal musical training or experience. One unique skill of a music therapist is being able to create musical experiences that ANYONE can be successful in with NO prior experience. I promise, on the days you feel up to it, we will make music together just fine, and it will be delightfully fun for both of us. 

3. I LOVE it When You Sing

And I don't care what your voice sounds like! I really don't. Just because I had to take voice lessons to do this job doesn't mean you need to sound like you're ready to win American Idol. Does singing special, significant songs bring you joy? Fantastic! Then please sing! I'm never going to judge what you sound like, because I'm not here to make you a fantastic singer. You will benefit on so many levels from the process of singing.

4. But It's Also Great if You Don't

If you are having a rough day, or you find that singing just takes too much energy right now, please don't worry that I will be sad if you don't sing with me today. Because you and I decide together what kind of musical experiences we have each time, I will always meet you where you are and adjust our normal plan to make you the most comfortable. If today happens to be a day where listening and quietly pondering your own thoughts and memories is what will comfort you, that is what we will do.

5. I Won't be Offended if You Fall Asleep

Speaking of listening and quiet thinking, you may find yourself nodding off while I am with you. I promise, I will not be the least bit upset if you fall asleep in the middle of a song I am singing. I am not there to give an award-winning musical performance. I am there to help your comfort, and I take it as a very high compliment if I can help you relax well enough that you fall asleep and get some good rest. Go ahead, sneak in a nap. Pleasant dreams! 

6. The Days You Feel the Worst May be the Best Days to See Me

Maybe the last time I came to see you, your children and grandchildren were all there and I passed out tambourines and drums and egg shakers and we had a rousing family singalong with your favorite jazz standards or gospel tunes. And maybe today, you just don't feel up for that kind of energy level and experience. Intuitively, you may want to send me away because you are having some pain, discomfort, anxiety, or maybe you feel down in the dumps today. I will always respect your right to ask me not to visit, but you should know that I am qualified to help you manage those symptoms and negative feelings. I have music therapy techniques that look completely different than what we did during the family singalong, and I could provide therapy to help you feel better than you currently do. Think about letting me come visit even when you aren't feeling quite like yourself. 

7. I am Here for Your Family, Too

I am always delighted to have any significant person from your life join us for music therapy. I know how much you care about them, and I have no problem looking out for their needs, as well. That's part of the hospice philosophy of care - we take care of your family, too. I can help you write songs that convey messages for your family to keep after you have died. I can help them with their own stress and anxiety over your health. You can trust that they are in good hands with me and especially the rest of the hospice team.

8. I'm Waterproof

I fully realize that sometimes music brings STRONG emotions to the surface very suddenly. You might find yourself tearing up during a song, and needing to have a full crying spell. That's ok. Your tears will not hurt me because I am "waterproof." When I am with you, it is a safe space for you to shed those tears. I can be a listening ear and a supportive presence if you need to talk about what was on your mind during a particular song. If you need more assistance, I will always report back to the appropriate members of the hospice team and we will do our best to take care of you. Please feel free to cry on my shoulder. 

9. I Will Keep Caring for You

As you know, at a certain point on our journey together, you will be too sick to acknowledge my presence or even open your eyes when I come to see you. Don't worry, I will still come to see you even in your final moments. There is good reason to believe you can still hear even when you cannot respond. I will communicate how much I have enjoyed our time together. I will share the music we enjoyed together with any family and friends who are with you at this time. I will be there to help and comfort your family during the very difficult process of saying "goodbye" to you. If either you or your family asks me to provide music for your memorial service, I will continue caring for you and for your legacy after you are gone.

10. I Will Always Remember and Treasure You

I will never forget what an honor and joy it was to know you and to share music with you. Any patient I am privileged to see becomes a part of my heart forever. Again, thank you for allowing me to care about you in this way. I would rather be with you than on any stage in the world.

The Nerve!

I am absolutely thrilled, humbled, grateful, and elated to announce that on Monday, I will begin a part-time position with Oxford Hospice in Springfield, MO.

This position did not exist when I graduated and moved back home from my internship.

It represents months of waiting, creation and revision of a grant, and one very daring move: I applied for a position that did not exist and asked to interview anyway.

The nerve of some young professionals!

But, it was my nerve and my passion that sold my hospice director. I had the audacity to apply for a position that didn't exist yet, acting on the belief that it would exist eventually.

Just having the nerve to show up and be fully present and ask boldly for what I wanted was the spark that set us off on a journey to write a grant and create a music therapy position where there was not one before.

It's an exciting time to be a young music therapist, but it can also be daunting. I sincerely hope that if you are in a similar boat, waiting to start your first "real" music therapy job, you can find the nerve to show up and make someone listen.

The right opportunities are out there!

 I, for one, am looking forward to being back at the bedside with my patients again soon.

Any other young professionals have a success story to share? Let me know in the comments!

The Best of Both Worlds

On Friday I will have the distinct pleasure of performing with the Drury University Wind Symphony at the Missouri Music Educators Association annual convention. Being around that many music educators always gets me thinking about the differences and similarities between music therapists and music educators. 

Music therapists are uniquely sandwiched between the world of musicians and the world of medical professionals. 

Many times, our colleagues in music and our colleagues in medicine are equally mystified by our profession because we are both fully musical and fully clinical.  We get the best of both worlds.

The clinical nature of our work dictates our use of music, and our musicianship enables our unique approach to clinical issues. 

Our music educator friends may shake their heads in disbelief when we describe some of the non-traditional instruments or adapted music techniques we use to enable our patients and clients to make music, or the ways we might abruptly change the key or tempo within a song to adapt to our patients changing clinical needs in the moment. 

In other words, to a musician, my work may seem highly clinical. 

Similarly, the colleagues who are physicians, nurses, social workers, and other allied health therapists are frequently lost when we discuss manipulating musical elements to achieve clinical outcomes. They may not understand why I am transposing the key of a song as I keep an eye on a patient's respiration rate, or why I may choose one guitar accompaniment over another, or none at all, and what relevance that has to the patient's alertness and reality orientation. 

To a clinician, my work may seem overly musical.

It is always my responsibility and joy to educate my colleagues on either side about music therapy.

I am a musician.

I am therapist. 

My work is fully musical.

It is fully clinical. 

I am a music therapist and I get the best of both worlds. 

The Most Unexpected "Day in the Life" Ever

Literally nothing about work today went the way I was expecting. Typically I have at least some idea of what my day might look like beforehand. Not today. Nope.

Oddly enough, however, today is a really great example of what a day in the life of a hospice music therapy intern might look like. While unexpected, everything about today was also fantastic. 

7:50 Running late from having slept through alarm. No time to linger over morning coffee. Dump it and some ice cubes into a thermos like my big brother man does. Am wistfully reminded of brother and must remember to text him at next break. 

8:00 Checking emails and closing out yesterday's paperwork after internship director (ID) looks over it. This would have been yesterday but she wasn't in yesterday. 

Side note: working Memorial Day was not actually awful. 

8:20 ID reminds me that music therapy has the "Meditative Moment" before our interdisciplinary team (IDT) meeting this week and I agreed last week to sing an original song since most of the hospice staff couldn't hear it at the talent show. 

8:20:05 Rising anxiety. Thought occurs: "You don't have time to be nervous about this. Just go do it."

8:30 Find myself explaining how a former patient encouraged me to shout down my inner meanie perfectionist and how my nieces and nephews inspired the creation of a song. Proceed to sing a piece of my soul for my coworkers and find myself not totally freaked out by the experience. 

8:35-9:45 IDT meeting. We do this every week. Basically, we talk about all our patients in either the care center and hospice house, or the community. We plan and collaborate as a team to ensure comprehensive, compassionate care for each patient's individual needs. 

9:45-10:30 After IDT until lunch is my weekly scheduled time to follow our bereavement coordinator to learn how to fulfill this job myself someday if needed. We addressed the sympathy cards, made lots of phone calls, and planned a few bereavement visits. 

Spontaneously decide my time the rest of the day would best be spent doing bereavement work to make up for a few of the bereavement days we have missed in the last few weeks.

10:30 Get email that the funeral of a very, very dear patient is happening at 4:00. Realize there is no way I am not going. Realize it means I will be working late. Realize I do not care.

10:30-12:15 Unexpected bereavement/pre-bereavement visits. Somewhere in here I show our bereavement coordinator my processing artwork book. She is intrigued by the idea. Will pass along to anyone she thinks could benefit from coping in this way. 

Visits progress: Find myself visiting a patient I know well as she is a music therapy patient of my ID. Get requested to sing. Have no accompaniment instrument. Sing "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" with egg shakers and body percussion. Patient's daughter remembers she loves the Jeff Buckley version of "Hallelujah" and asks if I know it. Know this song by heart. Sing it acapella. For obvious reasons, am now super wistfully reminded of brother and make mental note to text him at lunch. 

12:25-12:55 Throw together random assortment of healthy food in my apartment. Finally text brother. 

Am standing in kitchen pondering this fact: Sometimes when I know a dear patient has a diagnosis that tends to cause a very rapid decline, I want to go see them all the time to squeeze as much caring for them in as I can before they die. Realize that this kind of panicky feeling is not helpful or necessary. 

Thought occurs: "If you need to panic, that's fine. Just try to do it calmly." 

12:55 Laugh until I cry at this thought. Decide to share my random brainworkings with Facebook.

1:00-3:30 Bereavement visits in community with people I have never met. Find opportunities to give them caring presence and attention. Learn as much as I possibly can about grief counseling from bereavement coordinator. 

3:35 Change and print directions to funeral. Briefly contemplate ditching the instruments in my bag before I go. Decide against it. 

3:50 Arrive for 4:00 funeral. Am suddenly being hugged by people I haven't met. Was mildly expecting this because I saw this patient the afternoon he died. Several family members asked permission to take video of me singing at the bedside because they thought it would comfort the family who could not be present for the vigil. Am super glad my efforts to bring comfort could be extended to them through technology.

3:57 Family realizes I have cedar flute with me. Asks if I wouldn't mind improvising something like I had done at the patient's bedside. I am touched beyond words. Begin choking up. Agree. Am glad I decided to leave it in my bag. Had tried to make contact to offer music for funeral ahead of time but spur of the moment would work, too. 

4:30-4:35 Explain to roomful of loved ones how much I enjoyed providing music therapy to this dear man. Sandwich the "Going Home" melody from Dvorak's New World Symphony in between some improvisations. Play my heart out in beautiful chapel with tears streaming down my face. 

5:00 Arrive in office to fill out paperwork for attending the funeral. Work on some projects for other patients and their families. 

5:45 Come back to apartment and realize I just had a super awesome, totally unexpected day and wish I could have this day every day. 

Thanks for reading! What was the most unexpected/awesome thing you lived through today? 

Looking Around

I've been musing lately. I'm musing because the world looks a little different to me right now than it ever has before. Encountering my patients and their families has changed me. It's expanded me.


When I go to be with my patients, I'm meeting their humanity in a very open, revealing, and vulnerable way. When you have a terminal diagnosis, it tends to motivate you to strip away a lot of the fluff, the veneer, and the barriers you have lived with your entire life. When you can no longer do many of the things you have been doing every day for your whole life, and many of the people you knew and loved are already gone, what's left?


My patients bring their authentic selves to me because their basic self is all that's left.


Sharing that with them is nothing short of a humbling honor.


That sort of interaction with another human being changes me.


It's made me realize that we all have far more in common than we think. At our innermost core, we are essentially the same, yet each individual retains a unique essence.


Realizing this has changed the way I move through a day. I cannot drive through traffic without wondering about the people in every car around me. They are no longer part of the busy backdrop of every day life. Every other driver on the road has a story. They have needs. Concerns. Passions. Vulnerabilities. Joys.


I want to know them all. I want to give each of them a space and time to be heard and validated.


I cannot drive past a cemetery now without perceiving each headstone as a sparkling gem. Each one represents a life, a loved one. Each headstone represents someone who was once a newborn baby, a wondering toddler, a questioning teenager, a working adult, a reflecting elder.


And as I wonder about each beautiful life who has ever walked this earth, I have to wonder if I am the only one musing this way. Surely not. I find it unlikely that I am the only one reflecting on the enormity and beauty of the human experience in this way.


So now I want to know about you. I would be humbled and honored if you would share with me your musings about this life and the people living it with us.


"You matter because you are."
-Dame Cicely Saunders

Shouting Down the Inner Demons

For my internship, I had to create three professional and three personal goals that I want to accomplish while I am here. 

The three professional goals came to me almost instantly. It was so quick and easy to think of them that I actually have four. 

1. Implement a music therapy grief and bereavement support group. 

2. Develop the skills and materials needed to approach a hospice and create a music therapy job.

3. Complete a hospice music therapy research proposal.

4. Develop a much larger professional song repertoire. 

These are all fantastic things that I can't wait to accomplish! The personal goals, however, were much harder to come up with. Reflecting on myself as a professional is much easier than shining the bright light of self-examination into the dark corners of myself. 

After a lot of reflection, I came up with two fairly obvious goals and one really tricky one. Because music therapists like measurable outcomes, I also have to create behavioral objectives for my personal goals so that my internship director and I both know when I have accomplished my goals. Here's my best guesses so far. 

1. Continue to integrate self-care as a habitual way of being.

This is an obvious one. Sometimes caregivers are lousy at caring for themselves. My objectives here will likely center around logging healthy, self-care behaviors. 

2. Process any counter-transference issues that arise during internship relating to my own mortality or the death of my loved ones.

This is another gimme for end-of-life care. My objectives will probably consist of identifying a certain number of sources of counter-transference, either real or potential, and then utilizing a few different methods for working through those feelings. This is surprisingly cut and dried. 

The last one, however, was actually the one thing I thought of first and it's going to be the hardest. It's hard both in terms of creating objectives and in terms of managing to do it. 

3. Offer more of my genuine self without fear of repercussion.

This one merits a little explanation. 

Many times, the very most important thing we can offer patients is our genuine presence as a human being. Our own liveliness. Our creativity. These are all potent tools we can bring to our interactions. They are the tools that empower our musicianship. 

For most of my life, I have struggled with bringing these things to the table. 

I think I started life as a fairly open personality but one without a lot of social skills. 

Early experiments with being genuine with others taught me that being open and vulnerable was a bad idea.

Whether consciously or not, I thereafter decided I would not be open, vulnerable, or genuine with others unless it: 

A. Could not be avoided or 

B. Was with people I loved and trusted immensely. 

That's a fairly significant barrier to effective musicianship and effective therapeutic relationships, for starters, not to mention in relationships with friends and family. 

Over the years I have made huge leaps of progress in coming out of my "shell" and just being Emily with other people. Much to my surprise, this has not blown up in my face. 

Instead, it's actually been wonderful. 

However, I am still my own worst critic. I am a paradox of desperately wanting to be unabashedly creative and being far too internally hyper-critical of myself to actually create anything. 

There's a reason I don't write my own music, but in my heart of hearts, I want more than almost anything to be able to express my thoughts and feelings uniquely through my own music. 

Whenever a little blip of creativity sneaks up on me while I'm not looking, it never gets by for very long before the laser beam of internal criticism stops it dead. 

I think of lyrics. And the demons begin, "Does anyone actually talk that way? Now it just sounds contrived. Are you seriously calling that a rhyme scheme? Justin Bieber had more lyrical complexity." 

And the lyrics get trashed. 

I think of chord progressions or melodies. The demons continue: "That sounds exactly like every music theory exercise. That's too repetitive. A monkey could play that on guitar."

And so I trash the chords or the melody. 

This is absolutely self-sabotage. It has to stop before I completely kill my ability to spontaneously express myself (in music or in speech) without beating my every thought or note to death with analysis.

It's a work in progress. Yesterday, I posted a video of me improvising with the Native American flute. I shared a moment of genuine, open, musical vulnerability with a lot of people and the world did not implode. Nobody even said they hated it. Or me. 

I had to shout down the inner criticism demons to allow myself to share. I am glad I did it. 

This blog post has my genuine self all over it, too. I am trusting that the world will not implode. 

Back to this very tricky goal. I think my objectives will probably consist of examining some of the factors that initially lead me to place a barrier between my genuine self and others, and then making myself engage in so many acts of uncensored creativity. Maybe it will be drawings that I am not allowed to throw away. Or more music that must be shared with at least one other person. 

Do you lovely people have any suggestions for more ways to work on shouting down my inner demons? 

Thank you for reading; it took a lot of courage for me to name these demons out loud. 

Do You "Get It?"

Today was an almost snow day in intern-land. 

I accomplished basically two things. At first those two things seem largely unrelated. On a closer look, the two tasks are intimately connected. 

First task:

I spent the entirety of the morning - four straight hours - using MS Paint to shade in a map of Missouri counties in which a music therapist works. This is part of my work for the CBMT State Recognition Task Force. That's the group of people who are working really hard to secure state licensure for music therapists in Missouri. 

This map project took hours because MS Paint is substandard for graphic design tasks. It's what we had to work with. This map will eventually be in the hands of many of our state congressmen and state senators, brought to them care of the music therapists taking time to attend a Hill Day this spring at the Capitol. It needs to look good. That's why I spent a lot of time outlining and shading one pixel at a time. 

It was a somewhat painful but effective way to burn through a snow day morning.

Second task:

I finally managed to dig my car out from the piles and mounds and heaps of snow to get over to the hospice house to see a patient this afternoon. This was the wonderful woman who had been wrestling with some serious grief and emotional/spiritual pain but who told us she had peace and she was ready the last time we saw her. 

She is now in the early phase of actively dying. She was awake but sort of staring "through" the ceiling when I arrived. She focused her gaze on the Native American flute when I pulled it from my bag, so I started with that. She was too weak to talk or smile, but she sure tried her best to smile at me. After a few minutes of flute, she also seemed pretty interested in my guitar. I played and sang the hymns I knew she really enjoyed in previous visits. 

It is astounding, but even with this much weakness and this much decline, she still nodded her head in time to a few of her favorite songs. I chained hymns together using the iso principle (it really is one of our favorite tricks) to increase her relaxation and help her breathe a little more deeply and evenly. She attempted another smile but when that didn't quite happen, she winked at me! 

I had all but played and sang her to sleep when I got a sense that she wanted something else before I left her to rest. I got the cedar flute back out and said I would improvise another song, one especially from me just for her. She nodded and sighed contentedly. As I finished my last improvisation of the visit, she winked at me again and promptly fell asleep. 

This kind of interaction with people is all in a day's work for a music therapist (or intern, as the case may be). 

What does the first task of map making have to do with providing supportive presence and comfort at the end of life? Or with helping a child achieve their academic goals? Or whether or not someone receives music therapy to help them walk and talk again after an accident? 

It all comes down to whether or not the right people "get it." Do you "get" music therapy? Does your employer? Neighbor? Grandmother? 

Our hospice administrator - the big boss - told me today she would gladly speak to any of my prospective hospice employers back home on the value of having a music therapy department when it comes time for me to find or create a job. She gets it. 

Do our legislators understand that music therapists are highly-trained clinicians and highly-skilled musicians, both? Do they understand that what we do is evidence-based treatment? 

Probably not. Not unless we tell them. 

Advocacy efforts like this map are one way we can make sure moments like my afternoon with my patient can continue to happen. 

Working on this map today revealed two important facts. 

The first is that there are a heck of a lot of music therapists providing services in many Missouri counties for a state that, as of yet, does not officially recognize their professional status and credentials. 

The second is that there is a shameful number of counties in our state alone that have absolutely no access to the services of a music therapist. 

The more people who "get" what we do, the faster we can change that. 

The Intern Chronicles: Snow Day

I swore I would not get behind on updating friends and family on my adventures.

That obviously did not happen. It's mostly that I have been too busy having said adventures.

I promise I am making up for it though, because I am inserting three (!) videos of non-symphonic instruments into this post. Spoiler alert: one of Native American flute and two of Irish Penny Whistle.

But first, a quick recap of the past few weeks and all the adventures!

In no particular order (because the days are all starting to run together), I give you a quick list of really awesome experiences that have happened since my last post:

- I got to see a patient go from crying out, hallucinating, and doing some intense end-of-life grief work to smiling, nodding along to the music, and telling me and my internship director how she was ready to die. She had two lucid periods in the last two weeks that we know of and I got to be present for both. She took my hand and told me goodbye and she is so ready to lay down her struggle. It is wonderful to see her finally have some peace. This is an adventure that doesn't translate into words very easily but I know it is an experience that will stay with me forever. 

- I got to play my penny whistle for a patient with an Irish background and she totally ate it up. She had been very depressed over a recent medical procedure but we left her giggling in her chair. Music therapy is not actually magic - it just looks a lot like it.  This lady is the reason I learned the two Irish folk songs below. "My Wild Irish Rose" and "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" are two of her favorites!

- One of my other patients is Italian. When she got to visit Italy, the Sistine Chapel was closed. It has always bothered her. So, we used my iPad to take a virtual tour of the Sistine Chapel while we played a CD of her favorite Italian music. I promised to actually sing in Italian for her next time. I have never seen such a smile! I can't wait for that session!

- One lady I saw was having a decent bit of discomfort. While we waited for her nurse, I kept her more comfortable by singing her favorite music with her. She was so hard of hearing that the only way to do this was to lay my head down by hers and sing directly into her ear. Instead of grimacing and bracing and groaning, I had her singing, chuckling, and remarking. "We love to sing, don't we honey?" I am loving getting to use some of our fancy music therapy tricks like chaining and the iso principle to increase patient comfort. 

- Yesterday, my internship director was sick and the other music therapist was on vacation, so I got to provide all the scheduled music therapy yesterday and nothing caught on fire! I really think I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. 

- Today, the office was closed and hospice took a snow day. Except, when you are an adult who works for hospice, "snow days" mean that you work on things that are less cool than seeing your patients. So instead of seeing patients, I updated the schedule and practiced and worked on some required reading. But I also got to learn the Native American cedar flute and had time to learn those Irish folk songs. I was the only living thing in the office all day which was moderately creepy but I refuse to work from my apartment because I have a hard enough time putting my patients down at the end of the day without blurring the lines between work space and me space. 

- This hasn't happened yet (look, I'm ahead!) but on Friday I get to provide all the music for a patient's birthday party because the other music therapists can't. I am excited! 

- On February 14th, I will again be functioning as the entirety of the hospice music therapy department. Wish me luck! 

In the absence of more cool things to tell you, please see below for my early attempts at Native American flute noodling, and two Irish penny whistle songs. 

http://youtu.be/HPPM-RMIY2c

http://youtu.be/Cykq8ZTNGb8

http://youtu.be/CGIG8WAqwFs

The Intern Chronicles: Silverware and Songs

Given the right context, the essence of something can change. Or sometimes, its essence may just appear to change. Sometimes, that can be enough.


I first experienced this transformation early last week as I was getting fully settled into my new surroundings. I noticed how all of my favorite things were in their proper place in the new apartment, but they didn't look much like my favorite things anymore. My favorite mug looks different on this counter. My reading lamp has been transformed by sitting on another end table. I even noticed details about the decorative engraving on my silverware for the very first time after it was in place in a different drawer.


This phenomenon was hanging around the back of my mind when I was asked to sing with a hospice patient for the first time. I had a wonderful morning shadowing one of our nurses and when we visited our last patient for the day, the nurse mentioned what I was interning for and the patient requested that I sing.


I used what I knew from the patient's background and the decoration of her home to quickly assess what her preferred music might be. I asked if she enjoyed hymns and offered her a choice between two to respect her autonomy. She chose "In the Garden." I had not been expecting to provide any music that afternoon and so I did not have my guitar. I leaned in to the side of the hospital bed and began softly singing to this dear lady.


A stillness descended over the room as she visibly relaxed back into her pillow and reached for my hand. She held my hand and softly mouthed the words to the chorus each time. Her breathing grew deeper and more even and when I had finished singing, the room was silent and peaceful. The nurse and I left her resting comfortably with a gentle smile on her face.


As she had softly tried to sing with me, the patient was transformed. When she entered into a supportive musical context, the hospital bed, the oxygen tubes, and the shallow breathing all seemed to melt away. Instead, in the context of music making, this patient could express her basic humanity and her wholeness.


It would seem that the first lesson I learned in my new context is: You are not sick while you are in the music. Within that humanizing context, you become whole again, even if only for a song.

Welcome to 2014: Declaring Our Independence

Today I very pleased to share a guest blog from Dr. Dena Register as part of the 2014 Music Therapy Social Media Advocacy Month!

Welcome to 2014: Declaring Our Independence

Dena Register, PhD, MT-BC

Regulatory Affairs Advisor, Certification Board for Music Therapists

The end of the year always brings with it a great deal of reflection. It feels good to look at the accomplishments of the year at its close, set new intentions and imagine new heights for the year ahead. My own professional reflections for this year brought the realization that over the last eighteen years I have enjoyed a rather diverse career in music therapy with roles as a clinician, educator, consultant and professional advocate. One of the most interesting components of wearing so many different “hats” is trying to imagine how those you are working with perceive music therapy.

There is a constant effort to try and imagine how I can best help others understand what music therapy is and the many benefits for our clients. I feel the need to have an analogy for every situation, description, and population. I can’t imagine that I’m alone in this challenge. I know many music therapists that adapt in this chameleon-like fashion when it comes to how we describe our life’s work. We build rapport with our various audiences by searching for some common ground or understanding to use as a point of departure in hopes that they will have that magical “A-ha!” about the many benefits of music therapy. While these experiences help us develop remarkable skills in story sharing and empathy, we are constantly altering the description of our professional identity in order to help others understand us. This task is a complex one for professionals and is one of the challenges that both students and new professionals find difficult to navigate early on in their careers.

I get to teach a class in philosophy and theory of music therapy. Over the last several offerings of this course the students and I have spent hours exploring what music therapy has in common with other therapeutic and creative arts professions. Each semester produces fascinating discussions, diagrams and reflections on the shared aspects of our professions and, more importantly, how music therapy is notably distinct from any other profession or practice. Successful participation in our profession is reliant upon years of skilled musicianship, and a balance of both scientific and artistic knowledge and understanding. It is highly unlikely that an individual who does not have any prior musical training can make their way through varied and rigorous coursework of a music therapy degree and successfully complete the academic, clinical and musical requirements needed.

In the sixty-plus year development of our profession we have learned to be both flexible and savvy in our descriptions of music therapy. These well-honed skills have built a foundation for our profession to grow and expand in ways we didn’t think possible. And, in most recent years, ouradvocacy efforts  have brought us to a place of greater acknowledgment and public awareness than we have ever experienced before. What comes next? It is the era of INDEPENDENCE.

With an increased focus on research about the numerous impacts of music as a therapeutic medium, greater access to quality services by licensed professionals and continuously growing clinical offerings music therapy is positioned for continued, exponential growth. Now is the time for continued clarification to others regarding who we are as a profession as well as our unique qualifications. In 2014, it is imperative that we declare “I am a music therapist”  and understand how to articulate our unique qualifications and distinctions from our other therapeutic partners. How will YOU celebrate your ‘independence’ this year?

About the Author: Dr. Dena Register is the Regulatory Affairs Advisor for the Certification Board for Music Therapists (http://www.cbmt.org) and an Associate Professor of Music Therapy at the University of Kansas (http://music.ku.edu/programs/memt/faculty/register/). She can be reached at dregister@cbmt.org

The Intern Chronicles: New Neighbors, Old Friends, and Other Amusing Anecdotes

This past weekend we moved 90% of the things I am bringing into the new apartment and had all kinds of delightful adventures! Here is the highlights reel for all the friends and family who'd like to know.

The Apartment

I have a bath and a half, one bedroom apartment that isn't actually terrible at all. My favorite parts so far are my kitchen and my "dining nook" because I have a giant Lazy Susan  in one cabinet and lower cabinet shelves that slide out for reaching pots and pans.  My "dining nook,"  is so named because I moved the table and chairs over into the corner by the window so I can sit in the sunlight. You all know sunlight is a very, very good thing for me.

If you know about my general tendency toward clumsiness, you will also be happy to hear that since my apartment was designed for older adults, I have safety rails along all the hallways, a clumsy-proof shower, and emergency pull switches in every room that will contact security and emergency medical personnel when activated. I sincerely promise to do my level best not to need any of the above features!  

Other highlights include the fact that I now have a 30-second commute to the hospice music therapy office, and there is a pool just downstairs from me. I also don't even have to go outside to get to my new bank. It's part of the same building and is about as far away from me as the hospice office. 

New Neighbors

Everyone I have met so far has been incredibly welcoming and friendly! There is a drummer that lives at the end of the hall, and apparently he drums during business hours. I know this because my new banker told me so when I went to open my internship checking account. The drummer lives above the bank. I live above an accounting firm, but now that I know about the drumming, I don't feel as bad about needing to practice in the apartment. Maybe Mr. End of the Hall and I can start a few building-wide jam sessions. ;)

I also briefly met one of my next door neighbors and he was also incredibly warm and welcoming. I think I'm going to like it here. 

I live directly across from the housekeeping office and down the hall from the building's locksmith. The housekeeping staff have been incredibly helpful and kind so far. We didn't have sheets the first night we got there and there was nobody in the office the next day, but we improvised fairly well with packing blankets. Fortunately, I have sheets for the bed now! 

Speaking of kind and helpful, I forgot to mention that my internship director is plenty of both! She and her husband came up to the apartment on Saturday evening to greet us and help us get oriented and settled. She was also kind enough to get a sandwich platter for us, followed by directions to the nearest grocery store. I cannot wait to start learning from this awesome lady. 

Old Friends

The best part about my new location is that it brings my husband and me closer to a lot of people we have missed since they moved to the KC area. On Sunday night, we had one of Andrew's oldest and closest friends over. He ended up staying pretty late and crashed on our couch. 

If you're one of the people that crashes on my couch at home, rest assured, my open-door, open-couch policy still applies to my apartment and apparently the new couch gets a seal of sleepy friend approval. So in other words, please come by and visit me! 

Miscellaneous Adventures

On Saturday night we successfully navigated our first grocery shopping trip in Lee's Summit and I am now the proud owner of a Price Chopper card. Do I get to call myself a local yet? 

On Monday morning, I had to report to the JKV (John Knox Village) health clinic for my pre-employment drug screening and TB test. Embarrassingly enough, I showed up for my drug screening with very bloodshot eyes. I hadn't quite gotten the hang of my very adjustable shower head yet and managed to blast myself in the face with the hot water. Oops! 

Once we got past the awkward discussion of how I got my eyes so red, I got to advocate for music therapy by teaching the nurse all about it. Well, or as much information as we could discuss in the time it takes to say "Ahh" and get a TB test. 

On my walk back from clinic I encountered a super friendly dog named Angie. Angie's owner was very nice, too, but not incredibly pleased about having to pop out of the back balcony door in her PJ's to stop Angie from trying to follow me home. 

I can't wait to get down to the hospice music therapy part of all this! I'll be reporting for my first day bright and early Thursday morning. Wish me luck and write me letters!

The Intern Chronicles: Preparing to Disembark

Almost exactly 24 hours from now, I will be meeting up with my internship director and getting the keys to my new apartment.

This is currently blowing my mind.

I can hardly believe that I am finally finished with my undergraduate classes and now I finally have the opportunity to provide music therapy services to hospice patients and their families all day, every day.

I am thrilled that I will have the opportunity to intern with Village Hospice out of John Knox Village in Lee's Summit, MO.

I needed to reread that sentence a few times to be sure it was really real.

I'll be keeping a running commentary on my adventures as an MTI (Music Therapy Intern) here so the folks at home can follow along.

I was very fortunate to receive an iPad Air for my birthday/Christmas and I'm busy learning how to upload all my song sheets into On Song, which is the most awesome app for music therapy, hands down. One of my brothers was kind enough to gift a keyboard to me so I can practice in the apartment. There are so many exciting opportunities just around the corner and I can hardly wait for my first day of work, which is January 2nd!

For the moment, though,  I need to go round up a few more instruments and some extra guitar strings because here we go! 

Saturday Shout Out: Rob Blevins

It's been a while since I've done a Shout Out, but this one is timely and necessary.

Every so often in life, you get the chance to share a little bit about someone who made you who you are, and my older brother, Rob Blevins, is one of those people.

I want to share just a few of my favorite Rob stories to help you see how this incredible man has helped make me who I am. I know I wouldn't be on my way to becoming a music therapist without him!

Once in 7th grade, I came home from school crying because I had been picked on by a boy at school. Rob casually asked his name. The next day and from then forward I was never bothered by this bully - or any others - again. Years later my brother admitted that he had gently but firmly picked up this troublemaker and set him against the fence at the middle school football game and had a very serious discussion about not making his baby sister cry anymore.

When I was first learning to play the flute, family funds were very tight. I desperately needed a better instrument and lessons to keep making progress. Rob was 16 years old, in school full-time, working his first part-time job to earn money for his own college fund. He went in 50-50 with my parents on my new flute and covered a few months of lessons from time to time, as well.

All along the way, Rob has encouraged me and encouraged my pursuit of music. He listened to all my early attempts at making music and barely even winced. He pushed me to take every opportunity and every audition, and stayed up late with me to get audition results.

He did manage to save up that college fund, and now he has a master's degree in technical writing. In typical Rob fashion, he's been using those writing skills for years to proofread all my papers.

It was Rob who made it very clear to me that even though funds were still tight, I was going to college, and he would steer me toward the scholarships to make that a reality.

I finally got the chance to repay a tiny bit of everything Rob has done for me by teaching him to play the guitar. Again in typical Rob fashion, he started writing songs that are WAY better than mine, but he's still cool enough to let me jam with him anyway.

Now that you know a little bit about my awesome brother, I do have one small request. You could help me help him fulfill one of his lifelong dreams. Rob is in a contest to win an internship with his childhood hero, Steve Young. I would consider it a personal favor if you went to his page and "liked" and shared it!

Thank you, Rob, for pushing me to pursue music and helping me all along the path to becoming a music therapist!

The Power of Intention

Music therapists are fantastic resource hounds. Everything we see on a daily basis can become the material for truly excellent interventions for our clients and patients. It makes a lot of sense that usually we learn from our life and then apply what we've learned to our sessions.

Sometimes, though, the lessons flow the other way. A truth learned in music therapy needs to come with us into our lives.

While most music therapists have the potential to develop an infinite number of goals, objectives, and interventions for each client, they don't. They realize the constraints of their client's abilities and of the time-limited session. We cannot address every worthwhile objective in every session.

We realize we only have an hour with each client every week. So we understand that we have to pick and choose how to best spend that time.

In other words, we exercise our power of intention. We are deliberate with how we structure a session.

So, how is that we can be so good at this skill when it comes to our clients, but many of us our lousy at it when it comes to the rest of our lives?

I've noticed a trend with myself and my fellow college students, especially. I call it Liberal Arts Syndrome.

Liberal Arts Syndrome looks something like this: "I stayed up really late working on this homework and I don't think I understand it really but I got it done. Now I have to go cram some practice super fast because I have meeting for XYZ club tonight and I missed the last one because of ABC club so I need to see if I can make up the service hours..." Etc. Day in and day out.

We try to say "Yes," to every good and worthwhile opportunity that comes along. We commit to so many things that we end up only partially involved in everything we do. This partial involvement does not sit well with us, somewhere deep down. We feel bad when our understanding of important concepts is tenuous and our practice has been shallow.

We aren't utilizing the power of our intention.

This semester, I made a greater commitment to be intentional with how I spent my time. I flexed my "No" muscle much more than I ever had in the past. I turned down opportunities that would have, theoretically, been good for me because I did not have the resources to commit to them 100%.

This is still an experiment in progress, but I can't tell you how great it's felt to show up for nearly every rehearsal and feel focused. Or to show up to clinical sessions and feel nothing but energized to work with my patient.

As of now, I am loving being intentional!

What about you? Have you struggled with this in the past as well? Currently struggling? Any advice for me? Discuss!