Currently playing: Chanticleer's version of Ave Maria, the same version we performed my sophomore year in Chorus at Masuk High School.

During my freshman year at Masuk, I was completely blown away by my Chorus teacher, Mr. Gangi. He had such a presence; a way of speaking to us as if we were already adults living in the real world and not merely "trapped" within the constraints of our high school walls. He was also an extraordinarily talented conductor, had a beautiful tenor voice himself and taught us a lot about life, mindfulness and leadership through breathing techniques and other exercises (including a trust walk around the school grounds).

One day we entered the auditorium (all 150 of us) and he told us to find a place on the ground anywhere--in the aisles, between the seats, on the stage, etc.--and then he turned out all of the lights. Lying down, eyes on the ceiling, he told us to close our eyes and imagine that we were on a beach, lying on warm sand. You could have heard a pin drop. He walked around the room softly, occasionally speaking, "Imagine you are sinking into the sand. You can feel the warmth of it surrounding you. You hear the water lapping gently at the shore." This went on for about ten minutes until we were all there mentally, and then he said, "Now...let's sing Kyrie eleison." And from our positions on the floor, completely flat on our backs, we began to sing the most poignant version of Kyrie eleison I have heard to this day.

There are times when I wish I could go back and recapture those moments. Thankfully, even then I realized how lucky I was. I never took those five hours a week for granted. I made lasting friendships there...so many...and learned so much about who I am and who I would eventually become. I was exposed to a variety of amazing composers and works: from Rachmaninoff to Mendelssohn and Carmina Burana to Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring." While life may have felt stressful during the day for any given reason, Chorus was the place where I felt like I could honestly let go and give everything I had.

I can vividly see myself sitting on the stage in my overalls and Doc Martens learning a new piece...playing Tori Amos on Gangi's piano in the Chorus Room during study hall...figuring out the pitch pipe when I became Section leader of the Alto 1A's...and hammering my neighbor's back and participating in several vocal warm-ups at the beginning of each class. At the time, I remember feeling that life was so complicated (my journal entries are so dramatic, I barely know how I made it through each day) but obviously I had never experienced anything truly significant or traumatic at that point. I would give anything to relive just one day with that seemingly carefree and truly present attitude.

I'm sure there's a way to incorporate pieces of this mindfulness back into my life. It definitely helps to write about the memory and listen to the concerts that my parents recorded, but what I am really trying to get at is that feeling of peace...of sinking into warm sand, of focusing on breathing instead of stress and worry. I have actually come a long way in the past month--I've started refocusing on my own needs including running, re-joining Weight Watchers, and trying to take moments to reflect and think and write (or even read for pleasure) whenever possible. I feel like there's a way to incorporate music into this as well, whether it's joining a choir or fitting it in someplace else. More thoughts to come.