When all the Match Day envelopes had been distributed and opened, the hugs of joy and pain exchanged, the tears dried (or at least temporarily held at bay), I said goodbye to my fiance and his family to drive to work. I was a part-time teacher at an elementary school where my day started at 11:30 am. I had just enough time to pull myself together and get to class before 25 4- and 5-year-olds showed up at my music room door where I Had to greet them with a smile and joy. It's astonishing I even made it to work that day, considering the recklessness with which I drove. I could barely see through the tears that refused to stop for very long, and on the way I called my assistant principal to tell her the news. "So," she said, stealing a few minutes from the meeting she was in, "Do we get to keep you for another year?" "I'm going to Brooklyn" I said with an attempt at a laugh. "Oh..." I had been so lucky to find this job, part time though it was, at a wonderfully warm Catholic elementary school (the perfect place for a good little Jewish girl). My students were full of joy and excitement, my colleagues were vibrant and helpful, and the administration was superlative. They wanted desperately to offer me something more the following year, and I too had ideas on how to expand the music program for the students in this school. But I had told them a month earlier that I might not be staying, not because I didn't want to but because my future was entwined with that of a medical student.
They say "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." But I was never great at squeezing lemons without the juice finding its ways into my eyes, the cracks in my skin, the paper cuts I didn't know I had. Sometimes trying to make the lemons into something else was harder than letting them pile up around you. Match Day had felt like a crateful of lemons, and the first step in dealing with them was to try and find a job. I scoured job postings throughout New York City for "music teacher," "string teacher," "general music," "string education," "orchestra," anything that might get me anywhere near my desired field. I was astonished at the lack of postings, though I later learned that was due to the combination of it being far too early to look for jobs in New York and that there was simply a dearth of music education opportunities in public schools throughout the city. So I broadened my search to include the many arts and community organizations that provide schools with music and arts education through teams of teaching artists, sending my application and persuasive emails of desperation to any and all who might get me a job. While J was at the hospital one day on one of his clinical rotations in medical school, I commandeered his couch for my continued job hunt that had, to that point, yielded very little. But I had recently spoken with the friend of a family friend in New York who mentioned a neighborhood music school near her, and I check it out. I had no interest in teaching privately at a conservatory or music school, but as luck would have it they also had a robust outreach program with Third Street teaching artists at nearby public and private schools, providing classroom music to schools in need. This was more up my alley, so pulled up the page for the administration. Based on titles alone, I set out to send personal emails to each of the three administrators most involved in the "Partners" program - a coordinator, a supervisor, and the Director of Third Street herself. With two emails down and one to go, my phone rang. "Hello?" "Hi, this is Nick, from Third Street Music. I just got your email. Do you have time to talk?" What ensued was the most relaxed and promising 45-minute phone interview I have ever had the pleasure of having. Nick was the person most intimately involved with the program that put Third Street teachers in neighborhood schools that otherwise wouldn't have music programs. He was kind, engaging, and very interested in my background, qualifications, and the prospect of having me on his team. By the end of the conversation, I promised I would reach out as soon as I had scheduled my first trip to New York so that we could meet in person. A few months later, I flew to New York for a week at the end of June, just a taste before I made the official move. Nick invited me to his home, and I intended to make the best first impression I could. A pencil skirt, a professional but colorful blouse, and heals (an ensemble I almost never wear otherwise). I was nervous and excited, but any trepidation I felt disappeared when Nick opened the door in black jeans, a t-shirt, somewhat unkempt hair, and a massive smile - indeed, the only uniform I have ever seen him wear. At first glance he reminded me of my dad's closest friend, a wonderful man who, until the moment of his death, was a wiry wonderful man with nothing but love in his heart and joy in his soul. Feeling suddenly at-ease, Nick and I sat down and spent an hour talking about our philosophies of music education, our varied approaches with students, and our areas of expertise over glasses of lemonade. It was less an interview than a chat among colleagues. I could not have known at that moment how spectacularly fortunate I was to have met this man. Throughout the summer, as J and I officially moved into Brooklyn and he worked endlessly while I binged on Breaking Bad, Nick admitted that while there weren't any programs looking for new teachers at the moment, they were in dialogue with a school that might partner with Third Street for the 2013-14 school year, and he wanted me there. In order to even be considered for the job I had to formally interview with his supervisor, teach a model lesson at the school in September in front of him and the school administration, and hope that the school wanted Third Street bad enough for them to hire me. It was a long process with very little certitude until well into the school year, but Nick kept going to bat for me. But lest you think he was selfish in his motivations, I present the following phone message as evidence to the contrary: "Hi Nashira, it's Nick. I know we're really close to finalizing things at the school, and I wanted to let you know that I heard the Brooklyn Conservatory needs a string teacher for their own teaching artist program. I really want you to work with us, but since we haven't officially been able to offer you anything yet I think you should call them. I hope it works out." I did call them, but a few days later was Rosh Hashanah so my computer and phone were off, putting the job hunt on hold. After the holiday ended I checked my voicemail. "Hi Nashira, it's Nick. I know it's Rosh Hashanah so you won't get this message until Saturday night, but we finalized the contract and we'd like to officially offer you the job! Call me on Sunday." Thus began a work relationship that has proven time and again to be the most positive, stabilizing, and successful of my career, leading me to suggest a change to the adage: When life gives you lemons, don't squeeze the lemons alone. Find people who can help you make your lemonade, for lemonade is best enjoyed among friends.
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
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