I was among the fortunate chosen to do a presentation on drama therapy before some members of the House of Representatives. Admittedly, it was not one of my most shining moments. I flopped. I could argue that I was star struck. Hill Harper walked in just before I was to give my presentation. I could really romanticize this moment. And trust me, on many levels I have. I imagined that he came in just to see me and that he would be so taken with me that he'd whisk me away and refuse to let me get on the plane to come back to Atlanta. That he would become the national spokesperson for the National Association for Drama Therapy, and owe it all to me - the one who introduced him to the wonders of drama therapy. But alas, reality struck, and there I was plopped down smack dab in front of a power point presentation. I have presented on drama therapy dozens of times, but this time was different.
It felt like a conspiracy. A conspiracy on the part of music therapists everywhere. Before I even stepped foot on Capitol Hill I met with my cousin, Robert, who shared with me stories of my grandfather, Big Daddy. He told me stories of how Big Daddy would sing. He would sing and hum spirituals that seemed to resonate from his soul. He would sit and hum, "Come to Jesus" on the steps of the Big House. Robert talked of how much he loved to hear Big Daddy's deep, baritone voice singing, and how comforting it was to him. I never knew my Big Daddy that way. I only knew him as a sick person. I wished I had known him as one who hummed more than he spoke.
Fast forward two days, and I am sitting with others of my creative arts therapies colleagues waiting for 2:00pm, so that we could share our enthusiasm for each of our respective fields. Dance Therapy was scheduled to go first. She had a lovely presentation detailing the specifics of the National Dance Therapy Association's membership - some of the benefits of dance therapy - but mostly about what it takes to become a dance therapist. Their journals, their licensure, their exam. Next, Art Therapy. The big Kahuna! With thousands of members, two peer reviewed journals, etc., etc. Then, in walks Hill, along with Ben Folds. We were actually told that we may have to stop in the middle of our presentation when they walked in. Thankfully Hill and Ben had more class than to interrupt our presentation. We stopped after Art Therapy spoke, Hill spoke, then Ben.
Ben Folds, a talented musician, talked about how wonderful music is as a healing agent. Hill, an actor, did the same. I suddenly felt betrayed. Completely. After going to the Kennedy Center the night before to hear Alec Baldwin speak at the Nancy Hanks Lecture, I was incredibly disappointed that here we have another actor talking about how great music is. Alec talked about his love of classical music and Hill talked about how music and creative writing helped him through his bout with Thyroid cancer.
I was slated to speak next. I felt this awful tug of war within my spirit. I did not hate music. Hell, I use music in my work all the time. But what about drama? And then I felt like a hypocrite. Wasn't I the one, just one blog ago, talking about "no exclusivity" and how we all work better in tandem? Am I not the one who considers herself to be an Expressive therapist?! My power point had nothing to do with our membership. I did not feel the need to legitimize us. Not to mention that we don't have much that legitimates. We don't have any peer reviewed journals, no national exam - we don't even have a thousand members. I felt the need to share my enthusiasm for the profession. Since my colleagues had done such a great job "professionalizing" dance and art therapy. I wanted to show them what it looked like - what it felt like. So, I took the advice of my Government Affairs Chair, who suggested that I engage them in a theatre game: "I want it. You can't have it". After the invitation, Hill's face LIT UP! He smiled wide and put his hands on his face and immediately grabbed a partner and began the dialogue. I felt like it was my sole responsibility to make him fall in love with drama therapy, but it was all down hill (no pun intended) from there. My need to convince him of how great drama therapy is seemed to overshadow how great drama therapy is.
I talked about my work with ArtReach using drama therapy with veterans. I showed pictures of sculpts and improvisations, talked about the men and women coming home from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the number who have already returned with PTSD diagnoses, or undiagnosed mood disorders; about the rising suicide rates. And then, at some point, I felt small standing next to my colleagues who did not feel like colleagues at all. They were Executive Directors and PhD's. I was just a practitioner. A member of the Government Affairs Committee, so I quickly fumbled through the rest of the slides and sat down.
And in walked Music Therapy. And they talked about Gabrielle Gifford's story of how she was healed from her trauma through none other than Music Therapy. And they talked about their peer reviewed journal and their national exam and their licensed clinicians. And I thought to myself, " And the Oscar goes to... Music Therapy! and the crowd goes wild!" Hill and Ben exit stage left as they raced to the White House (literally) for yet another presentation.
I could not get out of there fast enough. Someone asked me for my card in the elevator and my hands were shaking so hard, I could barely retrieve it. I jumped on the Metro as I rushed back to the hotel to get my things so that I could head to the airport. Sitting on the train I did the presentation a thousand different ways. I was so obsessed with what a horrible job I'd done that I was literally struck by the sound of guitar as I made my way up the escalator. And then I could not help but smile as I recognized the tune. It was Anita Baker's "Angel".
"Sing it for me. You know it. You know it. Go on and sing it."
As much as I wanted to sing the song for this lovely man, I knew that if I opened my mouth I would have burst into tears. I thought of my grandfather, Big Daddy, and wondered if this could have been him reincarnated. Showing up right at that moment to remind me that I am still okay. I didn't want to make music therapy out to be the enemy of drama therapy, but couldn't help but feel jealous.
I simply thanked him. I fished for some cash, but couldn't find any. I never carry it anymore.
On the airplane, a baby started to whimper, then cry, then scream. Reluctantly I reached for my ipod which is not an ipod at all, but a Microsoft Zune. Before I would commit to using music in that moment to save my eardrums, I pledged to use more drama in my expressive therapy and continue to share it with the world. Once agreed, I slipped in my earbuds and listened to classical music as I read about Honor Killings in modern day Jordan in preparation for my upcoming trip!
No comments:
Post a Comment