Prioritizing My Creativity Beyond Motherhood

A love story

Hey friends and readers,

I’m so excited about my newest purchase! Declan and I headed out to Cochrane and Calgary yesterday to have a mama/Declan date, with the primary motive of picking up something very big and expensive for myself. Something I hadn’t been able to afford as a young adult, let alone prioritize as a parent.

But, with great appreciation to Jason’s mom, we finally—finally—have enough breathing room to say this is the time—I could finally buy myself a baritone saxophone.

In my school system in the Shuswap, kids get to pick and play musical instruments in grade 7. Even though I knew I wanted to play saxophone since I was in grade two or three, probably after watching the older band kids give little demos of their instruments (either that, or from watching Lisa Simpson play her bari), I couldn’t pick one yet. I had to choose between flute, clarinet, trumpet, or trombone—so I picked flute. I really enjoyed it, but once I got to junior high in grade 8, I knew I was finally going to get to play my dream instrument.

My first choice was tenor, but I got sidelined when the teacher suggested there were enough kids with their own tenors. The school had a loaner bari sax, though—maybe I could play that? The teacher was so excited at the possibility (I understand why now) that I said okay, but I’m pretty sure I sulked for the first few weeks. It wasn’t what I had envisioned; it was so heavy that I rested the bottom on the floor while playing in the beginning, and the curly-Q neck stood out from the sleek altos and tenors.

What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was the power that beast could unleash, the deep, head-rattling notes it could produce. I started falling in love with it’s uniqueness, the sound that only I could bring to the music we played.

It was a love affair that lasted all throughout high school, from concert band to morning jazz band (at 6 am!) to a short stint in a little jazz ensemble; from playing at a jazz club in Vernon, to a musical tour of elementary schools going out to Fernie (gusto!), to a music competition in Banff.

I remember having nightmares regularly about missing band, and on several occasions, hauled that thing (20-30 pounds, instrument and case) to school on foot when I wasn’t sure my mom would get me there on time.

Me at the end in the high school jazz band

I can’t imagine my high school life without my trusted, true, consistent bari.

But school ends for everyone, and since I had used loaner saxes all the way through, I was cast out into adulthood on my own. I know that sounds dramatic, but it was music that got me through the difficult, confusing times I experienced growing up. Being a part of the band grounded me and connected me to something bigger than myself, a feeling I didn’t experience anywhere else.

I’ve honestly spent the last 15 years dreaming of playing one again, and calling it my own. I’ve fantasized about my friends and family getting together, pooling their money, and surprising me with one as a gift. I had to stop listening to any music that featured a bari because the longing was too intense. I had to shut a part of myself down all these years, because I just couldn’t justify spending $4000-6000 dollars on even the most basic horn.

I definitely struggle with the thought that spending time and money in pursuit of my own joy, something that doesn’t pay the bills, takes away from the good of my family as a whole. And so when we came into this money, a part of me felt like we needed to use it on the house, or a new car, or an amazing trip—something that the whole family could benefit from.

Even so, I couldn’t help but scour the web for hours to see what I could find, unwilling to spend more than absolutely necessary. And I found it. After years of searching, I finally found a reasonable horn that didn’t require selling my soul and my firstborn. So I jumped at it like a little dog lunging for your ankles (with a similar facial expression, I’m sure).

In her former life, she was a band loaner instrument at a high school, and then was bought by a music teacher in Cochrane. She’s a little dinged up, with a neck that I’m pretty sure belongs to an alto, but she has lots of life left in her. I can’t believe she’s mine.

I wonder if some folks don’t believe they can pursue their non-income-producing passions once they have kids. Do they, like me, have a hard time justifying the time and expense it ‘takes away’ from the rest of their family? Do they lose pieces of themselves, shut them down, because it seems difficult to prioritize? How many parents project that desire and passion onto their children, because they don’t believe they can have that for themselves?

I don’t know the answers to those questions. What I do know is that I’m not willing to have my children miss out on a mother who’s full of joy. Creativity. Vibrancy. I know that that’s what happened when I shut off that part of my soul, the one that speaks the language of key signatures and time signatures, of allegro and adagio, of funk and jazz and big band.

After our date at a gigantic play castle near Calgary, Declan and I drove to Cochrane to pick up my beauty. I had told him earlier how excited I was, and he must have been pondering it in the back of his mind because he finally asked “Why are you so excited to get a saxophone?”

I love that kid.

I thoughtfully told him about my high school years, playing music with and for other people, and how much joy it brought me. He’s watching me.

When we brought her home, I obviously took her out to test how well my muscle memory lasted these past 15 years. Sage was a little concerned about the lowest notes, the floor rattlers. But she got brave enough to come a little closer with Declan’s noise-cancelling headphones on and tentatively pushed some keys. She’s watching me.

I feel possibility running through me. I feel my focus shifting beyond my children to something just as meaningful, just as beautiful. And I feel them watching me.

What are your passions, the ones that don’t pay the bills but leave you with something more valuable than money?

Do you feel guilty when you take up space or resources to engage with these passions?

What would it look like to let go of the guilt of spending time in pursuits that don’t appear to be productive?