Chameleon

Growing up without a solid, stable community meant I was often left to my own devices -- emotionally, logistically, spiritually -- and in some key ways I raised myself. That's not an uncommon experience for Gen X'ers, most of whom were latchkey kids (because both parents worked or because they were living with a single parent) and whom lived in a time when kids had more freedom and angency when it came to free time.

In some ways, this served me well. I learned problem-solving and evasive maneuvers, and developed a keen sense of observation.
This, in turn, enabled me to become something of a chameleon in social situations.
I'd observe for awhile, learn the lingo and the look, and take on just enough of both to not seem like a complete outsider.
Years later, I understand that this was a defensive mechanism against loneliness, ostracization and even danger.
But as I grew older and began to seek ways to be more authentic in my daily life, I learned that taking on so many disguises had left me without a sure footing in myself. In my Self.

Today, I find that I am too Jewish for some, and not Jewish enough for others.
This seems unavoidable, hard to change at this time in my life. So I cling to authenticity when and where I can.

Now, I find myself in a bit of a pickle.
The synagogue where I've worked extremely part-time for the past two years, is evolving the way it does worship music, and is heading towards an approach that I don't really like and cannot keep up with.
I don't like it, and can't keep up with it for the same reason: I lack the patience and motivation to adapt right now. Still reeling from my ADHD diagnosis, and striving to figure out how I want to proceed, I don't feel especially motivated to undertake the project of evolving my musical self to stay employable. And in my heart of hearts, I sort of don't want to keep working in synagogues.

There. I said it.

I am burned out -- to exhaustion, really -- on being a synagogue musician.

I've always been asked to lead before I've fully acquired the tools to do so, and have had to jump in and rely upon my natural charisma and ability to improvise -- to be a sort of chameleon -- in synagogue settings. And now, I've reached my limit.
I cannot pour from a pitcher that feels so empty.
I want the luxury of being able to begin again, to sit in the back and just BE for awhile.
And because I'm a known quantity in the Jewish world, it's just not possible to do. Not without feeling the tension that arises from being a known quantity and having nothing to offer, and little or no desire to offer it.

So I feel like some more changes are coming.
I don't know what they are, but I suspect that they will have something to do with how I move through the world as a Jew, and as a musician.
That's all I know for now.