I've been busy and happy. And sad.
I am having a great time in Tucson, but I miss Sydney. We knew it would hit, and it has. Circumstances, financial and otherwise, may also prevent me from returning for the months of August and September, as I had planned. That's not good.
In addition, I am growing increasingly disenfranchised from my chosen goal a number years ago, i.e., to become a choral conducting professional and academic.
Life as a singer in the U.S. presents many challenges, most of them financial. It's hard to make a living as a performer, and especially one that specializes in repertoire very much beyond the mostly mainstream fodder seen on recital hall stages and in opera halls. Admittedly, I was spoiled by my Fulbright in Europe. While studying there, I managed also to get quite a lot of work with various groups, such as the Netherlands Chamber Choir. It showed me that it is possible to eke out a living as a singer. When I returned to the U.S., I found it much more challenging. Even to make half a decent living meant being on the road and out of the house constantly. Weekends were non-existent, what with gigs and a job as a church staff singer. And then there were the non-music jobs to supplement the income. My total work-week, combining music and other, averaged something like 70 to 80 hours. And that doesn't include private practice at home. I began to crave stability, and I got very weary of splitting my focus between music and whatever other job I had. You see, not content simply to wait tables or sell sheet music, I always found myself in jobs that greatly challenged my brain and allowed me to exercise my leadership skills in managerial positions. But I burned out. Big time.
The decision to begin my doctorate in music in 2002, a move that I had chosen both because I felt I had put in the hard yakka and earned my stripes, and also because I longed to work full-time in music, was by no means an easy one to make. I had staved off teaching for years, preferring to be a performer instead. I had also nurtured my ex-partner through his doctorate in music education, watching in dismay as he jumped through flaming hoops, and in muted anger while some faculty members decimated his self-confidence and lowered his fortitude. (He persevered and got the degree. Now he's a tenured professor, while the offending faculty member dropped dead of an aneurysm. Talk about karma.)
Anyway, at long last, after accumulating years of performing experience on the stage, as well as leadership skills through my other work, I felt it was time. It seemed a natural progression for me to take what I'd learned and share it with others.
I had a very difficult time transitioning from singer to conductor. I mean, I was happy to do it. After all, it was my decision. But after working and identifying for nearly 20 years as a vocalist, it was hard at times to shed that skin and grow a modified one that would suit me as a professional choral conductor and academic. But I did, and I found a doctoral program that would allow me to combine my varied interests within the arts (vocal performance, theatre studies, and musicology) into an interdisciplinary degree track. After producing and directing a fully staged performance of a late-Renaissance Italian madrigal comedy, I finished the performer's handbook that served as the final written document and graduated with a Doctor of Musical Arts degree.
It was official. I was ready for life in academia. Then things changed again.
I had met Mark during the last year of my degree program. We hit it off, and within six months had rented a house and moved in together. In addition, Mark's 6 y/o son came for a visit and ended up staying with us in Tucson for a year. After Mark's schooling ended, his visa expired and he was forced to return to Australia. We found ourselves at a crossroads. Either we end our relationship after a couple of wonderful years, or I migrate to Australia as his partner. (Yes, they have same-sex immigration there, although it isn't particularly easy to qualify.) I had spent nearly two blissful years as partner to a wonderful person, and I had become a stepfather. I was not ready to throw that out the window. Although I knew my degree had set me up for a life of work within higher-ed institutions in the U.S. and that the situation might be different in Australia, I hoped that the degree alone might open up avenues and present choices.
Well, it didn't. For a number of reasons, there is no work for me in Australia. The smaller population base, fewer higher-ed institutions, decreased emphasis on music education, and farming out of most higher-ed music departments to area music conservatories meant there were virtually no opportunities. During the nearly three years I have lived in Australia, only three positions opened up within places of higher learning. I was not invited to interview at any of them. I even applied for few jobs that appeared in non-academic music arenas, but nothing came of that either. I am too overqualified for most of these allied positions.
After months of fairly severe depression and some fluoxetine treatment, Mark and I jointly decided it was time for me to begin applying for work in the U.S. I am now a permanent Australian resident, which means I can come and go freely, allowing me to work part-year out of the country. We decided that it was in my best interest, and ultimately for the better relationship-wise as well, for me to consider working the academic year in the U.S. and live the other three months in Australia. It wasn't ideal, but at least I would have the opportunity to work in my chosen profession. It also meant that I would be making a decent salary. Life in Sydney is woefully expensive. It has been nearly impossible to keep our heads above water, what with the cost of living for a three-member family and an anxiety-inducing level of debt that we accrued during our schooling and in order to move me (and our dog) over to Australia.
I have now applied for nearly two-dozen academic jobs in the U.S. I made it to the final three for one and was flown from Australia for an interview last November. Someone beat me out for that job, however. I have had no nibbles since. Upon talking with my former major professor, I was told that my location in Australia might be the reason for my undoing. I should consider "placing myself in a target-rich environment." In other words, the minute any potential employer saw Australia as my address, they shuffled me to the bottom of the pile, regardless of my 28-page CV and flawless academic record. The one interview I did get was considered an anomaly.
So here I am in Tucson. The environment is hardly target-rich anymore. All vacant positions have been filled. I have received rejection letters from every place to which I applied. There won't be more vacancy announcements until September at the earliest. I had initially decided to stick it out through the fall, in order to be in the U.S. during that round of announcements. I am, however, feeling more and more removed from the profession. I think I've sat out too long. I had some conducting work in Sydney, but hardly enough to keep me immersed in the field.
I am not alone. It's been a tough year for many. There are 7 or 8 of us from my doctoral institution without jobs....this from a place that used to boast a 90% placement rate for graduate-degree recipients. The more I commiserate with folks, the more frustrated I feel. And the more I realize that the old adage that "it isn't what you know, but who you know" holds some truth. I don't really know anyone anymore, at least not in this country. I am not sure I ever did, really.
I think one of the scariest things is that I no longer derive joy from hearing the music that I used to adore and even less pleasure discussing it. Perhaps I am bitter. But perhaps I have also simply craved the opportunity to put my skills and talents to use for too long now. It is well known in academe that one's doctoral degree bears a limited shelf-life. Sitting outside the field for more than a couple of years is professional suicide.
I think there's an inner shelf-life as well, and as a former partner of mine used to say, I think I'm a few days past fresh.
