Profess(or)ing my Love

Here’s how I feel about today.

I am positively glowing with inspiration after the performance workshop in class today. My professor manipulated my tense shoulders like a puppet master, working my nervous frame and putting the memory into my body of what it feels like to move organically to the music I can create with my hands. I closed my eyes as she moved my body to the rhythm–but after a moment it started to feel too intimate as we sat together closely at the front of the classroom sharing the piano bench. I opened my eyes and the ability to surrender to the bubbling pleasure of what was happening popped out of existence, like someone hitting a light switch. Something deep inside me is convinced my desire is in some way indecent, but that’s another blog post. Part of the trials of being bisexual in a world that doesn’t respect hyphenated identities (are you gay or are you straight? I’m gay-straight. I’m neither).

Performing for other musicians can feel so scary. All the judgements you have for yourself are projected onto the audience—you expect everyone to focus on your missed pitch, your rhythmic defect, the way your fingers tremble and trip. In reality, everyone is looking for the beauty in what each individual presents. What a lovely reminder that is to check my perspective. Herein lies my “permission” to judge myself and my creations less harshly, to look for the strengths and embolden them rather than lament the fact that I will never be perfect.

I always have a least small crushes on my teachers, if they are genuinely passionate about what they’re sharing with the class. It literally does not matter at all how they present themselves, their sex, their quirks—whatever makes them them and excited to be that way gets me excited; like, really excited. And here I am, in class again…fat crushes blooming into existence…

For me, it really boils down to the thrill of exploring an idea and having someone else lead me through their thought process. Seeing other perspectives (namely when the other party has an intimate relationship with their subject) literally turns me on. For some reason, I also tend to fantasize about older people. I don’t really know why. I want to see myself reflected through the eyes of someone wiser than me. I want to expand in the presence of a mentor. I want to build a bridge to the future while balancing on the shoulders of the past. I want to touch someone else’s reality like a leaf dropping into still water. And I want a lover who can conduct the orchestra of my lust with confidence. I think I would have done well in ancient Greece. 

I’ve been told before that I am very “responsive” to external stimulus. I think this is why it really doesn’t take anyone terribly specific to light my heart on fire—just an average-but-passionate human, perhaps past their prime or perhaps living in it. Does this make me a whore? In some translations, “whore” means “one who desires”. I pass through many fleeting desires, but do not give them life.

If it does make me a whore to harbor crushes, do I care? My grandfather once called me “easy” and, while I am still trying to figure out what that means, I also don’t give a flying fuck what that means. I carry that lust with me, because to me it is a lust for all the different ways of living on the planet. It is lust for life and growth and learning.

I don’t feel as though I’ve entered my sexual prime. According to the internet, this should happen for me sometime in my 28th year, coming up. (Time’s a-ticking!!) Strangely, it seems a lot of the work to get there involves relaxing into the body, finding pleasure in the mundane. As someone who’s been deemed hyper-responsive to my environment, this tends to be very hard for me to do. For a while I was practicing breath work and meditation; we’ll see how it all unfolds…

Alright, enough about teacher crushes. I have work to do. Hope everybody’s having a sexy, inspiring time out there! Don’t forget to tip your hat to the older warriors out there! Experience and mastery are way sexy.

Published by Hannah

Just yer average girl next door.

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