Something Is Always on Fire

by Measha Brueggergosman

  I also like being able to get my bearings from my space, from the heat pump turning on, to the creaks of the structure, to the weather against the windows, to positioning myself in the day based on the comforting constant of CBC Radio. There are no errant car horns or voices or sirens or machinery. I find it very calming to be able to identify every noise in my environs. I’m that much of a control freak. But it makes room for the sounds I should be taking in: my boys laughing or crying, the eagles on my lake, the voice telling me to stop procrastinating or the voice asking me, How could it be procrastinating if what you’re cooking will feed your family?

  Like the clothes you wear, the food you eat and the voices that get inside your head, where you choose to live can determine the ease with which you radiate from the inside out. Obviously, for some the opposite is true. These peeps are turned on by action and options and a consistent blanket of sound. I have friends who can’t sleep without traffic blaring all night long. They recharge to the subway thundering outside their window. My point is, even superheroes need a place to regenerate and quiet the voices vying for supremacy over their motivations. You can only be expected to maintain the illusion of invincibility for so long.

  This raises a question: Where does strength come from? When I’m singing and am expected to make you “believe,” or am inviting you to the well of music for a deep, long drink, what am I telling myself to get myself to go beyond the notes on the page and into your memory forever? I’m so glad you asked.

  In the fall of 2014, I gave a Walrus Talk on “The Art of Conversation,” at Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick. In the talk, I maintained that the ongoing conversation or dialogue we have with ourselves is arguably the most important exchange we’ll ever have. It is the well from which all motivation springs. For instance, if before a performance I was to think, I am going to crash and burn, this is going to be awful, there’s no way this is going to go well, then I would spend the entirety of my time onstage trying to prove myself wrong. Whereas what I choose to believe is, This is going to be amazing, your lives will all be forever changed, and you will leave from here, cure cancer and instigate world peace.

  I have a lot of conversations with the dead. Barely any of the composers I sing are still alive. In fact, they’re likely to have been dead for close to a hundred years or much, much more. They can offer no audible advice save for what’s left behind in the written score. Consequently, my stylistic decisions are informed by context and experience, and in the arena of technique, my mind has much to tell my body before I even make a sound. Backstage before a performance, I’m usually talking myself off the ledge, trying to convince myself to move forward, swallow the fear. I check to make sure there’s no lipstick on my teeth, that my hair isn’t going to fall in my face, that my dress is on properly, that a bra strap isn’t showing, a boob isn’t hanging out, my Spanx are hiked and doing their job. Any number of things that could go wrong I expect will go wrong. And then, I come out, I see all of you, and I am immediately calmed and assured (and reassured) of my responsibility to you. Reassured, because I know I’m fulfilling a purpose. I choose to believe it is the purpose of God’s will over my life, and that takes off a tremendous amount of pressure, because I know I am called to do my part and anything after that is up to Him. I come to my spot. Sometimes my pianist is about to start playing; sometimes the conductor is about to indicate the downbeat for the orchestra.

  For my part, I am focused on looking pristine, like I am in total control . . . I’m also wondering what the first words are. And then, there is breath, but before the breath there is posture, and within the posture there is alignment, and with alignment comes a good breath, and when you take a good breath, it has to be well timed. It has to be perfectly in time. It has to be devoid of tension but purposeful. It can’t engage the jaw. It can’t involve the tongue. It has to raise the soft palate. And then, you have to think about the consonant. If there is even a consonant. Sometimes there’s a consonant. Sometimes there’s not. Sometimes everything begins with an open vowel; sometimes the vowel is closed. Sometimes it’s a mixed vowel involving the tongue and the lips; sometimes it’s an open ah, which for me is the worst thing ever.

  All of that is running through my mind as you watch my pristine, immaculately put-together, beautiful dress, and you know from the expression on my face exactly what it is I’m trying to tell you, and you are sucked into me. And that’s my responsibility as the artist whose name is on the ticket you bought. The conversation that I’m now making you privy to would otherwise be none of your business, because I’m meant to make you feel like I’m in total control . . . which I am. As your singer, the things I command myself to do are relax, have fun, give nothing away—you, in concert with the music, are enough. Breathe. Repeat.

  I would encourage you to examine the nature of the conversation you are having with yourself. How do you talk to yourself? Are you constructive? Are you discouraging? Are you realistic? Would you say the same things to yourself you would to your best friend, a child or someone you love?

  Answering these questions goes a long way to steering the most important conversation you’ll ever have in the right direction and will reveal what you want and how to get it.

  PART 3

  WHAT’S HOLDING ME BACK?

  DATE: SUNDAY, MAY 30, 2010, 8:57 PM

  FROM: MEASHA BRUEGGERGOSMAN

  TO: NEARESTS AND DEARESTS

  SUBJECT: SOMETHING CLEVER

  Hello Nearests and Dearests,

  Well, I’m afraid I’m gonna keep this update pretty short. I’m not in the best of places at the moment and I’m pretty exhausted. I’ve spent the majority of my weekend doing various household things and memorizing dialogue. Plus, when I opened up my inbox, there wasn’t much news from any of you, so I’ll just assume everything’s fine on your end and that I’ll hear from you eventually. But it’s always nice to be able to read something in addition to writing something . . .

  It’s getting hotter in the desert, which means it’s getting hotter in the yoga tent. We’re getting to the point (55 classes in, with 45 left to go) where hydration and food intake are NOT optional and some people are struggling to keep their energy and electrolytes up. I basically alternate between litres of water, coconut water, Pedialyte and several packets of Emergen-C (electrolyte vitamin packets) and can usually put in about 11 litres a day if I monitor it correctly. And a TON of protein. The problem is we don’t have a lot of time to eat and one is never hungry right after class, so you have to just have food on you all the time. But my blood pressure’s good and I’ve had no cramping, vomiting, digestion “issues,” headaches or the shakes, so I think I’m doing okay.

  I don’t know what this week has in store, but apparently, we’re a pretty good bunch of trainees and are ahead in the dialogue, so maybe they’ll find a whole new level of torture with which to afflict us. Or maybe they’ll take it easy on us. Who knows? I’m trying not to have any expectations, so I’m not disappointed either way. In general, I’m trying to stay open and relinquish control, but I kinda feel like I’m not getting any better at it. Thanks very much to those of you who sent me mail this week. That was really great and I hope you know I truly appreciate it. And to those of you who promised to send mail but haven’t yet? Well, I guess I understand that, too. But to that person who sent a letter and had it returned, jumbled up and wet? I’m really thankful you tried, and, if you have it in you to try again, I’m here until June 19, and hopefully we’ll have victory over the US Postal Service.

  I think I’d best sign off now. Sorry to be such a downer. Hopefully next week will be better . . . or tomorrow . . . or an hour from now.

  Namaste,

  Measha

  It can feel downright impossible to figure out what’s holding us back, because some of us are only willing to face forward, desperate to outrun our past. The fact is, I’ll likely be divorced by the time this book comes out. You’re right to feel a sense of déjà vu, because this
past year was actually the second time that my husband and I separated. I’m quite sure this time it’s going to stick. While I was at the Semperoper in Dresden with my boys, he moved out of the house and closer to his work. My first instinct on hearing the news was to feel betrayed and abandoned. Like he’d waited for us to leave and then made his escape. But my husband had said repeatedly that he wanted a divorce and had it not been for our boys, he would have been gone already. And I would defend his choice with my dying breath, because I’ve broken his heart so many times and I can see now how bitter it has made him. He should get out while he can still laugh and find the good in life with someone else. In a way, I can see how I’ve been spared the bedfellow emotions of confusion and resentment that come from seeing the boxes packed and piled in the front entryway—the drawn-out regret and push-pull of agonizing that there must be some way we could make this work. But he’s left the only home we shared together with both our sons.

  I was so stupid when I got married in May of 1999. I didn’t know how to do anything or be anything for anyone else. Markus, by contrast, seemed perfectly suited to marriage. The sun rose and set on his partner and he had no reservation whatsoever about putting all his proverbial eggs in one basket. We were incredibly in love, but I don’t think either one of us actually thought there’d be work involved. So, when you see marriage as a utopic destination instead of an ongoing series of fires you have to put out, your bubble gets burst really quick. Especially when your wife cheats on you and your world comes crashing down twelve years, and then again at fifteen years, into your marriage. And he has forgiven me probably too many times. And yes, I do feel like a disgrace and failure some of the time. And the rest of the time? I need all my energy to try and not feel like a disgrace and failure.

  My husband is justified in divorcing me, because throughout our entire marriage, I have not been faithful to him. With my heart, yes. With my body, no. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love him and he is the absolute best human I have ever met, but if I’m being honest, I never really thought marriage was for me. The religion I prescribe to essentially says to not have sex before marriage and to stay married forever. Well, there was no way I was going to go through life without sex. And once that bell was rung (on my wedding night), I couldn’t un-ring it.

  I met Markus when I knew what I was going to be doing for the rest of my life. Anyone meeting me at that time would have had no choice but to board the Measha Train. I don’t know that much has changed, actually. I still tend to think my direction is strongest, my ideas are best, and you may find yourself justifiably feeling a few steps behind or wondering if you can do anything right, because I prefer to take control of everything and then complain that I have to do everything. What has changed is that I know that thinking of something first or having a plan doesn’t make me right . . . but I do have a will that is likely to outlast yours. Sigh. It’s not always a good thing and I’m working on it.

  Markus seemed to be willing to make my desires his own. We never really found any common interests, although we did do some things at the same time. But there’s a difference between being on the couch and watching the same movie, and being at the same dinner table and sharing things that excite you. What we do seem to share is a general aversion to people. He’s a man content with himself and I’m a woman who has very few confidants. My spaces and environments change all the time, so the consistency I seek comes down to someone to whom I do not need to recount the entire backstory. That’s what I’ll miss the most: the witness we have been to each other’s lives. You don’t get many people like that in your lifetime, and the steel fortress of Markus’s intimacy and trust is, by far, my greatest and most tragic loss. For the months before I left for Dresden, he was sleeping in the basement of our house, while I was upstairs with our boys. I’d come home to a space where the parents were civil to each other but no love was exchanged. We were clear on the fact that this was the moment to pull the trigger on our relationship because it would do the least damage to our boys, since they’re so young. By no means does this leave the adults unscathed, but I think it’s the price you pay to keep your kids out of harm’s way emotionally. In our more clear-headed moments, we hypothesized that it would be best that their earliest memories be of us not together, as opposed to putting them through the volatile process of married parents, fighting parents, unhappy parents, divorced parents.

  But we continued to coexist under the same roof for all those months because we were in the limbo of being each other’s child care and not having the money to make any kind of move. I’m the first to admit that we lived our financial lives in the moment and probably beyond our means. I was paying little attention, so after Markus left I was shocked to find there was a ton of debt I knew nothing about. I tell myself, It’s just money. But that doesn’t keep me from the recurring dream I’ve been having of my house being on fire with me and my babies inside and me having to choose between getting us all out or just letting the blaze engulf us together because there isn’t enough time to unblock the door and get out. It’s literally a nightmare I keep having over and over.

  I will always remember the final year of my thirties as being the most disastrous I’d ever experienced to date. I can’t remember a time when I was so poor, sad, busy and heartbroken. I honestly don’t know how I got here. I have a house, two cars, two boys, two cats and no money. I have every kind of tax bill pending—property tax, federal tax, general tax, personal tax, provincial tax, income tax, pleasure tax, liar tax, cocktail tax. You name it, I owe it. I’ve taken baby clothes and equipment to a consignment shop and tried to sell my shoes online. It has been a humbling, humiliating and exhausting year. And as I write this, it’s not even over. In fact, it will likely get worse!

  I know I can’t be the only person on earth to look at her children and think, You’re the only good thing I’ve ever done. Dear God, let me keep them healthy and out of prison. I can’t be the only Christian woman to have cheated on her husband. I can’t be the only person to believe that I have no one but myself to blame for where I am. I can’t be the only woman who has no idea how money works, where it goes or how I’ve managed to end up with so little of it. Dear God, do not let me be the only human to have ever overspent, miscalculated and lived in denial. It brings me no small amount of comfort to believe that I can’t be the only person to say to herself, I know I’m no prize on so many levels, but I won’t roll over and die, either. I simply can’t because I have things to do. I may feel like I’m alone and I brought all this on myself, but there is a still, small voice inside me that says I’m not and I didn’t.

  So I never thought I’d get married, and when I did, I sucked at it. So now what? I did get married, and over a decade later, I gave birth to the two perfectest boys in the history of the birthing of males. I am where I am and I’ve made my choices—some good, some incrrredibly bad. I have to believe that if I move forward, forgiven and undefined by the mistakes of my past, then I’ll be able to empower others to do the same. I have to believe I’m not the only person who feels this way and that I’ll come out on the other side, wiser and stronger. I don’t know when that will be or how much longer I’ll be juggling, holding my breath and faking it to make it, but that day is coming.

  In the spring of 2009, my husband and I celebrated our tenth anniversary shortly after purchasing our first house in Toronto’s Parkdale neighbourhood. Though I was travelling a lot, it was a haven I loved to decorate with the things we’d collected over the years, including the only plant we ever knew how to take care of: the Chinese money tree bought from Ikea. There were big antique letters hung above the patio door that told me where I was: H O M E.

  I was enjoying a full schedule of recitals and concerts throughout Europe and Asia. I was also having fun as a host and guest on several European and Canadian TV shows: Arte Lounge, Toronto Variety, MTV Canada Cribs, The Surreal Gourmet, Bravo Arts & Minds. The first full-length feature documentary about me, Spirit in Her Voice, was releas
ed (the second one, Songs of Freedom, would be released in February 2015) and I had starred in a handful of music videos featuring classical repertoire like Aaron Copland’s “Heart We Will Forget Him,” William Bolcom’s “Amor” and Jules Massenet’s “Rêve infini.”

  I really enjoy the intangibles, as I like to call them. Anything that doesn’t involve me actually having to sing: interviews, appearances, acting, writing. When journalists were looking for snappy sound bites or an upbeat interview, I was a go-to celebrity:

  Your favourite colour?

  Turquoise.

  Your idea of happiness?

  The sound of my husband laughing.

  The quality you like most in others?

  Consistency.

  Your favourite drink?

  The Caesar.

  Your present state of mind?

  Equanimous.

  On what occasion do you lie?

  In the morning.

  What is the greatest love of your life?

  My Saviour Jesus Christ.

  Where would you most like to live?

  In the Maritimes.

  What is your favourite journey?

  This one.

  What word or phrase do you overuse?

  “Whuddup?”

  Which talent would you most like to have?

  To speak more languages.

  Your favourite aroma?

  Black truffle.

  The person you’d call in an emergency?

  My husband or my parents.

  The person you’d call if you wanted to laugh?

  My husband.

  What do you consider your greatest achievement?

  My relationship with my mom.