Finding the beat.

Marching Band. Hot, sweaty, long hours, bad music, sequins, good music, hard work, and sometimes fun. Okay, a lot of the time fun. The long seasons of high school marching band is where I’ve finally found my explaination for converting.

I said it last night over hummus with Frankie. I feel like I’ve found the beat. Sometimes when you are in marching band, there is this moment when the beat isn’t right. You have to skip to get your right foot on the downbeat, you have to stare at the drum major and not listen to the drummers. You have to concentrate, count, and you’ll get on the beat.

When a band isn’t keeping proper time, it still makes me squirm. Recently I went to the Double DOor and I felt the musician in me start to surface. Where the hell is the drummer? Listen to the bass player, look at each other, do something… just please, find the fucking beat. (Okay, there was no reason to cuss, I know.)

In finding judaism, I feel like I’ve caught my step. Like I’m finally on the beat with my life. I have never been totally out of place, but I was a square peg or an out of step sax player. But in choosing judaism, claiming it, shouting it, I feel like I’ve found the beat.

It has taken a lot of talking and thinking to get that out right, but that is how I feel. Some people say they come home to judaism, I’m finally in time with my life.