Tara Sullivan

Life is full of surprises

In late 1992, my voice teacher, Ruth Golden, informed all her students that we would be having lessons in the Alexander Technique. An Alexander teacher she collaborated with named Joseph Lee was coming from out of town and my next voice lesson would be co-taught by the two of them.. Because I was fully committed to learning from Ruth and valued her expertise, I made a note in my calendar even with no idea what it meant to have an Alexander lesson.

The night before the lesson was scheduled, a massive blizzard hit New York City. Later dubbed the “Storm of the Century”, I woke up to everything being blanketed in thick snow. It’s hard to imagine, but there were of course no mobile phones at the time and no internet, and as a college student I didn’t have my own phone line. I needed coins to use the pay phone, and needed the pay phone to be free, which was not something to be counted on. In any event, last minute cancelling a lesson with such a teacher, let alone one that included a visiting teacher, was something that one simply did not do. The TV in the coffee shop reported that roads were a mess but public transit was mostly running so I put on my heavy boots and left plenty of time.

I had already had many voice lessons in my teacher’s cozy Upper West Side apartment and the whole experience was always filled with the excitement of learning what I loved and the promise of a bright future. I recorded each lesson using my portable cassette recorder and then obsessively listened and practiced what we had done all week long. I wrote everything fastidiously in practice journals where I also jotted down endless questions with which I barraged Ruth whenever we met.

I don’t remember arriving through the storm, and in fact I remember fairly little of what went on that particular day. Ruth had me warm up with the usual vocalises and then Joseph had me lie on a massage table that was wedged in between the piano bench and the sofa, the coffee table having been moved for the day. He gently used his hands to indicate things and gave instructions that didn’t make much sense to me at the time, but I did my best, I was confident that I knew how to be a student. After a time I was standing up and he had his hands on my back as Ruth guided me to sing again.

What I experienced was what I had always been looking for without even knowing it. My breath was effortless, my voice moved like molten liquid and resonated everywhere, and for the first time I didn’t feel my body as a collection or parts, but instead I was one breathing, singing, vital being.

Ruth smiled knowingly in the way she often did. I wrote a check, as I always did, got suited back up for winter, and left.

The next part I remember vividly: walking up Broadway towards 72nd Street, feeling in a way I had never felt before. My movement was effortless, smooth, pleasurable, and walking was easy and fun despite my stiff boots, the strong wind, and deep snow. I could breathe easily, even though it was below freezing and I had a life long history of temperature induced asthma. I felt my back wide, free, painless, and understood its function for the first time. I felt this as the most familiar and right experience of my life, this was who I was and how I was always meant to be, though I also knew I had never felt like this before. WHAT JUST HAPPENED? I almost didn’t care how I got this way, I just hoped it would last forever.

By the time I got home, I was starting to stiffen back up somewhat to my old self, but the effects of that one lesson gave me as much inspiration as any experience I’ve ever had. I tried to explain it to my friends and colleagues but at that time I completely lacked the words, the context. It would be months before I was able to have another experience with the Alexander Technique, but I was already obsessed with figuring out how to have that experience again.

Have you ever had an experience like this? I would love to hear about it!