I had a boost which ended a little more than a week ago.

No, not a shot in the arm, but rather, a shot in the ear and brain.

Feeling increasingly out of sorts, I contacted the Listening Centre where I underwent my first course of listening training in 1999 (see my original testimonial) in order to have a “boost” of the method of sound stimulation invented by Alfred Tomatis—the Einstein of the Ear.

It wasn’t my first, and certainly won’t be my last, if only because it’s what I do to keep my listening intact as a voice teacher; one who freely admits to having hearing loss, big T (I’m talking tinnitus), and hearing aids.

(My audiologist tells me I’ve defied the odds regarding increasing hearing loss: “Whatever you are doing, keep doing it!”)

Oh, but it’s been a trip, hasn’t it?

I mean the red shoe Coronavirus dance that doesn’t seem to end.

Governor Cuomo of New York shut down the Big Apple in March in order to flatten Coronavirus’ curve—which also stopped every institution in its tracks: The Juilliard School, Metropolitan Opera, Carnegie Hall—you name it—all are down for the count.

Studios of every description have gone online, everyone figuring out how to cope with our surreal reality.

I found myself losing all my students at a prestigious institution when the organization was not able to make the transition to online study.

What has been most consequential?

Living in Epicenter Central with the isolation and stress that comes with preventing an infection that could take my life and that of my husband. Both in our 60’s, we tick a key bye-bye box.

The loss of freedom; the gym; dinner with good friends; my second living room—La Boite en Bois—a wonderful French restaurant; and home away from home—the Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center (NYPL). Missed and lamented.

Add to this mix the meltdown of America (yes, I am talking politics, but I won’t go further), and you have the makings for a downward spiral.

No, I didn’t crash. There’s no sob story here. I’m damn lucky to have all that I do. But I did find myself dead in the water, down for the count like everything else and unable to write and think clearly.

About halfway through my 10-day boost, which moves the furniture in one’s head, I dreamt that I was sitting in a car—my old maroon MGB that I gave to my brother-in-law when I moved to the City more than two decades ago. I was in the passenger seat, the right seat. The car was at a stop, and no one was driving. I realized I had to get back in the driver’s seat and move.

Ah, the innate wisdom of the right ear, which my boost was designed to reawaken.

Simple and direct: I’ve gotten the message and motivation.

motivation (n.)

1873, "act or process of furnishing with an incentive or inducement to action;" see motivate + -ion. Perhaps borrowed from German, where motivation is attested by 1854. Psychological use, "inner or social stimulus for an action," is from 1904. —Online Etymology Dictionary