April 2004
I had just come back to the United States after spending half a year in London, and I was homesick—for Europe. My visit had included Spain, Italy, and England, and I was anxious to get back.
A disenchanted recent graduate of the Cleveland Institute of Music, I had been working full-time in an office in London, but what I really wanted was to go back to school. I thought the best way to return would be to apply for a Fulbright scholarship and make studying an overseas experience.
It seemed simple enough: Fill out a few forms, write an essay or two, and mail it in. I had no idea what I was getting involved in. The application itself took nearly five months to complete, and the entire process was quite intense. In addition to the actual application, with its myriad forms to fill in, I had to write an essay detailing what my project would be, compose a narrative curriculum vitae talking about my life and why I should get a Fulbright, secure three letters of recommendation, and make contact with an overseas institution so that the Fulbright Commission would be assured I would have some kind of support over there.
It didn’t seem like much at first, but I’m thankful I started so soon. The essay alone took more than 40 hours and dozens of rewrites to compose—and that was after deciding what to do, which hadn’t been easy. Although I want to be an opera singer, I’ve always been in love with art song. I think that the two styles allow a singer to communicate in different, vital ways. Opera is grand emotion played out on a grand stage; recitals are intimate affairs that allow a singer to communicate with individuals in the audience. Audiences get to know a singer best when she is alone on stage.
During my graduate work, I’d taken a survey and performance class in art song with Russell Miller, who served as both coach to the singers and teacher to the collaborative pianists. I’d remembered one specific session in which we looked at text set by both Schumann and Frederick Loewe. All of the students were familiar with the Schumann, but we had never before heard the Loewe. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but all agreed it warranted performance.
As long as I’ve been a singer, I’ve always tried to do out-of-the-way repertoire—there’s nothing as boring as hearing the same six Schubert or Fauré songs over and over again. Why hadn’t I heard more of Loewe? For that matter, why didn’t all singers know and perform more Loewe—or Steven Reineke or Franz Wilhelm Abt? I resolved to spend more time in the library, listening to old recordings and borrowing scores. As I got busier with my job and new U.S. life, my personal time disappeared and I found myself in the library less often.
When it came time to decide upon a project for the Fulbright, I realized this would be the perfect topic: art song that, for one reason or another, has not made its way into the popular recital repertoire in the United States. I decided I would go where such music is known and performed, and learn it there.
After many hours of work, I sent the application off. Soon I was invited to New York for an audition and, a few (very long) months later, I got a letter saying I had been recommended for a grant. The final decision, however, wouldn’t be made until the end of April. Argh! I couldn’t believe I would have to wait even longer.
The next two months dragged. All I could think about was the Fulbright. There were days when I was absolutely sure I would receive notice—but didn’t, again.
April 4, 2005
It was a busy workday, like any other. I’d been employed for just over a year at a conservatory. The semester’s opera performance was going up that weekend, and my office was busy. When the morning mail run came, I barely paid attention to it—until, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the envelope. It was large and had a neon-orange “Extremely Urgent” sticker on it. My heart beat faster and faster as I fumbled with it, trying to tear it open. I knew from the return address what the letter inside would say, but I had to see it for myself. I pulled out the A4-sized paper and gave an exuberant cry at what I read: “Congratulations! You have been awarded a Fulbright Grant for the 2005/06 academic year. Place of study: Leipzig, Germany.”
July 24, 2005 – Anticipation
It’s been three and a half months since I opened the envelope saying I’d been granted a Fulbright, and I’ve been relaxed and in control for almost all of them. Sure, I was a little excited when I called my mom and dad and told them I was going. But I was in control when I opened up the half-dozen official letters I’ve received so far and read through the details of my grant. I knew I was going to go to Leipzig, but it was still a ways off.
Then suddenly, I lost it. I got an e-mail with the subject “Fulbright Language Course Placement.” I didn’t think I would get excited about finding out where my language course would be. I knew I would have to take one, and I knew it would last six weeks and be in Kiel or Regensburg. When I opened the e-mail and read “This is to notify you about your placement … ,” I abruptly stopped breathing. This was it. I was headed to Kiel, on the Baltic Sea, to study German for six weeks, then to Leipzig for almost 10 months as a student at the Leipzig Huchschule für Musik und Theatre Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy.
In an instant, I go from a state of subdued anticipation to one of uncontrolled enthusiasm. Co-workers ask me how much longer I’ll be working. I flash a huge smile and say, “15 days!” I say goodbye to some of my dearest friends, not knowing when I’ll see them again, but I’m not depressed. The friends who haven’t left for summer are sad I’m going, but I have to admit that I don’t share their sentiment. All I can think about is Germany and going back to school.
I suppose it’s fitting that the news about the language course would be the most exciting. Since my first French lessons when I was barely 4, I’ve been in love with languages. Something about them never ceases to amaze me: there are words in hundreds of languages that all describe what I call a shoe.
Most people give me funny looks when I say such things, but I don’t care. I love languages. Before I decided to major in music, I wanted to be a United Nations interpreter and take classes such as Guess the Verb. I studied Spanish during high school, French and Italian during my undergrad, and German during grad school. Of those I’ve formally studied, German is my weakest by far: the cases and articles constantly derail me. It’s a persistent thorn in my side that I have difficulty remembering which nouns get der, which get das, and which get die.
As a performer, I’ve been singing in foreign languages for more than a decade. In German alone, I have a vocabulary of hundreds of words. Unfortunately, they all deal with the moon, birds, streams, loneliness, faithful and untrue lovers, rest, and death. As excited as I am to be heading back to school, I’m more than a little nervous about communicating exclusively in German. To be honest, the prospect of everyday communication—such as asking for directions or where to get a bite to eat—without throwing in some obscure 18th century poetic reference, is nerve-wracking.
When I found out I was recommended for the Fulbright, I immediately purchased a German textbook, workbook, dictionary, and a cute book called the Jiffy Phrasebook German, published by Langenscheidt,. I now spend two or three hours each day going through the textbook and workbook and writing out countless verb conjugations. I love it, but I wish I had started studying the language again right when I applied. Just as it was when I went to Spain after studying Spanish for three years, I know that when I get to Germany everything I’ve studied independently will go out the window, and I’ll feel completely lost.
A small part of me worries that I’ll complete the language course and still be unable to communicate my basic needs. But at the same time, I find I don’t care all that much. My time in Kiel and Leipzig is definitely going to be the adventure of a lifetime.
