Today is Tuesday, August 4th, and let’s begin this thirty-first episode.
Maybe it’s the heat of the past few days, or the violent storms of these hours, or the uncertainty that has been pervading these pandemic months.
Masks yes, masks no.
It’s all true.
It’s all false.
It’s not what it seems.
No.
I’m telling myself stories.
It has always been like this, even when Covid did not exist.
Since the moment my life chose music therapy, I have always breathed an air of…
I don’t even know how to define it.
An air of knives.
Of judgement.
Of “what I say is the truth, and you be quiet because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Of mors tua vita mea.
Where the success of a colleague, a school, or an association seems to become the main cause of my own failure.
And so, instead of rejoicing in it, I feel I have to boycott it.
Otherwise, what am I supposed to do?
Why is our professional category so strongly marked by acidity?
Why are we so inclined to attack one another ferociously?
Factions.
Families.
Power groups.
Training takeovers.
Attempts at revolution, rebellion, provocation, and incitement to polemic.
We really cannot seem to detach ourselves from this habit.
Instead of looking for common ground, for almost fifty years we have continued to emphasise what divides us.
And not what divides us from other professional categories.
No.
If only.
We insist on underlining what makes me the true, the only, the best trainer, communicator, researcher, teacher, practitioner, student of music therapy, compared with you.
And you, in turn, are also a trainer, communicator, researcher, teacher, practitioner, student of music therapy.
And in all this, we create feuds that are handed down from us to those close to us, to those who share our way of thinking.
Some people say it is like this because there is no professional recognition.
Some say recognition will never come as long as we are like this.
Some argue that, if recognition is to come, then it must be socio-healthcare recognition — or death.
Some say it is like this because the training system is confused and confusing.
Courses that, on paper, last four, three, two, or one year, but then you discover that we should not count in years, but in hours.
And then that we should not count in hours, but in training credits.
Specialisation courses that are not really specialisation courses.
Two-year programmes without a corresponding three-year first cycle.
Conservatoires that pretend to be universities.
Entrance exams that are a farce.
Do you understand now why, thirty-one episodes ago — it was the first Tuesday of January 2020 — I decided to call this podcast A Light-Hearted Journey Through Music Therapy?
Why should I spend time every day defending, convincing, replying, and supporting my reasons against someone else’s reasons?
So, you know what?
To the angry ones, I give all my apologies.
To the wise ones, I leave all the solutions.
To the professors, I hand over all the truths.
Because I do not want to be right about music therapy.
I want to be happy in music therapy.
I’ll stop here.
We’ll meet again on Tuesday, August 11th, with a new episode of A Light-Hearted Journey Through Music Therapy.