And it all makes sense.

It's now Sunday morning, and there is a lot for which I should be grateful. But I'll get there.

Thursday morning, Dad and I woke up in Glasgow (it was still gray and raining) and started walking around the city. We stopped into the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall and strolled down High Street. My interview was at 11, so made our way over a bit early to look around. The Royal Conservatoire of Scotland is a late-80s building lined inside and out with terra cotta brick and full of windows. My interview was with Dr. Gordon MacPherson (head of composition) and Rory Boyle, and really was purely an interview. They just wanted to talk to me, and I could sense that the interview moved quickly from them interviewing me to admission to me interviewing them on the program and why I would want to go there. RCS is an interesting place; they try very hard to be culturally progressive and remain relevant. As a result, the program there is focused almost solely on producing and premiering new work. However, much as I found with the Royal College of Music in London, in making it so broad-based and accepting, the lack of direction may wind up working against their purposes. I have no made any decision about any of it, but when a music program premieres 60+ new works a year, how many of them are going to be noteworthy or memorable? Just a question I've been asking myself.

After the interview, I dropped my dad off at the airport in Glasgow and began the long drive back to London. Driving back south during the day and in the sun was much nicer than the drive up to Glasgow. It was nice to be able to really look at the countryside and watch the change from the north to the south. I made it into my hotel in England at about 9 that night and was fairly well exhausted. I had come down with a pretty nasty cold on the way up to Glasgow, and am really only just now getting over it. But Thursday night I took some more Lemsip (the British version of Dayquil - and much more effective) and went to bed.

Friday, I woke up early to return the rental car. It was about a 20 minute drive through traffic, but because I'm obviously unfamiliar with the London road "system", it took me over an hour to get to the rental place. I probably turned around 4 times. So that was fun. The trip back to the hotel, even walking and using the tube system, took less than half that amount of time. I got back to the hotel, ironed my suit, took a shower, and headed through Regent Park towards the Royal Academy of Music. I really need to sidebar to talk about Regent Park. That. Place. Is. Amazing. It's massively huge. It's longer than the Mall in DC and probably 5x wider. There are soccer pitches everywhere and a even a few rugby pitches. There are no less than 4 cafes (that I saw - one of which is called "The Honest Sausage" [har, har] and is DELICIOUS [YEAH it is]) and the zoo, and the Queens Gardens, and a "boating pond". And there were people EVERYWHERE. I probably remarked no less than 6 times during this trip that the amount of foot traffic here in the UK is incredible. People walk all over the place. Makes you realize how lazy people in America really are. Anyway. So the Royal Academy building itself is on the southern edge of Regent Park. The rear windows look over the street towards the park itself. The facilities are amazing, as well. The building was built in the 1850s, and the Academy moved there around the turn of the 20th century, but they have kept the facility as up to date as possible.

The diagnostic test I was given was a bit more difficult than I had been expecting. I was given 4 bars of a 4-part chorale, and 4 bars of a soprano part, and was asked to analyze the harmony and complete the chorale in the style given. I was also given a quote by Roger Wright of the BBC about the necessity for us to develop new music and was asked to write a short essay about my opinions. 50 minutes is a much shorter amount of time than it sounds. The interview that followed felt like an eternity, however. I was asked to play on the piano (which I REALLY don't do well), sight-sing (which I DO well - thanks Jim), and identify intervals as well as sing the middle pitch of a played chord. Keyboard skills are definitely going to be a focus for the next few months. After this interview as over, I had about an hour to kill before I sat in on the composer's workshop that was going on that afternoon, so I grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water and went out to the Park to eat. It was so nice to be able to just sit in the sun and relax and listen.

The workshop I attended was for new works from members of the composition department, written for symphonic wind ensemble. The ensemble was a conglomeration of players from the performance department, and as I sat there listening it really struck me how international this place is. There were players with all sorts of accents and dialects from all over the world, and I felt very much a part of something bigger than just my own experience. It was kind of thrilling, to be honest. After the workshop was over, one of the composition professors invited me and the other guys from the department to get a cup of tea (characteristically) and we sat and talked for about an hour and a half. I was about to get ready to leave, when they invited me to join them for a beer at the bar. Hah. Uh, sure? Where are we going? For the record, there is a bar in the basement of the Academy. I. Love. This. Place. From there, we were all invited back to one of the students flats to have dinner and drink wine and talk. The evening disappeared quite quickly and it was suddenly 2:30. I hopped a bus and a cab back to the hotel and woke up Saturday morning with a massively stuffy nose and a headache.

I made a cup of tea (what?) and took a shower, and decided to take a walk through Regent Park again. After getting a great sandwich from The Honest Sausage, I found there were rugby clubs warming up. I stuck around for a bit and found out that it was the London Business School and one of the 5 (count them, FIVE) sides that Hampstead Rugby Club puts together playing a friendly. As I watched and listened, I realized that, like the wind ensemble from the day before, there were accents and languages from all over Europe out on the pitch. French, Spanish, Danish, Irish, Welsh, and Scottish ruggers, in addition to some English guys. After their match was over, my cold was feeling pretty awful, so I headed over to a fish and chips place, got some takeaway, and headed back to my hotel. And that was, sadly, kind of the end of my night. I went to bed early and slept like a baby.

Today is Sunday. And I have much for which to be grateful. This week has been amazing. I have seen so much of the UK, and experienced so many things that I never thought I would. I have applied for and interviewed with 4 conservatoires and all 4 have offered me a place. I have seen Scotland and the place where my family put down its roots in the 11th century. And the people I have meet have been nothing but friendly and helpful to me. I cannot wait to be a part of this. The perspective of this place is so much bigger than anything I've ever experienced, and the creativity of this place is amazing.

I. Cannot. Wait.

Failte gu brath.

Ok, so I didn't post anything yesterday and I'm sorry and I hope you understand.

My dad finally got here on Tuesday night at about 10:00. We hadn't closed the proverbial loop on how we were going to meet up, so in the confusion, it took a little bit of extra time to sort who was meeting whom and where. No matter; we met up at the hotel in London just fine. He was obviously starving once he got here, since it was dinner time (for him), so we spent a decent amount of time trying to decide where to go for dinner. In London, everything closes by 11 for some reason. We decided on this place near the hotel called "Black and Blue" although I have NO idea why it's called that. The place served really good wine and really average food. Anyway.

Yesterday (Wednesday) morning, we woke up in London at no particular time and began strolling the streets of the Knightsbridge area, just south of Hyde Park. It took us a while to find a place that wasn't a diner, wasn't hugely tourist-y, and wasn't a crap British place to get breakfast. We decided on this tiny French bistro-restaurant that served TERRIFIC food and good tea (When in Rome, amirite?). We spent some time walking getting famili

ar with the area after breakfast and walked through and around Prince Albert Hall, the performance venue for mainly the London Symphony but seemingly an all-purpose venue at the beck and call of "The Crown". My interview

with the Royal College of Music (right) was at 11:10 and I was feeling pretty nervous and unprepared. The RCM website didn't have ANY information about the interview and I had no idea what to expect.

I arrived at the school 20 minutes early and found my way to the interview room - essentially a practice room with a desk and a piano in it and a sign on the door that said "Head of Composition". There was a single chair outside the door and a sign that asked composition candidates to wait outside until they were called. I did so. That was a LONG 10 minutes. The man who ushered me into his office was William Mival, a tall man with a bald head a black, thick-rimmed glasses. His first question was, "Why do you want to be a composer?" That question is not one I've thought about in a while. It took me a minute to wrap my brain around that and remember what my reason was for beginning this journey 12 years ago as a freshman in high school. But I remembered why; I remembered sitting in the basement with my books and my thoughts and feeling like I had nowhere to go. And then discovering this love of music that has been there since the beginning and has never changed. He then asked a bunch of questions about my past and my education, conducted a brief ear training exam, and discussed the scores I had sent him. It was all incredibly positive and helpful, and the things he had to say were helpful and insightful. He wrapped everything up by stating that I should be receiving an acceptance letter in the mail in the next few days and that they would love to see me attending school at the Royal College of Music. I was, obviously, thrilled. Two interviews, two handshakes.

I collected my dad from the foyer and we walked the 8-9 blocks to Victoria Station to pick up our rental car. After retrieving our bags from the hotel, we got on the road around 2 to head to Glasgow. I don't think either of us really realized that it was fully an 8 hour drive to Glasgow. But damn. I don't know if you've ever had to drive on the left hand side of the street. But damn. Again. By the time we arrived in Glasgow, in the dark, in the rain, I was DONE. My brain had had it. I was tired of the mini-cardiac arrests I would have everytime I saw headlights that I thought were coming directly at me. Jesus. Not the easiest time in the world. And, by the time we arrived and had checked in, it was after 10. Nothing in the UK serves real food after 10 pm. So we had a few beers, grabbed sandwiches from the Sainsbury's down the street, and went to bed.

This morning, we woke up pretty early and headed out for a solid day of tourism. There were a few castles I wanted to see but failed miserably at planning (one of which was attached to a golf

course and I almost wrecked us attempting to reach it - no seriously - and the other one was closed for the winter). We decided to just drive around Edinburgh and then on the banks of the Firth of Forth for a bit, just to see what happened. As a result, we found some of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Firstly, we ran into Direlton Castle: a ruin built first in the 11th century and expanded in the 13th and 15th centuries that still stands today. We probably spent an hour wandering the ruins and marveling at the fact this 800 year old structure is still as strong as it has ever been. The amount of work that went into this thing is insane. And the amount of history that is held in its walls is captivating, really. We walked all over the property, as we were the only two people there; it was eerily quiet. I haven't experienced anything quite like that before.

We soon left that castle and headed towards a large volcanic mound called the North Berwick Law, a pile of volcanic rock that stretches 616 feet (I learned at the summit) into the air to absolutely dominate the landscape. We decided to take a "quick jaunt" up the side of the is little molehill. What we came to realize is that nothing in Scotland is forgiving. The wind at the

summit was undoubtedly between 80-90 miles an hour. I could almost lean my entire weight into the wind and not fall forward. The terrain and ground were punishingly steep and slippery and any misstep caused a small panic attack. But the view from the summit was breathtaking. Views like that one are what make me realize why men fight so valiantly for their country. I had a bit of a moment, up there on that windblasted piece of volcanic rock, looking north over the Firth of Forth and over the highlands even further north. Scotland is an amazing, beautiful, sinister, harsh, bitter, and loving country. I would love to be able to spend more time here.

We wound our way down slowly, and started driving again. Not more than 10 minutes later, we stumbled upon another castle; built right up against the cliffs facing the Firth and amazingly well-preserved, despite having been uninhabitable for

500 years. This place, called Tantallon Castle, belonged to the Anguses, the earls of Buchanan, a very powerful Scottish family that rose to power after the war for independence. You know, the one from Braveheart. Yeah, that one. This castle stood steadfast for 300 years (longer than the US has been a country) before finally falling the Oliver Cromwell's army in 1651. The preservation of this building is extremely impressive. It's almost overwhelming. The building itself is almost 5 stories tall, and in its heyday was 6 stories. That main door, at the base, is 8 feet high, just to give you some perspective. And inside, past where the porticullis was raised and lowered, it's now open to the sky. It's incredible. I've never seen anything quite so impressive in my life. OSHA would not have approved, for sure.

We left those sites behind and headed south towards the borders region; we were looking for Bemerside, our ancestral family home. It was about a 45 minute drive with a brief stop for food, but when we got to Bemersyde, all we found was tiny town and a statue to William Wallace. I don't mean to make the Wallace statue sound like less than it is, the thing was probably 22 feet tall. If not more. But it wasn't what I wanted to find. I was looking for my family's home. "Tyde what may, whate'er betyde, Haig shall be Haig of Bemersyde", a verse penned by Thomas the Rhymer in the 13th century. When we finally realized that the family home was the home we had seen within the wall with the "Private Property" sign on the front, I was a bit nervous that we weren't going to get any closer. Dad was pretty convinced that all we had to do was knock on the groundskeepers door however. I let him take point on this one. The man that opened the door to us was named James and had been working on the property for 12 years. He said that "His Lordship" the 3rd Earl had died 3 years past and "nobody knows" who the next Earl should be. As a result, the building proper was empty and we couldn't go in, which was a shame. But the chance to stand there, in front of the oldest recorded part of my family's history was mindblowing. I got to touch the 800-year-old Spanish chestnut tree in the front garden, complete with an iron loop which was used to hang "undesired guests". I didn't know how to react. I have spoken to friends and with family often of wanting to rediscover my family's stomping grounds, and here they were, in front of me.

It was getting very dark by this point, and we had a bit of a drive back to the hotel in Glasgow, so we thanked the caretaker, bought a few prints of the building, and headed back north and then west. All in all, I would have to say that today was my favorite day so far. So much of history - my family's and my country's - came alive today. And for all for all of it, I am extremely grateful.

It's all a bit posh.

It was pointed out to me that I had not indicated who the "we" of my previous blogs might be. To clear up any confusion, the whole reason I had been in Guildford to start with was to visit a fellow horn-player who is in her final year of her Masters program at the University of Surrey. She is the other member of the "we" to which I referred in earlier entries. Hopefully that answers the question that only one person asked.

So this was a long day. I woke up this morning in Guildford at about 5:15am, showered, shaved, and put on my nice pretty suit. The train I had booked was scheduled to depart Guildford at 6:13am, arriving at Reading at 7:09am, to get me to Manchester by 10:49. The usually-reliable British rail system failed today. In a big way. So as I'm standing outside in the FREEZING cold at the Guildford train station, the clock ticks to 6:13. And then 6:14. And then 6:15. And then the scheduled departure for Reading disappears off the screen altogether. Not a good feeling. I was already tired, and cold, and hungry, and realizing that I really should used the bathroom before I left the house. Nevertheless, I didn't dare leave the platform in case a train destined for Reading would show up on the platform. ... It didn't. Not for another 30 bitterly cold minutes. And nature's call was only getting stronger, especially in the cold.

When the train finally arrived at 6:43, and I found a seat with my massive suitcase between my knees, I realized that the train I was on was not heated. It got progressively less freezing as more humans got on, but I could still see my breath most of the way to Reading, about a 40 minute trip. When the train stopped in Reading, I expected to have to play musical trains the rest of the way to Manchester, just to get there on time. However, to my (and my cold, cold bladder's) chagrin, I discovered that the train I had been scheduled to be on was ALSO delayed. 53 minutes. Which meant more time standing shivering in the cold. I again didn't dare leave the platform in case the train show up, load up, and take off without me. (I will say that even when tardy, the British rail system is almost excessively efficient.) My 7:09 departure for Manchester became a 8:05 departure.

I found a seat on the train and sat there attempting to warm myself and locate a restroom. Maybe I could have been more proactive in this, but there just didn't seem to be on in car or in either of the adjacent cars. Again, being new, I may have missed it. However, I sat back down attempting to distract myself from thoughts of the massive bodies of water that surround the island on which I was currently traveling and waited.

A voice came over the loudspeaker, through the fog of my daydreaming while staring out the window at the ubiquitous fields and farmyards, stating that this train would no longer be traveling to Manchester due to the delay(I don't know how that makes sense) and would be stopping at Birmingham New St. Which would necessarily only exacerbate my delay. Which is the logical choice, for a rail system. Nevertheless, I was only slightly relieved to know that maybe I could slightly relieve myself. At the station, I hopped off and ran up the stairs looking for a restroom. There was one, and cost 30p to use. I had stupidly left what little change I had left at my friends house in Guildford so I was dry. Well, my pockets were. And then it was announced that the train that would take me to Manchester would be arriving soon.

Again, the terror of being left behind the train overtook my need to "go" and I headed back down the escalator to the platform. The expected of arrival of the train was 9:57. And then 10:00. And then 10:02. And then 10:04. I was struggling valiantly to a) not shiver and b) not squirm like a 4-year-old who's realizing that he really can't just use his diaper. And also trying to maintain a good, focused, open mind and attitude about the interview I was about to do. When the train arrived, I found a car with a luggage rack (as I had been lugging my huge suitcase all day - thank you to whoever it was that told me to invest in a good suitcase) and realized, to my delight, that it had a bathroom in the car! The characteristically grey sky parted and choirs of angels descended into that oddly-shaped, molded plastic room that reeked of the sickly sweet smell of air freshener. It was delicious.

It was only after this point that I really realized that I hadn't eaten. However, since I had lost well over an hour's time and couldn't spare the minutes I would need to eat something, once the train finally arrived in Manchester (at 11:40, after a 5+-hour ordeal), I half-walked, half-ran the few blocks to the school. I wish I could say that I got any sort of feel for the city of Manchester, but I can't say I did. I saw the blocks that surround the train station and the school, but for about .7 seconds each.

When I arrived at the school, I was met by an admission officer who led me roughly 4 bazillion stairs to the "Composition Suite" where there was a practice room with a (well-tuned) piano (hurrayyy!!) and a chair and a table. She handed me three score excerpts - one from Vaughan Williams Mass in g minor, one excerpt from The Rite of Spring, and one strange French piano thing that I didn't get at all - and also a 5 bar melody to harmonize. I had 30 minutes startinnnggggg, now. I took about 10 minutes working out a pretty standard but technically correct harmonization and then spent 20 minutes poring over the scores. I was to focus on one and be prepared to discuss essentially everything about it. The Vaughan Williams is a piece with which I am least moderately familiar, so I chose to focus on that.

The interview last about 40 minutes and was almost identical to the one I had done for the Royal Academy, excepting the fact that this time, the only faculty member there was the Head of Composition, Adam Gorb. Interestingly, when I had initially intended to get out of the Marines in 2007, I exchanged emails with him about RNCM and it's staff and program. It is just strange to realize that this is a path I started really walking down 5 years ago. And it's just now coming to fruition. He was just as friendly, helpful, and accepting now as he was then. The other difference between this interview and the one with the Royal Academy is that he actually gave me some good advice on what to do with some of my scores. It was terrific to hear his opinion and to hear some concrete feedback about what I've done. He wrapped everything up by standing up, shaking my hand and saying, "I can definitely say that we will be offering you a place here in our school. Congratulations."

I have never felt like that before. I didn't know what to do, or how to respond. I had gotten a response from the Royal Academy as well, but it was in letter form and there are more steps I have to take before I can officially accept their offer. This one was in black and white: I'm in. I traveled on my own to another country on the other side of the world and have been accepted to a prestigious university. My dad would always tell me to "finish up strong." It's a saying that echoes in my head. And I think, from this point, that I've done that.

I found my way back to the Manchester train station, finally got myself something to eat, and slumped into a chair on the Virgin train to London. As I was scarfing down my sandwich and wondering why I was so GD hungry, I realized that in the shuffle, I had forgotten to eat. Me, the guy who literally eats EVERYTHING. All the time. I guess I was nervous. Weird. The train ride back to London was much less of a challenge and I think I slept most of the way. Traveler's note: use Virgin train lines whenever possible. They are, how do you say, the shit. The cab driver that took me to the hotel was terrific and talked my ear off about ye olde city.

I'm now checked into the Millenium Hotel which is HOLY CRAP nice (they have a heated towel bar - which is something for which I've never thought to check before, ouch). So now, while I wait for my Dad's flight to land and for him to get here, I'm going to go eat and find a pint. Or two. Because, weirdly, I'm starving.

Tourism.

So today was kind of awesome. We got in last night at... a perfectly responsible time, obviously. And woke up bright and early ready to go. Since we didn't get in at 3 am half drunkenly. Right. So we spent so much time cleaning and... meditating... and researching... things that suddenly it was 10:30am and realized that our attention had been so wrapped up in being adult and responsible that we hadn't eaten breakfast yet. So we did. Yayyyy the three 'Murican's made pancakes. Sierra had some good ol' Vermont maple syrup so it was like being back home. Sort of. Only better cause it's England. Anyway, that was the last American thing I have done all day.

We dropped the third of our posse at the train station and then decided to walk around Guildford. This. Place. Is. Amazing. The first place we stopped was Guildford Castle, built in 1066(-ish) and used as a Royal Palace in about 1272. Pretty big deal. And pretty awesome. We poked around the High Street area and down by the River Wey where there was what seemed to be some kind of kayak race going on. And right down next to the river was a little grouping of bronze statues of Alice and her sister reading beneath a willow tree, with a rabbit jumping into a hole. All very cute and quaint. We also walked by the house where Lewis Carroll died and through the graveyard of a church built in 1170. No big deal. Just some seriously important parts of world culture and history.

Anyway, after all this we hopped into the car and onto the "Dual Carriageway". The vistas are just stunning. Rolling hills and livestock and green things and fences and old houses. It is exactly what I imagined it would be. In so many ways. We took the A3 south to Portsmouth and Southsea, merely intending to look at the English Channel so I could stick my hand in the western shore of the Atlantic. What I found there, however was so much more. The memorial placed by the British in memory of Lord Admiral Nelson's last shove-off Sept 15, 1905 before he died at the Battle of Trafalgar Oct 21 of that year. And the memorial to the sailors of the line that have died and, to quote the memorial, "have no other grave but the sea". And the Southsea Castle which was built in 1544 by Henry the VII. Well, not BY him. HE didn't lift a finger. He ordered it built. There are castles absolutely everywhere. Castles and cathedrals. They really are up to here with *bleeping* castles. They've all got a castle each.

We wandered around Southsea for a while - it was freezing and the wind was pretty stiff - and found our way to a terrific little fish and chips place. And it really is way better here. Especially when you wrap them in paper. Lunch/dinner in hand, we drove around again until we found this terrific old cathedral (another one) built originally in the 11th century and rebuilt in 1880 with a wooden vaulted roof and a gorgeous altar. The Parish Church of St. Mary Portsea, it's called. Beautiful.

At about that point, I think my jet lag started to really catch up. So we headed back to Guildford. I am now back near the University of Surrey at a friends house completely exhausted.I have to finish pressing my suit for my INTERVIEW IN MANCHESTER TOMORROW. ZOMG. ..... K I'm back. Sorry. Hopefully tomorrow's adventure to Manchester and back to London proves as exciting and eventful as this weekend has been.

It's...tomorrow?

Ok, so I'm not really sure still if this is Day#2 or Day#3, technically, but here goes.

My flight was terrific. I essentially won the lottery. I. Had. An Empty. Seat. For the win. So as a result, I passed the hell out most of the way there. When we arrived in London, we were asked to wait in a holding pattern above the airport for probably 15 minutes. I was about ready to jump out of my skin. I could see England spread out below me but just couldn't get to it. Frustrating.

We landed (in a bit of a strong crosswind so that was ... exciting) and there was an announcement over the PA system on the plane that Heathrow was experiencing staffing issues so the customs process might take "significantly longer" than usual. I groaned. We touched down a little after 9:15 and I was out of the airport and on the bus in an hour and a half. So, that was a success.

I need to say (as I've said probably every 15 minutes since I've been here) this place is ADORABLE. Seriously. The bus pulled out of Heathrow and immediately on the other side was a green field dotted with sheep and an old rusted out barn. I laughed. Out loud. Seriously, England, shut up. I guess this is technically from yesterday, now that I think about it, cause that was the beginning of one extremely long day.

My bus and train trip to Guildford was extremely easy. I walked into the Woking railair station at 10:39 and was on a train(which had arrived a full minute early) and leaving at 10:42 headed to Guildford. Needless to say, when I arrived in Guildford, neither I nor my host had expected me to arrive for another hour or so. So that was good.

I spent the afternoon yesterday walking around Guildford with friends, eating, and realizing that there are other people in the world that are as dorky and insane as I. There are even other composers. Guildford is a quaint little town built around a little church and a little grammar school that has expanded immensely with the arrival of the University and the building of the cathedral. But it still maintains it's "quaintness". Everything is that dark green that happens when the soil underneath is black. It's exactly what I wanted England to be.

Last night, my friend Sierra conducted the University of Surrey Symphony Orchestra in Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet and then her lecturer for her Master's conducted Carmina Burana. I had a bit of a moment. Here I am in England. Listening to an orchestra play music that I love. IN a cathedral. How does this happen?

After the concert we just went to the pub. And that's it. Guinness is delicious here. Women still dress like they want to be on Jersey shore. Guys where sequins and poof up their hair. I guess, now that I think about it, that one of the bars I went to reminded me very much of the bar to which I went in Seaside Heights, NJ. Interesting. In the last day I have already met some terrifically talented and wonderful people and experienced a lot of what an English music student's life is like. And I'm in.

Also, I'm old.

It's happening.

I'm sitting in the British Airways terminal at BWI. There are very few people in this terminal, as I think this is the only BA flight leaving from here tonight. BUT HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO ENGLAND!! Did I mention that? England? Wow. How did I get to this place in life? I really am amazed, looking back, at how I got to be where I am right now. And I'd like to thank the Academy. But anyway, here's a brief glimpse at my itinerary:

I land tomorrow morning at 3:15am EST (9:15am GMT) at Heathrow, and will, after customs and all that, immediately hop on a train to Guildford and the University of Surrey, for my friend Sierra's concert. I'll be in Guildford Saturday and Sunday, tooling around and undoubtedly drinking too much beer.

Monday morning, I board a train to Manchester around 5 am GMT (11pm EST *gross*) and will head up to my noon interview at the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester. I'll then promptly hop BACK on a train and head back to London to check into my hotel and meet up with my dad who will arrive at Heathrow at about 9pm GMT.

I have another interview on Tuesday with the Royal College of Music in London, after which dad and I will take the train to Glasgow for the night Tuesday and all day Wednesday, until my 11:10 interview at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland on Thursday morning. Dad will have to head home during the day on Thursday so I'll head back to London on my own Thursday night.

Friday, I have my academic diagnostic with the Royal Academy in London. There's also a workshop they've invited me to attend and I will have to meet with the head of composition as well as some of the other teachers (to include the composer Simon Bainbridge). That's one of the things to which I am most looking forward.

Saturday and Sunday, I will most likely spend drinking beer and watching the 6 Nations rugby matches. I really have no idea what else I would want to do. Not a joke.

I leave on Monday. And there it is. My week. I cannot begin to express how excited I am at this whole thing. So much of my life I have spent daydreaming about England and Scotland and what it would be like. After this week, I will know. Sort of. I'll have an idea, anyway.

The last few months (since I last posted) have been some of the busiest and most gratifying of my life. I have really taken to writing again and spend time every single day putting notes on a page. The habits I've formed have really begun to shape and sharpen my music, I think. A few weeks ago, I put the finishing touches on the 6 and a half minutes of music the Quantico Marine Corps Band will be performing at the Virginia International Tattoo this year. It's been really an honor and a majorly stressful burden to take that project on and is definitely the biggest thing I've ever done. It's for full band with a pit and a synth as well as a full chorus: the Virginia Symphony Chorus has agreed to perform the music I provide for them. It's slightly overwhelming and humbling. I don't know that I'm really ready for all that. But I can hope that I've done the work and it will pay off in a big way.

They seem to have called my flight. I think this will be all. I will ATTEMPT (please note that I said attempt) to update once a day while I am in the UK. Please offer up prayers, happy thoughts, mojo, whatever. I am so excited for this.

Brotherhood.

I have spent 7 years in the Marine Corps and learned this: you can have every opportunity to be a part of the group identity, to contribute, to engage, and to grow; and unless you choose to take that step, the group identity will always evade you. I have watched Marines, good men and solidly built moral people, fail and fall by the wayside simply because they could not grasp their need to choose to be a part of the brotherhood we as Marines purport to champion. We consider ourselves a band of brothers, the elite, the few, the proud. You stand on the yellow footprints as shaggy-headed kids and march across the parade deck 3 months later with a haircut and a new suit and can have learned nothing if you never see the necessity to BE a part of the group. To be one of the few. There will never ever be a time where your presence in a group is not your choice, even in bootcamp. Brotherhood isn't thrust upon you.

The only other place where I have seen this decision be made is in relation to religion. If you consider your religious affiliation to be much like your political affiliation, then by all means, put your check in the box and go home to drink your beer. However, if you intend to live out whatever creed to which you adhere, it is required of you that you choose to be a member. You can bring your 10% check to church every week, and you can sing the hymns, and you can send your kid to the Sunday School program and still choose to remain apart. The decision wherein you place yourself as a part of the union of souls within that space is what makes you a member. Religion itself has very little to do with the actual content of the message. If you consider everything that is taught in religious textbooks (with a few notable and pretty self-explanatory exclusions), any decision making process can be made easier by simply regarding yourself as part of the brotherhood. If you place yourself within the group and reconsider your impending decisions, the right answer becomes abundantly clear. In any situation.

There is a bible verse I have read that, paraphrased, says when a few people are gathered together in the name of and for the purpose of praising God, God himself will be there among them. This is not to say that all you have to do is show up. Naturally, since God can't help but love his creations he will meet you more than halfway. But consider this. Spirituality itself is created simply by the existence of a common goal. If a member of your group has held himself apart from the group, the effect is felt as a detractor in an almost palpable way. If all it takes is to just insist that you are present, that your mind and heart are engaged, why NOT claim your place in the brotherhood?

Nobody can force you to be a contribution. It's just not possible. Contributing your life and experience is a choice. And it's a conscious choice. Nothing about being a member of the group is intuitive or understood or implied. It is so simple to stand apart and judge people based on issues that really have very little bearing on the actual beating heart of that group, their collective consciousness. It is so much more important to be of one mind with other people, because when that happens, something amazing takes place. And unless you've surrendered how "cool" you think you are to be a part of it, you can never and will never understand what it really means to be a part of a real brotherhood. And a brotherhood like that realizes and recognizes the value of each person, of each part, and of each individuals value in that group. But when you join hands with the people who have committed to growth together and to growth individually and equally, your contribution towards both of those ends becomes ultimately more clear and more potent.

It's Christmas day. Merry Christmas. I ask you that this time, don't just sit with your family and plug into your phone. Be a part of it. Give up trying to be whatever it is you are trying to be, and instead appreciate your family for who they are. You don't have to be religious to understand that something happens in that moment that transcends just the normal experience. Brotherhood isn't about being together. It's about being. Together.