In our progressively interconnected world, migration has become an increasingly global occurrence. People move across borders for a multitude of reasons, such as seeking economic opportunities, escaping conflict or persecution, or to simply build a better life. This exponential increase of migrants across the globe has resulted in countries needing to tackle the complex task of migrant integration—a complicated process which considers economic, cultural, social, and legal measurements. 

We’ve all played it—the waiting game. The one where the toddler asks for a treat and the grown up says wait till after dinner. The one where the ten-year-old can’t wait to stay up past bedtime when no one can say otherwise. The one when you can’t wait to get to the next level of whatever because then you can do this other thing. Oddly enough, the waiting seems like forever in the moment—yet, if you talk to any adult, as they were once that young toddler, it truly seems like five minutes. 

Over the course of this series (seven years and counting at present), we have known we are in shifting times. We have known, too, that there are many ways music offers to navigate changes of all sorts.

I grew up on Long Island, New York. Summer was and is my favourite season. For as long as I can remember, summertime meant my summer camp second home, and the moment I could drive meant any spare time spent at the beach. The ocean and sand are so much a part of me that I moved to live beside them for a decade (and later flipped coasts to relish their brilliance all year long).

What I couldn’t articulate in my early career track as a teacher was that whenever I observed environments where students of color were present, I noticed the ways that implicit bias may have been at play in their learning and school environments. For instance, bias is obvious to me in school hallways in which children are walking single file, with bubbles in their mouths, to prevent them from talking to each other. This ill-advised classroom management strategy asks kids to close their lips and puff their cheeks, as if they are holding a bubble.

Solitude and community are each part of music, the creation of it as well as the listening. This is true of the stories told in song and tune, the ways they are shared, and the connections created among musicians...and between musicians and listeners.

Several pieces of music to help you think about and enjoy these aspects of musical connection:

This summer, my husband and I undertook a move. A relocation from Massachusetts to Arizona has been undertaken by others, no doubt. We decided to make things a little more interesting than a direct route. We headed north. Our circuitous route is winding us through Newfoundland, Portugal, and North Carolina. When one would think to take the southerly route from the Carolina’s to Arizona in the winter months, we will make Bugs Bunny’s famous right turn at Albuquerque to get to Bozeman, Montana. Then, we’ll drive to Arizona.

In the northern hemisphere, it’s officially summer. It’s the season where shoes are optional, schedules flung out the window, and s’mores an everyday occurrence. It includes days of drippy ices, water-logged joy, and vitamin D drenched humans. We adventure easily, leap without question, and reacquaint ourselves with risk. 

A bit of rest, a moment for for reflection: in these shifting times, it can be a challenge to find time—even to remember to take time—for such things amidst shifting times in politics, personal life, world news, climate emergencies, and other ongoing events.

Music works well for this, though. Music can be a gateway and a companion to encourage and allow a bit of rest, a moment to step back, to reset one’s perspective.

Depending on circumstance and your taste in music, a lively tune can be just helpful with this as a reflective song.

This summer, my husband and I undertook a move. A relocation from Massachusetts to Arizona has been undertaken by others, no doubt. We decided to make things a little more interesting than a direct route. We headed north. Our circuitous route is winding us through Newfoundland, Portugal, and North Carolina. When one would think to take the southerly route from the Carolina’s to Arizona in the winter months, we will make Bugs Bunny’s famous right turn at Albuquerque to get to Bozeman, Montana. Then, we’ll drive to Arizona.