Anybody who knows me knows I love music. I’m happiest when I’m listening to beautiful music, or sitting at the piano playing what comes into my head, and especially when I’m singing . . .
Lately though, it seems like the limited opportunities I have had to sing aren’t enough. I’m in my element during the Christmas season when I’ve got choir rehearsals every week. But, once January hits and there are no more rehearsals, I find myself fighting a funk.
It’s hard to explain how I feel when I’m singing. The best description I can come up with is that when I’m NOT singing, I feel earthbound, trapped in some way that I can’t quite escape. When I sing, I fly . . . I’m free . . . I soar above all the heartache and hurt and ‘stuff’ of this earthly existence and I become who I am meant to be.
I want that flying, freeing feeling more often. And yet . . . and yet, I’m scared.
All my life, people have told me that I have a gift for music, that I have a pretty singing voice. But, no matter what anyone says, always, always in the back of my mind there’s this nagging voice telling me that they are just being nice, humouring me.
I’m sure you’ve seen the show American Idol. The audition shows are impossible for me to watch. I see those kids who think they’ve got what it takes, but really don’t . . . and I see me . . . I can just see myself walking in to that room and hearing Simon Cowell (ok, so he’s no longer on the show, but you get my point) telling me that I’m awful, horrible and should never sing again.
I’m caught in a catch 22 I think . . . the only time I can’t hear the voice inside my head telling me that I can’t sing is when I’m actually singing . . . but hearing that voice has made it harder for me to actually do the thing that makes me stop hearing it. I’ve already stopped singing solos, which I used to love to do.
I don’t know how to stop hopping around on the ground and allow myself to feel free to fly . . . to become . . .
I wish I did.