Once upon a time there was a little toehead who loved to sing. She would dance around the house singing opera at the top of her lungs, and force those around to listen. The little girl would demand an answer to the question, "Do I sound good?" This little girl's mother believed in frankness and truth, so the mother would always reply, in fairness, with "No." She was probably hoping the little girl would give up if she were honest. One's ears can only stand so much opera, after all. Especially the 10 year old version.
Even those of you lacking an imagination have probably guessed that I was the little girl. Strange music tastes aside, I have never been a good singer. People have always said that voice lessons really helped the music impaired. I never believed it would help me. Seriously, an entire life of being embarrassed to sing in front of people (after I outgrew my opera voyeurism, anyway) is not something a few voice lessons could erase.
I remember singing my heart out in church once as a tween when a friend (who was in her school's choir) turned to me and said, "Wow. You're a really bad singer!" In fairness to her, she did try to coach me a bit before giving me up as a lost cause. Something about singing through my nose. I have since learned to sing softly to myself.
Groupon undid all of this societal suppression of my voice, however, and now you must all live with the consequences. I got 3 voice lessons. My instructor wanted me to open my mouth more and to sing more loudly. I usually leave the lessons singing at the top of my voice in my car on the drive home. In class, however, I was afraid to peep. You know how little girls giggle when they're embarrassed? I did that in class. Whenever I messed up, the embarrassment got worse, and then so did my performance. Vicious cycles.
My poor, exasperated instructor finally made me sing in front of a mirror to see how I wasn't opening my mouth. I hate my mouth. Why would I want to show it off to someone? Coffee on the way to lessons was a bad idea. Nonetheless, I persevered through the embarrassment and the bad breath. I swung wildly back and forth between being too petrified to sing and not caring one whit what people thought. The results are humorously (and unsurprisingly) mixed.
Mostly, I think people are happy or at least amused when they see someone bucking societal norms and living fancy free. It's the reason you grin when you catch someone singing in the car, or absentmindedly dancing to some music they're listening to. It's why you are cheered up a bit when you catch some unadulterated, unbridled bit of joy bursting forth. A child's squeal of delight, a gasp, an arms-flung hug. Those moments are powerful, inspiring, and brought on by things that are worthwhile in life - music, art, expression, family, your cat. Erm, maybe not that last one. That might just be me.
The people who weren't so happy were the ones who had to listen to me fumble through for any length of time, repeatedly, day after day. Oh well, I'll get better or they'll learn to "tune" me out. Punny!
In class I was too busy worrying about singing correctly and was being so hard on myself I forgot why you sing - because it's fun!
The point is, go sign up for some lessons you're terrified of. You might just bring someone a bit of joy one day, or at the very least become less worried by what other people think and find some moments of joy for yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment