In lessons, as we try to become the best singer we can be, we may focus on breathing, on how we are using our lips, jaw, tongue, neck, vocal folds. We listen to the sound critically and judge it less than perfect. The flaws are pointed out to us in order to fix them. We start worrying: about every little sniffle we get, every dairy product we eat, every noisy, smoky or over-air-conditioned room – so many things can affect the optimum condition for singing. We compare ourselves to others: we may notice that some other singers sing with more ease, or more beauty of tone, or more technical proficiency. They may be more charismatic. We bump up against the professional world: we may audition for roles or gigs and be rejected – not good enough! And as we embark on a lifelong journey of discovery of our own true and best voice, we realize how much there is to learn, how much we don’t know. Even with a very supportive, encouraging teacher (and they are not all that way, believe me), we may slowly lose sight of why we wanted to sing in the first place. We may lose confidence and spontaneity.
I didn’t notice that over the years I developed the belief
that any performance I did had to be my absolute best. It’s easy to see how perfectionism could lead
to performance anxiety and sub-optimal results, yet I wasn’t aware of it.
In May of this year, I unexpectedly lost my beloved nephew
at the age of 21. He was an artist in
the truest and highest sense of the word.
After a period of acute grieving and family time, my life had to
resume. Although still grieving this
monstrous loss, I had my teaching commitments.
I also had some upcoming performances.
But my practicing had come to a stop.
And when I haltingly resumed, my time was still split between family
matters and work, and I could not practice as much (or as well) as I normally
would before a show. Suddenly I was struck
by the novel idea that it would be OK, because it had to be OK. I had to trust that all the singing,
studying, practicing and performing I’ve been doing my entire life would carry
me through and that it would be enough.
Not perfect and probably not my best, but … enough. And enough would be good enough. I had to believe I had the right to
sing. I had to trust in myself and the
universe and simply LET GO. I approached
my last-minutes coachings and the performances with this utterly new attitude
and, to my amazement, the performances were some of
the best, freest singing I have ever done.
Something let go and I felt unfettered.
I felt joy. When I told my sister
about this, we agreed that my nephew, her son, was still teaching me something
about being a true artist. What other words can I say? If you are a singer and you have lost your joy, think about how you felt as a child. Remember why you wanted to become a professional singer in the first place. And if you are surrounded by negative feedback, get yourself to a different place – even if that feedback is your own.
