What Gets You Through?

It's been a 12-hour day already: up at 6 a.m., work, go to class, make a brief landing at home to take care of essential chores, and now...rehearsal. I think to myself I must be crazy. A normal person would collapse in front of the TV with a bag of potato chips and a beer. But here I am, off to a 3-hour marathon of rehearsing Broadway hits or chugging through the labyrinthine runs of a Bach cantata. As I wait in line at the corner convenience store to pay for a Starbuck's Doubleshot, I ask that age-old question, why?

Once I'm at my destination and we're in full swing, however, the question becomes irrelevant. No matter how tired, out of sorts or unfocused I was feeling before setting off, I get a second-wind rush. Sometimes it's watered down, but it always comes. That's when I remember This is why we do it. This moment makes all the aggravation of the preceding 14 hours worth it. Sometimes it's a small lift. Sometimes it's a rocket boost. And every so often, the rush of singing together with a crowd of kindred spirits provides the juice needed to get through an entire week, make a significant breakthrough in some other area of life or drop a reminder that life can be much, much more than the daily grind.

People with a passion engage those passions for a number of reasons Sometimes those reasons aren't immediately apparent to us. It may take hindsight to realize that this is the thing we were born to do, and doing it gives us the juice we need to do the mundane stuff like paying bills. It may be because the activity bestows a crowd of ready-made friends or what is sometimes called a fellowship - a group that provides mutual support that extends beyond the rehearsal, meeting or game. It may be a sense of mastery that we don't get at work.

A passion or avocation in any field may even be just a welcome reprieve from certain tedious roles that many of us feel trapped in at times. For two hours of the week, we're not a cog in the company wheel, the always available (and otherwise invisible) friend / family member / volunteer or the bad-cop parent. We're the entertainer, author, artist, citizen scientist, marathon goddess or what-have-you that we've always secretly dreamed of being. It means that in at least one portion of our lives, someone appreciates our showing up, our hard work and our skill, however modest it may be. During stressful times, this is big. It may be the thing that keeps you from quitting your job, bidding your nearest & dearest goodbye and sailing off to Tahiti.

So we keep on keeping on. Even if tonight doesn't bring any revelations or relief, we know that we'll feel better in the morning, that something good will come of this, that no work that we do for love ( the word amateur means someone who does something for the love of it) is ever wasted.

It's not over till the chorus sings.

Out of the Box

It's easy to build boxes around yourself and your singing: I don't like (genre/composer), I'm not a jazz person, I can only sing well when I'm next to Mary, I don't like being pushed, I don't do chest voice, I have to sing the melody because I can't read music...and on and on.

I'd built a box around my allowable experiences. I liked Classical and Early music, most especially Renaissance. Sure, I could do my part in the chorus's "pops" concerts just fine, but I'd convinced myself that it would always be a second-rate experience.

Then, several years ago, I hit a wall. I loved my group but we'd been doing the same repertoire for more than a decade. Certain pieces felt stale. It was proving hard to convince most members to try a more experimental approach to our arrangements. In order to do something about my frustration, I signed up for voice lessons at the best-known local music store-school, and requested a teacher specializing in jazz - something completely new for me.

Int he end I was surprised at the degree to which jazz & pop techniques helped at singing madrigals. My teacher's emphasis on solo work, including her twice-monthly open mic at a coffee shop, made me a stronger singer and forced me to develop stage presence, something not usually required of choral singers. I learned how to shed the Pretty Voice and put on a more earthy style when the material seemed to call for it. Most of all, it opened my mind up to a whole new range of possibilities. These days I find myself singing along with Ella Fitzgerald and Peggy Lee as well as the Boston Camerata.

My Renaissance group has quasi-disbanded and I've joined a large chorus. Currently we're rehearsing for a Broadway-inspired show. It requires a totally different singing style and lets us ham it up. And it's more fun than I would ever have guessed it would be.

If you're feeling bored during rehearsals or it seems like you've hit a glass ceiling - the director always overlooks you when casting small groups or solos; no one seems to notice your extra efforts; you can't advance from the B choir to the A choir - maybe it's time to ask yourself if you've boxed yourself in. The good news is that if the answer's "Yes," you can get yourself out. Find something completely new to you and dive in.