During my days of sneaking around here at my apartment, I realized that I haven't sung in a really long time. I play guitar sometimes in my room, but even then, I don't fully sing. I don't even sing in the shower here! I do the quiet, shy singing like I did until I finally discovered in college that I do have a voice that can be loud, and it feels great!
So I've been timidly humming about my apartment. I usually sing a lot in my car, but I've hardly driven anywhere lately; why would I when I can walk everywhere? (That's another concept that I'm still getting used to here!) And there was the solution--walking.
I went to a job interview today, but it was in the afternoon, so I had to take a different bus than in the morning, and this bus didn't go as far as the morning bus, so I had a good trek ahead of me. (The bus schedules are ever-changing and confusing.) I plugged my headphones into my ears and put a catchy playlist on my iPod--there was a lot of Regina Spektor because I get really into her songs.
At first, I was in the bulk of downtown. There were people everywhere, and the nervous part of me said, "What if they hear you and you sound terrible?!" I started timidly humming along. Every once in a while I would throw in some words, but I definitely made sure to hum parts that could be misunderstood to passersby: all the "love"s and "die"s and heavy words that could mean a lot and be a little awkward to hear someone chanting in passing.
I had a fast pace going, stepping with the beat, swaying a little, yet still maintaining my quiet façade. At a street crossing, a man caught up to me; he also had headphones in and was bouncing to his own private beat. Then the words caught up with his music, and he started swinging his arms and loudly rapping along. He looked straight ahead and didn't care that all of these people on the street were looking at him funny; didn't care if he messed up a few words that ran together; didn't care that his volume was awful loud for a streetwalker. Seeing him, I smiled--that's how I want to be.
I decided that it would be easier to do on the walk back because the walk started in a less-populated area before making its way to the heart of downtown. By then, I would be groovin' and too into it to care what people thought...right.
I bopped my head from side-to-side and swung my arms a little, and I let myself get into it. Regina Spektor again, with each line building on the last: "This is how it works: you're young until you're not; you love until you don't; you try until you can't; you laugh until you cry; you cry until you laugh, and everyone must breathe until their dying breath. No this is how it works: you peer inside yourself; you take the things you like and try to love the things you took, then you take that love you made and stick into some-someone else's heart, pumpin' someone else's blood..." It's my favorite part of the song, and I always get into it, so much so that I even sing the "uh oh!"s in the last chorus. How fun!
As much as I would like to say that I maintained my voice well into downtown, I am not as bold as I like to think. I'm nervous, jittery. I care what other people think even if they aren't thinking anything at all! It's selfish, really, but it's something that I'm working on. I can't help but notice the funny glances in my direction though. (Is it so bad to be weird?!) But I always shake and forget what I'm supposed to be doing when I start to perform. That's why singing and walking feels like such a solution--I can turn what I love into a part of me instead of constantly feeling like I have to do it right and impress people. Maybe it's been that way all along, and I'm just now starting to see it through a brighter lens.
However, walking and singing does have its setbacks. For example, the uneven sidewalks of Seattle are not kind. They are not flat or even or without cracks and dips. As I stepped in-time and let my eyes look straight ahead, I failed to see the bursting pavement from tree roots and did a little two-step trip forward before swaying back to catch myself--one of those, no one saw that, right? trips where I didn't quite fall so much as lose balance.
Who can have it all together? I'm not totally composed, but I glad to have rediscovered my voice and to be consciously working on it and to be letting it out. I'm not one who can live happily quietly.
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