Emotional Journey

 

Hello all.  I must say that I am feeling rather emotional.  It's all to do with the first week of work for Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way.  

On Monday, I shared how I'd been running from kitchen to music room, thinking about the two posts I was writing that day (one is now published) and how happy and vital I felt.  Well.  Here I am thinking that Cameron's study will help me gain perspective about the creative side of myself (writing, art) and instead what I ended up with was this feeling of intense irritability.  I tried to analyze it and sort it out but all I felt was uneasy, fidgety and frustrated.  From happy to frustration didn't feel quite right to me.  Why was it so?

I took the opportunity of Caleb's need to work on homework sheets as my opportunity to do the writing exercise that morning.  Silly me, I had completely forgotten how very distracting a 5-year-old doing homework under my supervision can be.  Henry was fussy.  John called.  Finally, somewhere around lunchtime, I was able to get a few moments distracted only by the kitten using me as a boulder in her zoom zoom path as she attacked the older cat.  The writing overall was centered on the singing I'd done the day before.

I should have had a sense of accomplishment, but I had that same feeling I'd had on Monday: frustrated, dissatisfied, unhappy.  

On the way over yesterday and on the way back home, I worked on the song I'd started working with John on the day before.  I sang it over and over again, being careful to recall how the chords went.  Then I tackled another song, one I hadn't sung in years, one John had wanted me to try the day before, one I'd introduced to the worship team at a former church.

After supper yesterday, I sat down with the books I'm reading, my notebook where I am keeping notes and worked on an exercise for the same course.  While I thought I'd write about people who'd encouraged (or discouraged) me in writing, I suddenly had this recall of a person who had really impacted me musically.  A former leader who, when I'd say, "I can't hear..." would loudly accuse me of wanting the microphone turned up so that all the attention was focused upon myself.  Never mind that every single band member said they couldn't hear.  Eventually he began to criticize how I sang.  "Are you going to hit that note?"  "Did you mean to sound like that?"  "You sure you want to do that part that way?"

I lost confidence in myself.  And when we left that church and John became a worship leader for the synagogue, I flat refused to be part of his team.  I was convinced I'd spoil the whole thing for him.  I have not sung in years...Not publicly and seldom in private if anyone was near enough to hear me.

Today I sat down to do my morning pages and singing came up again.  As I wrote, I recalled that as critical as my mom was of me, she'd once asked me sincerely, without any sarcasm or meanness, "Haven't you ever thought about being a singer?"  My goodness, do you know what a high compliment that was from her?

All of my childhood, I sang.  All of the time.  One of my most favorite things to do with Granny was to sit down with The Old School Hymnal and sing.  I sang when I played piano.  I sang when I listened to the radio. I sang all of the time. (And here I think of Isaac who always has a song to sing...).

On Saturday evenings, Mama loved to listen to The Lawrence Welk show.  I learned so many songs and eventually I sang along with the program.  Granny bought me a songbook of old standards, and I learned to play them (badly) on the piano, but I made up in singing what I lacked in piano skills.  Daddy got me a stereo and I'd sing along to records or the radio.

When I married and had my babies, I sang to each of them, all of the time, but mostly especially when they were being put down for a nap or at night.  I rocked and sang and sang and rocked.

Later, when the children were older, I made friends with a girl in town who had children the age of mine.  I'd spend afternoons sitting on her porch swing and we would talk.  And sing. The two of us would sing nearly as much as talked. 

Because of her encouragement, I started to sing publicly.  I participated in community cantatas, and I had a solo performance in all.  I didn't have a solo in only one cantata I performed in.  I got in the college production because two of my work acquaintances were alumnus who performed there.  They had heard me sing and asked me to audition... and I passed the audition.  I also became a member of a gospel group that traveled and performed in small churches and at small town events.  I sang and sang.

Singing with this worship team had been wonderful to be included in.  Singing made me happy, until I began to doubt myself...And when we left, I left singing behind.

One voice had shut me down after years of criticism under his leadership.

I sat there and cried upon that piece of paper.  To not sing for over 20 years because of one person, one person who had a very limited amount of time in my life overall but who I allowed to carry the power to shut me up ...WHY?  Why had I let his criticism take away the joy I felt in singing?  Why had I given it up as if his was the only opinion that mattered?  Was it because he was so relentless in singling me out?  I will own my own lack of self-confidence and my overwhelming anxiety at times.  Of all the things I did in life, I knew I could sing.  

John had been in the music room while I was busy writing.  He came out and asked, "What's wrong?"  "I miss singing...I really miss singing."  "Well, it's about time!"   Of course, we had a longer, deeper conversation about it all and for his own part, John is very happy that I plan to at least participate in singing here at home.  

Oddly enough, after 20 years of not singing, I'm as rusty at singing as I am at playing the piano.  Mind you, I was never that good at the piano, but I was passable for my own pleasure...And speaking of things I've given up, I haven't played the piano in ages, as in years...even though John has kept a keyboard in the house hoping I would play once more.  Maybe it's time I took that up once more...

I've given up too much over the years.  

Little did I know that this summer was going to turn into such a journey of getting back to me, the real and authentic me, I was once upon a time.  The gypsy, the swimmer, the singer, the (very) amateur pianist...What on earth will I uncover next?

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