Sorry folks. This isn't about Kirstie, though I will fulfill my promise soon.
This is about pain--the good, the bad, and the ones we're too young to have.
There was a time in my life where I could go to school at 7:30am, have 45 minutes of gym at some point in my day, then spend three hours at gymnastics practice. And despite injuries and the soreness of building and stretching muscles, I would get up and do it again the next day--six days a week.
I find myself at 27 complaining in my head (& sometimes aloud) about my aches and pains, and the thoughts sound like the words of my parents and *gulp* grandparents.
I decided this year that if I'm going to hurt despite activity or lack thereof, I may as well push myself to do the things I love. So I've tumbled a bit. And I started dancing again. I've taken one or two dance classes a week for about a month now, and something happened this week. I guess you should know that last Friday, I got a yellow lab to the knee at the dog park. This happens sometimes when you aren't paying attention. And it hurts. Anyway, Saturday afternoon, I got to dance class and found out it was Charleston day (aka torque your knees day). An hour and a half later, I left the studio. It was gorgeous outside, and I took a moment to take stock. The sun was shining, the breeze smelled like Spring and city, I was sweaty, and my knee ached. But I smiled. That freshly worked feeling blended with the beautiful moment, and the aches became but a pea under the mattress (I'm no princess). For one of the first times in a while, I was having such a good time, the pain was merely a small pain in the butt.
And so I have resolved to continue with this new attitude: Even if it hurts, I will do the things I love--because it hurts more not to do them.
I will push myself as long as the pleasure outweighs the pain.
There is one exception. If any of you reading this sing, you will understand.
Look, I love text and emotion and the swell of a piano underscoring my voice. But really, I love how it feels to sing. I love the deep breath in, the smoothness of the air passing through my throat, the vibrations, hearing the sound pour out effortlessly. That smooth and beautiful feeling drives me through each moment. I mean, that's why it's so much more than talking can be.
So here I am, struggling. I breath in, something scratchy passes through my throat; there's an extra buzzing I can hear in my ears. It's not me. And the effort. Oh the effort. My mind is occupied with all the tricks I can muster to sound as close to me as possible. And instead of sitting back to enjoy the ride, I am pushing a monster truck through the sand. I am navigating a bumpy road trying to just stay on it. And not crash. And you know, it is exhausting... without endurance.
I know, I know. I've bitched about my voice enough. And I promise, I will go get my face fixed, and I will be able to breath and sing as myself once more. And you won't have to hear about it anymore.
It's just been hard for me to fight through it lately. Because this is my gift. I didn't ever have to practice for 3 hours a day. It's just always been a part of me, probably the most reliable, most comfortable part. And instead of the magic of singing outweighing the difficulties, the difficulties have settled within the heart of the joy--that soaring feeling. All the work is weighing down the play of the music.
I've been trying to figure out why I get so down when I don't meet my own standards, and I finally figured it out. It's not that I'm not singing my best. It's that the act of singing has been full of difficulty and lacking pleasure. Singing doesn't feel good, and that is a gross way to feel about my love.
Singing is something I refuse to happily limp home from.
I refuse to ever lose that incomparable feeling.
So... I will warm up and practice and drink and shut up every day, because I need to take care of myself. And I will sing my heart out this weekend. Because it's for my friend. And singing for him will outweigh the sandpaper. I'm sure it will. And I will keep auditioning. Because I have to. But once this weekend passes, I will do myself the biggest favor and manifest another destiny. I will make the phone calls, and I will place the words "sinus fixing day" in my calendar. And then I will feel like myself again. And then I'll be unstoppable.
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