Sing your song

Don't worry if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear

Right after I hit publish, I saw this very relevant article!

I think I’ve mentioned that I have joined my church’s choir. This has entailed attending two church services every Sunday and a Wednesday night practice. And it’s totally worth it. I’ve always loved to sing. But as those of you who have seen any of my parodies know, I am merely a decent, but not a great, singer. I can read music OK, but not perfectly. I’m fine for a not-too-professional church choir, especially if you seat me next to more gifted people.

The choir director/organist is an absolute delight and a MAJOR talent. Even this man’s speaking voice sounds like music, and I swear his singing voice has the full range of a piano. After a session with Jonathan and the choir, I feel buoyed and calmed and maybe like the world doesn’t completely suck. That’s the power of music and community. I’m thankful they’ll have me.

Which is why I feel bad about this next story.

After twenty-something years of marriage, I have made my share of mistakes. I have said and done things that have caused my dearest love pain. Like the time I convinced him to shave his head. Or the time I ordered a firetruck bed for our son on Etsy, which arrived with no hardware or instructions from a dude in Georgia who subsequently disappeared from the internet. Or all the times I have told people our disastrous engagement story (but only sorry/not sorry on that because it is a very good story). Or the time I had a meltdown at Atlantis in the Bahamas because there were too many sidewalks (and then nearly got in a fist fight with people who stole our chairs). Or every time I have complained about anything on a vacation he has planned, which is every vacation he has planned.

Or the time I came home with this ridiculous dog.

Or the 500 billion other times I flew off and did something without thinking it all the way through or made promises I never had any hope of keeping. Like the time I got his acquiescence to quit my job based on a claim that I would become a trad wife (fortunately, he never believed that anyway).

But one of the things I most regret, truly, is brutally informing my husband that he can’t sing. Which he can’t. Like, at all.

Kevin loves music, especially classic rock. The most animated he ever gets is discussing the greatness of the Allman Brothers Band and defending Duane Allman as the greatest guitarist of all time. I’m surprised I ever heard from him again after confessing I had no idea who they were (and also that I loved Sarah McLachlan). I made up for this horrific crime by reading an entire Allman Brothers biography with him and eventually walking down the aisle to “Blue Sky.”

I also planned a birthday trip for him to the ABB’s home of Macon, GA. Here’s Kevin standing in front of Duane’s grave.

In our early days, Kevin would often bemoan not going into music. He could have been in a rock band, he would say, but he just missed the boat. And at that time, I thought he was just adorable. I had no intention of informing him that he could not hit a note intentionally if his life depended on it and his chances of being a rock star were on par with mine as a person useful in a crisis. I saw no reason to break this tragic news.

But as the years passed and he continued to lament his missed destiny as a rock star—along with his failure to buy a condo before the DC housing boom, not dating more in high school and college (I personally do not regret this for him at all), not wearing more sunscreen, and getting a perm in high school—it began to grate on me.

Because here’s the thing—Kevin is one of those ridiculously perfect people. He’s tall, he’s good looking, he’s smart, he’s successful, he’s funny, he’s athletic, he’s lovely. He’s good with people, dogs, money, Boomer parents of all kinds (his own, mine, others’), and neurotic wives. He went to the best schools and doesn’t ever gain weight and eats kale and drinks very little. He’s thoughtful and self-controlled and almost never says the wrong thing or flies off the handle or does something stupid or embarrassing.

I went from sighing googly-eyed that He is practically perfect in every way to muttering under my breath rolling-eyed that HE IS PRACTICALLY PERFECT IN EVERY WAY.

Because I am…not. And we ALL know that.

But I am better than Kevin at singing. That is the only thing I am better than Kevin at. But he had no idea. And as time went on, I kind of needed him to know it. And I needed to know that he knew and that we all knew so we could all suck at something together like regular humans.

So one time when he brought up his alternate rock star universe, I decided it was time to level with him.

“You know, and I don’t want to be mean, but…You are 100% tone deaf. Like completely. So tone deaf you don’t know you are tone deaf. There is no way on earth or any other planet that you were ever going to be a musician.”

He looked like I had poisoned his kale and taken away his sunscreen.

He then went into fight or flight mode. He claimed he was not tone deaf. I told him he was. He said no.

I sang some notes and told him to repeat them. He was wildly off. “See?” I said.

“What?” he said. "I sang the notes.”

“You absolutely did not.”

It went on like this for some time, over multiple conversations. Finally, FINALLY, I convinced him that he was completely and utterly tone deaf and he could bury the rock star dream. I won.

But mostly I lost. I stole some of his joy. I still regret it.

He used to sing with abandon with his favorite songs and in church. He made plenty of joyful noises. Now you can barely hear him at all in church, and I can’t remember the last time we sang along to music together on a road trip. He will perform the occasional karaoke song for humorous effect. But I have essentially snuffed out his singing voice.

And for what? My slight annoyance rooted in insecurity?

The moral of this story is Don’t sh*t on other people’s joy, or even just their coping mechanisms. Unless whatever it is they enjoy or believe in is causing actual harm to themselves or others, let them have it.

Especially now. Things are not great out there in the world, I don’t know if you’ve noticed. Even if a particular person isn’t directly affected, they are unavoidably steeping in tension and anxiety. It’s just in the air. And everyone has their ways of managing and approaching it.

Some people need to stay active, to go and do and protest and organize. Some people need to retreat and rest and ponder. Some people need to sing and paint and make videos, and they may not be that good at any of it. Maybe they kind of know that, maybe they don’t. It doesn’t really matter.

This week, someone took offense at one of my #OneThing posts. She said they weren’t “helpful” because they made her feel badly about how she was managing things. I told her that this is how I cope, trying my best to actively engage the situation and create community around that. I have never meant to imply that others should be doing the things I do or going about their lives the way I am mine. In fact, the principles that guide my choices are broad enough to include any number of things, including reaching out to a friend or spending time with family or taking a day of true rest. Nonetheless, I told her if what I am doing is interfering with what she is doing, she should mute or block me. And I meant that. I wish her well, and more importantly, I wish her wellness and peace.

That goes for any of you, too. I’m thankful to have you here for as long as you want to stay. But please know that how I engage the world doesn’t need to be how you do so. Maybe what I’m doing doesn’t make sense for you or doesn’t make sense at all. The song I sing doesn’t have to be the one you choose or sound like how you would sing it. If my voice becomes grating to you, maybe it’s not for your ears. Or maybe it’s challenging you to adjust to a new wavelength. Only you can know.

I do think each of us need to find and use our voices, especially now. And we need to let others have theirs, especially now. We need to worry less about comparisons or performance or embarrassment or fear than we used to. The world needs each of us, just as we are, in whatever form we are able to muster.

Maybe your “joyful noise” is really quite noisy. But if it’s also genuinely joyful, I say let it rip.