So many tabs… so little time. That’s what my computer browser window looks like. Picture the virtual equivalent of a very messy desk. I have a tendency to keep things open far longer than I need to, often to the point where I can’t even see what’s up there. And even when I try to do a clean sweep, (which I do attempt every few days) usually half the tabs stay open. There’s my theasaurus, my yoga site, my calendar, text message tab, email, weather–things I do use nearly every day. But also there’s articles I plan to read, actions I’m planning to do and/or publicize, shared docs I’m in the middle of working on, organizations I might donate to, events I might attend–a whole slew of things that sometimes stick around for months.
Like the weekend-long singing workshop I hemmed and hawed over since I found out about it in August.
Yes, I should go, I kept telling myself. But I hadn’t done any serious choral singing since my bout with dysphonia a few years ago. And even though I’d recovered most of my singing ability after a year of voice lessons, I still didn’t trust myself to be able to sustain my part in a chorus, or to be able to sing consistently for more than a few minutes.
What if I just start croaking and can’t sing at all? What if I don’t like it? What if my raspy voice brings everyone down? How am I going to be able to sing for a whole weekend when sometimes I can’t even sing for twenty minutes? The questions streamed through my mind.
Still, I didn’t delete the tab. Even after conflicting events would have provided an easy excuse not to go. It was No Kings Day on Saturday. And on Sunday our immigration justice affinity group had been invited to do our short street theater style performance amplifying stories about people in Massachusetts who had been been abducted by ICE as part of a local church service. I just kept being non-committal about all of these options until a few days before the workshop, when I signed up. Just so I wouldn’t talk myself out of it.
Long story short: The workshop was fantastic.
On Friday evening and all day Saturday we learned nine songs. In five different languages. On Sunday we performed them.
Were they perfect? Of course not. But one of the workshop leaders said, Don’t think of any concert as a performance; think of it as a party.
Photo: Shel Horowitz
And while perfection is always an illusion even when there’s way more time to polish, according to my partner and other acquaintances in the audience–as well as my own discerning ears–the songs we performed were totally pleasing to listen to.
And I was happily surprised how well my voice, buoyed by a large thermos of tea, held up. Even more fun was the challenge of learning parts quickly and the novelty of singing tenor instead of alto for many of the selections. And wonderful to be in a group of strong singers who were absolutely chill about the experience. And with encouraging leaders who said things like, don’t worry if you can’t reach that note, just mouth it and trust that your neighbor can do it.
I’ve been telling myself for over a year that I want to go “chorus shopping” but I’ll admit I’m picky about singing experiences. Choruses where parts are too easy or where everyone sings in unison tend to bore me after a while, especially when everything is pitched way higher than is comfortable for my new older-age voice. And I’m also realistic about recognizing my singing limitations, so I’ve shied away from harder and more demanding choruses. But this experience was perfect in every way.
I’m so glad I went for it.
Of course, one never knows. It could have turned out not to be as good as it was. I could have hated all the songs, or felt out of my league, or bored, or my voice could have tanked on the first night. So the experience brings up the question in all of us of when we might or might not choose to take a plunge into an unknown outcome. While there’s no clear set of variables to make a decision, I’m thinking about applying what I’ll call a “joy ratio.” If this does turn out the way I want, how much joy will it bring me? I can ask myself. And if the answer is a large amount of joy–I literally felt clouds of stress lifting off me, and (key litmus test) I stopped thinking about all the other things I had to do, then risking the outcome is absolutely worth it.
So, (in the words of Arlo) if you find yourself in a similar situation, you also might want to consider the joy ratio. And if it looks to be large, then take the plunge and go for it.
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