My sister found an old CD case of mine. In the very back of it was a recording of the 2006 Dakota Valley Choral Festival, this big district high school choir concert I was in my senior year. I'm listening to it right now and it is making me miss choir SO much. I'm sitting here, mouthing along to the words that I still remember after four years, choking up a bit. I LOVED choir. I loved singing. It was such a big part of my life all through high school. It helped me become more confident, or at least, it taught me how to pretend that I was confident. It taught me that I was allowed to be loud and proud.
I remember the first day of choir, singing this song with a simple melody in a round, and being amazed that I could be a part of something so beautiful. I remember the first time I auditioned for Encore, my high school's musical variety show, my voice shaky and breathy and nearly inaudible and my face pink and hot and tense. I remember the last year I auditioned for Encore, grinning from ear to ear and revelling in the gorgeous (I know that sounds a little conceited, sorry) sound coming out of my mouth. I remember, while practicing for my last voice recital, my voice teacher tearfully commenting on how far I'd come from being the girl terrified of her own voice. I remember thinking that the feeling I got every time I sang was the closest I'd ever get to flying. Each song was like two or three minutes of invincibility.
I was in choir my first year of college, too. I even made it into concert choir, which really didn't mean too much. There are only two choirs at WSU: concert choir and women's chorus. If you're a girl who sings a little above average or a boy who can't sing at all you can make it into concert choir. I was happy that music was still a part of my life, but it was so intimidating singing with all the music majors, people who planned on making a career out of singing. I suck at sight reading music (the director even told me so after my audition, although he phrased it a little more politely), so that combined with my insecurity about singing with real musicians made it feel like I had reverted back to the nervous fourteen-year-old who was too scared to let anyone around her hear her. The director was no help at all. He singled me out more than once for screwing up. He even accused me of not practicing enough, which really pissed me off. I was practicing three times a week, which was a decent amount for a one credit class that had nothing to do with my major. Hell, most of the music majors don't even practice that much. At the end of the year, I was so frustrated and embarrassed that I decided not to continue choir. Even if I had wanted to, I didn't have room for it in my schedule.
Ever since I stopped singing, I've felt like a chunk of my life is gone. I know I'm being dramatic, but really, there is nothing like belting out a song at the top of your lungs if you're stressed. Choir and voice lessons were like therapy. Yes, they both had their frustrating points, and I was often pushed far out of my comfort zone, but they helped shape me into who I am right now. I'm not an incredibly outgoing person, but I know I've come out of my shell, and I know singing was responsible for that. I can sing in the car and the shower all I want, but it's not the same as doing it in front of an audience. I was hardly a diva, but it was a good feeling, showing someone that deep down I am capable of producing something loud and clear and lovely. I loved surprising them.
I could write a hundred more pages about how much I love and miss singing, but all the words in all the languages in the world aren't enough to describe the feeling it gave me, and the feeling its absence gives me now, so I'll just leave it at this one quote by Victor Hugo that sums it up:
"Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and cannot remain silent."
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