Returning to the Voice

I taught myself to sing during my first visit to Europe. I was traveling alone for four months, and not having brought a discman, I began singing to myself as I wandered the cities and countrysides of various countries. I had stopped singing when I was eleven because my voice was one more weapon bullies would wield in their daily torments — it was further proof of how girly and, ultimately, how gay I was.

As a child I had no inhibitions around singing and dancing, and as I walked endless miles in Ireland, London, Scotland, Norway and Prague alone, it was this knowledge coupled with the profound sadness caused by this musical absence that pushed me to find my voice again. I still vividly remember walking along Hyde Park and singing Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides, Now (the orchestral version from 200O, not the original from the album Clouds) and feeling simultaneously thrilled and terrified. Once I made the commitment to myself to find a way back to my voice, I followed the trail everywhere it took me, learning over the next fifteen years more and more about this instrument with which all of us are born. Song is, without doubt, one of the oldest arts, and its presence is universal in all cultures. Song is one of the defining characteristics of what it is to be human, and how we have shared our stories with each other, across generations and centuries. We all have a voice, and the more we spend time using it, the more its capacity grows, offering us the chance to astonish ourselves. Sitting alone in my living room in New Mexico ten years ago, I impressed myself with finally being able to play guitar and sing at the same time. I still had no idea what my vocal register was, but one day, while singing Moon River to the house plants, I had another clue — another avenue I could follow, knowing the door I had just opened would lead me (eventually) to the place I was seeking: being able to sing comfortably and naturally without having to move the capo up and down the guitar’s neck, never sure from day to day where to put my voice.

For five years I had no guitar — my only instrument in that time was my voice, so I used it. I played and practiced and when two years ago I was given a guitar by my brother — a guitar I had given him years before — I was able to jump back in where I had left off. I spent the first months of COVID lockdown relearning chords and getting my fingers nicely calloused, and most days coming away from my practice time feeling accomplished. While I will never record an album or go on tour, I am pleased beyond measure at being able to give myself my own private concerts — to sing and play songs that move me, and more than this, to have this creative gift for myself that I can continue to watch and wonder at as it continues to grow.

There are so many passions and interests that we leave behind for one reason or another. Sometimes we are told we are being frivolous, wasting our time on something that will never bring us fame or fortune, or we tell ourselves we’re not good enough, so why bother? Leaving behind creative pursuits creates an absence, a genuine void nothing else can fill. Living with the void is hard on the soul, rendering all else odious. Returning to ourselves what was abandoned opens us up — brings joy and discovery into our lives and allows us to become a little more whole. There is no need to monetize everything we do — doing what we love simply because we love it is priceless. Joy, inspiration and wonder are more important to our quality of life than winning a Grammy, and to live without them is a source of unrelenting despair.

In singing I have not only reclaimed one of my greatest joys, I have healed deep wounds left by years of homophobia, bigotry, abuse and fear. I have returned to myself more of the spacious, creative, curious soul with which I was born and shown myself I am indeed stronger and braver than I give myself credit for being. Not only do I have the rich reward of doing something that gives my soul wings, I have this journey of self-discovery, and what I have learned by spending so many years moving through the sorrow and fear and doubt to return to my voice. It is by measures such as this that I gauge the success of my life. Am I happy? Am I living beyond fear? Am I doing the things that bring me joy?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.