When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a singer; any kind of singer, I didn't care. By the time I was in high school, I had narrowed it down, and cared rather a lot: I wanted to be an opera singer. I wanted to Sing on stage, sharing my passion with those who came to listen to me. Singing was everything to me: it was how I identified myself, it was what I did, who I was, how I worshipped, why I did anything I did. I'll admit I was a diva, but I honestly thought I had reason to be.
Cut to the beginning of my senior year. I get a call from my long-time voice teacher, the one who could've helped me get where I wanted to go, telling me that she didn't want to be my teacher anymore. I was devastated, and all these years later, I'm still not entirely sure what happened. Thankfully, I was able to find another teacher whom I loved, who really cared about me, and who did wonderful things for my voice. But, when I had been dropped by my other teacher, I wondered if she had dumped me because I wasn't good enough for her to want to help me.
I graduated and went to college, where I declared my major as Vocal Performance. But, I didn't get a scholarship, I didn't get into a choir, and none of the professors knew me. I was invisible. An opera star cannot be invisible to her teachers. I tried to tough it out, but it wasn't going to work: I wasn't a favorite, I wasn't even known, and that was that. I knew then that I was clearly nowhere near as good as I thought I was, and decided to cut my losses. I dropped out of the music program all together. If I couldn't Sing, I didn't want to sing. It was like carving out a piece of my heart. What does a girl do, when her entire identity is stripped away? In my case, she stops singing, and decides to major in English, because she likes to read.
I found a new voice with words, and fell in love with the magic of language. I am grateful that I was able to find something else that I enjoyed and had at least a little aptitude for. Words have treated me well, and made me happy, and given me opportunities that have changed me. They are my new identity, if you will.
Cut to a few weeks ago, when my dear friend Jennifer (she of the lovely doe eyes and beautiful voice), called and asked if I wanted to see a play called "Master Class." Who doesn't love a play? Of course I wanted to go. We got to the playhouse, and I asked Jenn to tell me what the play was about. It was "about" Maria Callas, the opera star so world renowned they called her La Divina. The idea of the play is that Maria Callas is teaching a master class, and the audience is meant to feel like her students, in addition to the few "students" she helps on stage.
I was enjoying it, far more than I ever enjoyed any of the real Master Classes I went to; the music was beautiful, and the woman playing Maria Callas was incredible. Then, halfway through the first act, Callas is trying to convince a student to enunciate, and tells her: "Words mean something! Vowels are the sounds our hearts make, and consonants give them their specific meaning, eh?" I couldn't breathe for a second. That one line seemed to embody who I was and who I am and I felt them both, together, in equal measure for the first time. The place where singing used to be in my heart ached, and I wanted to Sing. It was a poignant moment for me, and one of grace, I think.
I have thought about that moment, that line, a lot. My heart is still tender, and while the ambition I had to be on stage is long gone (good thing, as it is years too late), I miss Singing. Words do mean something, and they are powerful. But there are times when words need help. When they need music to help them mean more. Sometimes, words need to be sung. I don't know yet, what to do with that moment. I don't know if I'm allowed to have both, but I find myself humming a lot more...
