Seeing Light
Uncertainty.
As a professional singer and a private voice teacher, I am keenly aware of the effect of stress, anxiety, and uncertainty on the voice.
In my old routine, the details of each day varied from day to day, project to project, but the structure was generally pretty consistent. After a slow wake up (stereotypical night owl musician here), I’d start with my coffee and the administrative duties of my job (emails, invoices, planning meetings etc.). Sometimes this included an all-day grant writing session, agonizing over writing a new bio, or a website building spree. But most of the time after coffee and emails I would get on to some practicing. I wish I could say I practiced two or three hours a day most days a week. And sometimes I did! If I had a project on the go, or just felt inspired to sing this would happen easily. And sometimes instead, I took some time to gather my energy and enter into a new headspace to greet my students for the day. I teach both from a studio (shout out to Purple Door Music!) and from my home, and even pre-COVID, I really enjoyed the change of scenery and routine in my teaching spaces, not to mention the variety of souls I encounter!
Lately, I don’t want to sing. I don’t have any desire to listen to music. I might get lucky and feel inspired to play for fun, for a few minutes. I feel like I am both in mourning for what was and in denial about what will be. In life, and therefore music, limbo. I feel uncertain about how to proceed. In my old routine, the toughest thing I might have encountered was a very complex score. But a lifetime of music lessons, music degrees, and even teaching has prepared me to know how to proceed with certainty, note by note, measure by measure so I’m never feeling lost or unprepared. But right now, my voice is reflecting the feelings in my thoughts and in my heart.
I know as a singer it is part of my job and training to navigate through this. I know how to plan and work through a practice session even when I don’t feel overly motivated. Even as a generally externally motivated person, I can find necessity in practicing repertoire that is good for me (hello Messiah, Mozart concert arias, and contemporary opera!). I know how to use my voice and focus on my technique when my heart hurts. But what about all of those other voices I am also responsible for?
I can see this shared struggle through some of my (now online) students right now, too. For some, the struggle is trying to find time to schedule in lesson times or practice schedules within the new normal of Google classroom sessions or Zoom meetings. For others, it’s finding the energy and inspiration to explore, and be brave (as any fellow singer knows we need to be!). And for some, even logging on to lessons some days is too big a leap. I sense in them, too, the uncertainty of how to proceed in this constantly changing and worrying time.
And I, in turn, feel uncertain that I am doing all I can for my students – not just in facilitating a proper lesson online, that isn’t just a Band-Aid for our usual time together. But also, in providing a rich and positive musical experience, a listening ear, and a support and understanding for those times when practicing was just too much to get to this week, or when logging on for lessons is just too much today.
Community
I know that I am not alone in these feelings.
Part of what I am mourning is being a part of a community who lift each other up in spirit and in musicianship. Singing with Pro Coro is something I’ve known I wanted to do since I was in high school. Growing up in a city with a rich choral tradition, singing with Pro Coro was a goal of mine in my journey for artistic excellence. But it’s also more than that. It’s also a place of shared emotions and experiences: the highs of a strong performance, collaboration and connection in a meaningful workshop, frustration in a difficult rehearsal process, friendship at breaktime, support in each other’s musical or personal progressions.
I also know Pro Coro isn’t the only place that shares this sense of community. I remembered reading an article a few years ago, (I recently re-found the statistic on the Choral Canada website), that significantly more Canadians of all ages sing in choirs than play hockey. There are nearly 30 000 choirs in Canada. That’s a lot of choristers! There’s a good chance that many who are reading this have sung or do sing in a choir.
I know I am not alone in these feelings of uncertainty…and so we need to find the light.
Light.
It is clear that I am struggling to see the light. But throughout my struggles with anxiety and negative thoughts during this time, I keep being proven wrong. Light keeps on trying to shove its way in.
Even amid the uncertainty, my students and I still find the time to schedule lessons (and reschedule when needed), encourage each other to find joy in at least parts of the music making process, and turn the negatives into positives. Not having the ability to accompany my students over online platforms means they are improving their ear training! Glitches in Wifi mean we increase our patience in one another and the process in general, and we share a laugh. We remind each other to take this day by day. We remind ourselves that learning at all times, but especially now, can be a release – something fun! Of course it’s natural that I will be worried about providing for my students, but I can choose to focus on the smiles on my students’ faces at the end of a lesson, our shared joy in reconnecting at the beginning of our lessons, and the fact that some students have signed up for additional lessons because it brings them happiness in this time.
Ever since there was a likelihood of cancelled rehearsals, performances, and services, all the organizations and institutions I am connected with have made a concerted effort to support their musicians. (I’m looking at you Pro Coro, New Music Edmonton, St. Joseph’s Basilica.) Whether it’s been upholding contracts, or highlighting us on social media, or working hard to find new avenues of work, I have been feeling consistently supported by my musical community. In a time that is unsettling for all, I feel valued. It brings me hope for the future – whether it looks the same as the past or not.
After a check-in/online meeting with some of the Pro Coro members the other day, I was doing a lot of reflection about the future and my perspective on it. It occurred to me that while change can certainly bring loss, it can also inspire great growth. We can’t say right now if things will ever go back to the way they once were. I feel comforted in knowing that there are so many others around me who are able to help lead me into a new reality, with so many more opportunities. I have confidence that all of those other choristers out there have a community around them, pushing new boundaries and exploring new opportunities. In the last few weeks, I have seen more virtual choirs, live jams/solo sessions and general music sharing than I ever have before. People are recognizing the need we have for the arts/music. In spite of the state of the world right now, where almost everything is forcing us to not be able to create and share in the ways we did before, it is still happening! And sometimes in even better ways than we did it before. This is what having community is all about. When we are as individuals, we sometimes get stuck holding on to loss. But we can also let our community around us share their light and we can flourish and grow together.
I haven’t fully embraced the light yet and might not for a while. But while I mourn what was, I keep hoping. I keep planning. And I choose to see the light. And just like navigating a complex score, I’ll focus on one day, then the next, just like preparing each measure. And maybe, just like learning my music, I’ll learn how to proceed with certainty.
