There’s a time when you have to make a choice between merely existing and truly living. This year, some of my days at work felt like I was grasping for air, dying a slow death sitting in my beige-colored cubicle also known as the “office.” Maybe I was worn out from adjusting to the fourth supervisor in two years. Maybe it was the twenty pounds I gained around my thighs and butt that cemented the thought that I had to get up and get moving again. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t happy and I had to make a change. It was time for me to rediscover my passion for living.
So, after a couple of life-coach sessions and several private “come to Jesus” meetings, I bucked up the courage to step away from my chair and put my plan in action. One of my interests and hobbies had been lying dormant and losing energy while I settled into the more “stable” profession of social work and public health. Could it be that I would need to revisit the idea of singing again? Yup, not singing in the shower, but singing as a vocation, the profession I’d list on my taxes and pay my bills with. Ten years ago, I walked away from the entertainment world because my analytical, thinking self said it had to be wrong since I was having fun. It had to be wrong since I wasn’t doing what I went to school for. And finally, it had to be wrong, of course, because my parents disagreed and would generally prefer if they could keep tabs on me by knowing I was securely employed.
To be truthful, part of me had Mom and Dad’s concerns too. So just to be sure, I tried to spice things up a bit by taking on new social activities purposely to change my life up. But even after this experiment, I came to the conclusion that what was missing was my voice. Literally. Now, this made me uncomfortable because it had almost been ten years since I been on stage and truthfully, I didn’t know if I could still sing well enough to get a callback, much less book a gig. At least trying would silence the “what ifs” and give me a reality check if I couldn’t hang anymore.
