I have always loved to sing. As a child my imaginative play
always involved singing in one way or another. Whether I was a pirate/singer,
princess/singer, or even a mechanic/singer, the singer part was non-negotiable.
In fact, my mother signed me up for figure skating lessons after I was
mesmerized at Michelle Kwan’s performance in the 1998 Olympics, but even then I
insisted that my figure skating hopes would only be complete if I could skate
to songs I myself had recorded. I wrote my first song in the 3rd grade (in
which basically I just named any major monument I could think of around a
chorus of “around the wooooooorld”); and in the 5th grade my book report on The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E.
Frankweiler was a seven minute musical review. It never crossed my mind that I
would end up doing anything but singing.
Until two years ago.
For me, singing was my freedom, it made me feel strong. It made
me feel powerful. It was the source of my self-confidence and the manifestation
of my best self. Knowing that I could take any piece of music and sing it, high
notes, low notes, whatever, was the ultimate freeing thought. With jazz music,
even just listening to certain riffs could make me feel like I was being
wrapped in silky sheets of sunlight, and conquering a tough phrase filled me
with a giddiness akin to a 6-year-old on Christmas morning. At age 23 I was in
the midst of training with one of the top vocal coaches in the country when I
met my now-husband.
Let me guess what you may be thinking, that this is a story
about how I gave up on my dreams to get married and put myself on the
backburner for my husband’s goals. I have to admit I also had that fear sweep
across my mind once or twice, but each time, I realized the same thing I am
about to explain to you: passions are
not always meant to be permanent.
It is possible that their function, instead of being the
end-all be-all of our lives, is to teach, to uplift, to inspire, and to guide.
When they have taught us all they can, we move on.
As my relationship with my husband progressed, the excitement I
had about singing gradually faded. It was no longer appealing to me to be gone
on tour for three months at a time, nor was it appealing to have to spend my
evenings at gigs or rehearsals. (Notice here that my vernacular changed from
the once hopeful “get” to do these things to “have” to do these things.) My
husband, a mental performance coach, went to great lengths to make sure what I
was feeling wasn’t just burnout, or a case of temporary insanity. I really just
didn’t love it anymore. While I still enjoy listening to soulful blues and jazz
music, it doesn’t fill me with the same power and groove that it used to. And that’s okay with me.
At first this was very scary. Who was I if not a singer? Could
my instincts about myself really have been so wrong as to make me think I was
passionate about something I wasn’t? Had I wasted all of that time and effort
on something that would never come to fruition?
I decided, however, that fear and stubbornness were not good
enough driving factors to continue with something I no longer loved. Letting go
of the identity of singer that I had tied myself to freed me up to explore
other aspects of who I am. I discovered a love for cooking Italian food,
history, languages, and yoga; I am starting a jiu jitsu class within the month,
and I discovered I make a pretty decent wife, which is something I never
imagined would be the case. I feel that I am closer to the version of myself I
am ultimately meant to be than I was two years ago, in large part because I had
the courage to abandon what I had relied on for self-validation and allowed
myself to just be Jamie; not Jamie the aspiring singer, just Jamie. I was lucky enough to have a
support system - my husband - to encourage and console me along my journey of
self-acceptance as a person without the need of any other identifiers.
When I think about singing now, I am grateful, but not in the
least bit regretful. I learned a lot about hard work and focused practice. I
learned a lot about goals, dreams, and passions that I use to empathize and
encourage those who are currently pursuing those things. Ultimately, however,
the greatest gift that singing gave me was the lesson that I am enough without
it. I am enough just being me.
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