Slow Motion

I feel like my life is in slow motion. Like I’m watching my life as a movie, but I’m not actually part of it. There’s a lot of action going on, but I’m watching in slow motion. I know something’s happening, but it’s making me extremely restless and frustrated. Its like the remote doesn’t work so even though I want to put everything back to normal time, I’m forced to watch in in very slow, boringly predictable increments. 

I may have mentioned before that when I was living in Las Vegas I made the connection between singing and my mood. The first couple months that I lived in Las Vegas, my throat wasn’t used to the dry hot air of the desert and so until I was acclimated, I couldn’t really sing. It’s sort of the way that chronic pain tricks people into being in a bad mood. Or lack of sleep. Or hunger. Okay, hopefully you get my point... initially it takes a while to figure out why we’re in a bad mood. Sometimes, it never even occurs to us to try to figure it out because we’re so sure that our mood is justified that it’s not until later that we realize we were being an unreasonable ass. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I was being stressed out and grumpy until one day when my voice felt good. I sang and played guitar all day and only then, by the contrast of my good mood, did I realize how bad it had gotten. From then on, any time I found my mood falling, I saw that it was in direct correlation with how my voice was doing. It’s not rocket science, but it’s been helpful to me. We all have those friends who get grumpy until they eat something... I’m grumpy until I sing. Weird, but true. 

This need to sing is probably the reason that you hear so many musicians saying “music is my life!” I could never really explain to people who aren’t musical what it means to be so passionate about something like this, but now I think I’m getting closer. Think of each of us as a computer. (Maybe this is a bad example cause I don’t really know a ton about computers, but work with me here...) Okay so we’ve got the main hard drive. That’s like, our breathing, heartbeat, and our senses. Then we have add-ons and downloads which would be our hobbies. So, that’s where art, music, and sports, etc. come in and make us individuals. Way more basic then it could be, but the point is, I think that some of us have the hobbies built directly into our core processor (computer people... does that make sense?). It’s not an add-on, it’s at the heart of us the same way that breathing or thinking is. For some it’s music, some it’s sports, for some it’s business... It’s the only way that I can think to explain people who are intensely passionate about something. It’s at the core of our being and we’d have a hard time living without it. 

This may all seem like gibberish (okay... it kind of is. Sorry.) but there is a point behind it all. I am one of those people who has to sing. I don’t even notice when I’m singing. I’m like that crazy lady who sings and hums under my breath in a crowded elevator or in line at the buffet. The socially adequate part of my brain (i.e. my sister’s scolding look etched in my mind) reminds me that these things are considered strange and awkward, but I honestly don’t know I’m doing it. I’ll catch myself and stop, and then as soon as I move on, I do it again. 

Things changed in May of 2011 when I hurt my throat. I was told not to sing or hum or my throat would never get better. That’s the ONLY motivator that I could have that would possibly work. I’ve been a perfect angel. Today it’s been exactly two months since I had surgery in January, and TEN months since I had to stop singing. Oh my gosh... didn’t realize it until I wrote it just now. Crazy. Only now am I really starting to miss my singing at a level that I actually feel is effecting my health in a negative way. It feels as though I’ve been depriving myself of my music vitamin and throughout the months it’s been slowly leaching out of my bones. Now, I’m almost out of my reserves and I’m getting desperate. Although my surgery was 2 months ago, my recovery is going to be a long one. Dr.Merati said it takes about 6 months after surgery before my vocal chords will be ready to play gigs again. I’m shooting for 3 months but suddenly it feels like that goal is rapidly approaching and I’m not ready yet. Now that I mentioned I was a perfect angel, I have to be honest...

Okay. So I was perfect for a while, but now it’s getting hard. I’m well enough to speak again. My voice rarely gets tired and I even have held conversations in loud places (not a good idea but oh well...) without tiring out my voice. So there are some very obvious exciting improvements. At my one month appointment the doctor told me my throat looked as good as someone who’d been healing for 2-3 months so I was really excited. He told me I still wasn’t allowed to sing, and I truly had all intentions of following his instructions. One day I was home alone (that never happens.) and I had this crazy natural reaction so start singing. Now... let me back track. I’d not been listening to certain music that I love singing like, Christina Aguilera, Mariah Carey, Adele, etc., because I know I have absolutely no control over myself and can’t help singing along. I also deprived myself of musical environments like open jam nights, karaoke bars, and even friends who might encourage me to sing. Those sacrifices have been in place for months. So on this day, for once I trusted myself and put my itunes on random. Eventually a random Celine Dion karaoke track that I had on my computer started playing and I swear... even if I had a gun to my head and was told not to sing, I don’t know if I could have resisted. Celine Dion. Really? It’s not even like I went for a chill Norah Jones song. I busted that song out like I’ve never sang before. Initially some of the notes were a bit shaky due to my weak throat, but by the end I was belting the high notes better than I had before surgery. Then, I couldn’t stop singing. 

It’s like crying. Or laughing. A cathartic release that you don’t really have control over. It may sound strange that singing can be just as hard to stop doing as crying, but it makes sense. It’s even just as easy to start, hence depriving myself of musical environments. I finally realized that the reason I’ve been shit at practicing guitar, is because it’s a gateway to singing... just the way a sad movie is to someone trying not to cry. Singing has always been the way that I de-stress and let everything out. It makes me feel way better about myself than chocolate can (pretty much the closest mood enhancer that I found to singing hahaha), and it was well overdue. I was freaking out with guilt inside, but once I opened the floodgate, it was almost impossible to stop singing. Almost like, I had closed a door for a long time, then I opened it and let a little singing out, but then left the door wide open and told the rest of the singing not to leave. It kept trickling out. Okay, it’s kinda like only peeing a little. Sorry. Had to go there. It’s the best example I’ve got. We all know how hard that is. These are all just complicated ways for me to be delivering my excuses. I sang when I wasn’t supposed to. Afterwards, I felt like a woman on a strict diet who suddenly binged and ate and entire cake as quickly as possible. I couldn’t undo what I’d done, but I was really nervous that I pushed too far. The next day my throat was very weak and tired and I suffered from anxiety until a day later when I saw my vocal therapist. She reassured me that I didn’t undo my progress but told me not to do it again. 

It’s getting more and more difficult for me to spend my time doing lip trills and hissing noise, working on reducing glottal attacks while speaking, and using frontal focus. (Will write a more technical blog explaining all of this later).Yes. Good. I know it’s what I have to do in order to make it to a full recovery but I just. want. to. sing. Now where’s that god damn remote.