Sing A Song

I've always enjoyed singing. As a kid, I was in choruses and musicals; I've sung in college jazz choirs and mass choruses; I took voice lessons for a while when I was single and had free time. I love Christmas carols and the hymns we sing in church ("Let There Be Peace On Earth..."), and I know the words to thousands of popular and classic songs. I stay away from Karaoke like the child of an alcoholic avoids whiskey -- I'm afraid I'd love it too much for my own good, embarrassing myself and whatever friends I would have roped into joining me.

Most of all, I love singing along to the radio or CDs. Lifting my voice with Bob Dylan or Natalie Merchant, Nat King Cole or Lyle Lovett, brings me great joy and feeds my need for creative expression, without requiring the time commitment of rehearsals. Unfortunately, T didn't like it when I sang along. He said he wanted to hear Diana Krall, not me channeling Diana Krall. Driving anywhere with the radio on, his disapproval was enough to silence me every time, and that hurt my heart. I felt like he was disapproving of the core of who I was, attempting to silence my essential voice. I'm sure he had no idea how deeply he wounded me, though I did try to tell him on more than one occasion. A stronger person could have probably braved his disapproval and blithely lifted her voice, but I am so uncomfortable with discord, it just always seemed easier to just bite my tongue.

Imagine my joy and release when, as Guy and I were walking through China Town last night, he sang to me. And asked me to sing to him. I felt so rusty I had a hard time thinking of things to sing, but driving home, I belted out this favorite, and possibly apropos song:

So close your eyes

For that's a lovely way to be

Aware of things your heart alone was meant to see

The fundamental loneliness goes

Whenever two can dream a dream together

-Wave by Antonio Carlos Jobim