First things first:
You can sing.
You are sound.
You are song.
You are meant to sing with others.
Others are hungry to sing with you.
You are naturally musical.
Your ears are perfect.
You are a feeling-based instrument.
Your body is an instrument.
You are meant to feel good.
You are built to feel.
Your voice is beautiful.
You sound great.
Your heart beats.
You have rhythm.
You are rhythm.
You are sound.
You can sing.
You are song.
You are these things. If you’re in acceptance of your naturally musical, beautiful self, you may beam a little brighter reading these words. If you’re experiencing some disconnect in relating to your body as an instrument, you may feel your brow furrow and lips tense. Maybe you’ve nurtured your naturally musical self. Or maybe you could use a little nurturing. Most of us fall somewhere in between, and many of us are desperately hungry for musical nourishment from the inside out.
In my work as a leader of a voice teaching community, I have found that the difference between those who agree and disagree with the statement, “Everyone can sing,” directly relates to a person’s relationship to their body.
In the last decade or so of guiding people into their voices, I’ve found that for some people my words are a breath of fresh air, a relief that the conversation can head directly into the mystical. A relief that their sense of general malaise is recognized for what it is: a symptom of living in a world that could stand to make more room for bubbles of music to emerge.
I’ve also learned that for those for whom talking about a miraculous healing body, a changing God, a feelings-based language and the elasticity of the subconscious mind is too far of a stretch, my words mostly fall short. It’s a challenge to convince someone that every body can sing without a physical experience of singing and, in some cases, some additional skilled guidance back into the body.
So, I will speak to you, dear singer, who is still reading and feeling your skin come alive with recognition. For you my words flow from my heart because I see you. I see you there with your heart so wide, your voice so big.
I see you there with your longing, with your beauty, with your daring. I see you there with your vision, your taste, your perceptiveness of things far beyond you. I see you there dutifully navigating the waters of your chosen communities. I see you there anchoring in a higher spirit. I see you there letting your body be used for something greater than you. I see you there rallying the troops, weaving communities, giving others a hand up. I see you there skillfully balancing the needs of your communities with the needs of your own bodies. I see you there gracefully holding back words that might offend, words that point to a divinity that is far greater than what our minds can hold. I see you there inviting others into their bodies, into their own ability to lead.
I see you there, singer.
You sing. You are song. You
are there.
You know that the path is not always easy. You know that your body is asking for nurturing from you — you know that the pace of our modern life is hectic and pulls so many demands on your attention and nervous system.
I see you there bravely facing the aspects of yourself hidden deep inside of yourself. I see you seeking guidance, doing retreats, meditating, running, walking, baking, cooking, serving, nourishing, weaving beautiful harmony.
I see you in your beauty as a singer.
Do you sing? Then you are a singer.
Yes, you. Yes, you who wants to be felt and heard and seen as a singer.
For you, this is about stepping up and out and being seen. This is about recognizing that your ego serves a purpose where it allows you to serve something greater than yourself. For you, the nurturing of the voice is not selfish — it is a must.
You secretly know you’ve gone too long, you secretly hold dear to your heart those dreams and desires, you secretly fear stepping out and being accused by someone who does not understand your calling or your bravery or your process that you are out of alignment with yourself.
I see you there, singer.
I see you in your beauty as a singer.
I see you there with your long-held desire, your sense of knowing that yes, this is my path!
I see you there, singer, unable to reconcile in your mind the gap between where you are and where you dream of being. I see you there being hard on yourself (something that does not help your body open up to freedom and ease). I see you there, afraid to take that first step into the unknown of the self because what will you find?
Will you find the voice you once knew?
Will those notes float out of you as they did before?
Will you weave spirals of intention into the room?
Will they come bubbling out of you and sparkle in every corner?
Will your legs stay beneath you?
Will the breath be there?
Where is the breath?
Where is my breath?
Where is the breath?
Where is my body?
Why has my body changed?
Why has my body failed me?
Why does this always happen to me?
Why do I always do this?
Why do I bother trying?
It always goes this way; I should have known better.
The spiral begins, spiraling deep into the self with no visible way out.
And then you look up into the rafters, and you hear angels there. You sense movement, you sense play, you sense your draw into this playground of sound. You dare to open your mouth again. This time stronger, this time more grounded, this time more compassionate. You stumble, you fall, you pick yourself back up. You get back into it.
Day by day, you peel open your heart. Through your voice emerges sounds you were born to sing, sounds your community is waiting to hear from you.
And you will remember in your moments of weakness that how you experience you is different than how others experience you. You will remember that you can be having an entirely different internal experience of your song than those receiving you. Once it escapes your lips, it no longer belongs to you. You will remember that your job is to open your heart, open your mouth and allow breath to move through this beautiful vessel of yours and to dare to be seen, dare to be heard, dare to be wrong, dare to be felt. Dare to be seen. Dare to be felt. Dare to receive glowing feedback. Dare to love yourself when it all falls apart. Dare to get back up and try it again today, tomorrow, forever.
This brave quest is never over. It never stops. It keeps inviting you deeper. Deeper into your body, deeper into your openness within your heart, deeper into your mind’s openness to the skies. Deeper into connecting with others. Deeper into being from a place of centeredness. Deeper into loving who you are. Deeper into loving who others are. Deeper into the playfulness of the divine spirit. Deeper into the surrender of something flowing through you. Deeper into your commitment to show up for this song. Deeper into your commitment to show up for that line. Deeper into your commitment to show up for that note. Deeper into your commitment to be your best self, moment to moment, half-step by half-step, line by line, song by song, day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment.
So, you get your voice lessons, you join your choirs, you seek out and establish your mentors and you do your body work. You run your lines. You memorize your music. You get acquainted with your body and when there is a roadblock within yourself, you seek your bodyworkers to help your fascia stay open and your tears to flow. And you get back out there, showing up, serving. You master your body because you are devoted to serving through your body. You make less time for things that get in the way. You make more time for things that fill your heart to the brim. You make more time playing in the musical way you were born to play.
And when your body or brain gets stuck, you remember: Oh right, I live in a world where my city has been designed without regard for my body’s need for movement; my friends are finding me online and not in person. My music is happening through my device, not around my fireplace. You will remember: There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with my voice. My voice is beautiful and always there for me.
Because you, singer, will be awake to the fact that it is not you that is broken, it is something far greater. Something far more structural. You will remember that your church needs your singing, your voice. You will remember that your community needs you healthy. You will remember that the most radical act you can do is to slow down and connect with yourself and connect with others. You will remember that when you remember, others can’t forget.
Your life will be a living testament to the power of music flowing through you. New worlds will be created through you. And it will be fun! And playful! And joyous! And harmonious! And you will leave space for others, because that is how you roll. Because your heart is big.
And your heart knows that when your music doesn’t lead, something goes awry. And if you ignore it long enough, you get warning signs from your body — little nuisances to begin with, but that can grow three sizes in a decade. Deep down you know that major attention-grabber in your body is really calling for you to tune in and listen.
And you will listen. You will listen to your body the way you listen to the clouds, gently and with reverence. You will listen as you do to the starlings collapsing in on a tree. You will listen as you do to the leaves on the trees rustling their hellos. You will listen to your body because you know that without a relationship to your body, you cannot keep singing those swirls of songs into the rafters.
And you, my friend, are committed to singing until a very ripe age.
You, my friend, want to live as a testament to the impermanent nature of this earthly human experience, that your life can be one of beauty and love and warm feelings.
You will cultivate warmth in your soul, gentleness in your words, directness in your intention because you know you have the gift of creative power flowing through you.
You will sing because you are song.
You will sing because you know that every body can sing, and you are determined to show others the way. You will sing because hearts will be changed by feeling you move across a room. You will sing because you want others to feel themselves moving across a room. You sing because you want more people to remember the vastness of this force, the goodness and sweetness of this love.
You embrace your body and you confront yourself because you are willing to open up and serve through your body.
You are willing to get it wrong, you are willing to try again. You are willing to begin anew each day.
Because you understand that at the core of your being, you are sound.
And you are song.
And you are loved.
Heather Hightower is the founder of The Center for Vocal Study in Charlottesville, Virginia (centerforvocalstudy.com), an organization devoted entirely to the art and craft of the human voice. Her love for song was first nurtured in the Methodist Church.
