I sing in a choir at church, and I'm not going to lie or exaggerate here, but we are dang good. We only have two performances a year, and I'm okay with that because it takes a LOT of work to be good. It's not that we have the best talent because, here's more honesty, I'm not a great singer. And there aren't tryouts. Our director takes whoever he can get and miraculously turns us into a really REALLY great sounding choir. He's fantastic, and fine-tunes us in ways I'd have never thought of.
I love it.
I love it even though it is work. It's the end product that I love. I love how music can express a whole different level of emotion, almost regardless of the words. Don't get me wrong, the words are good; they're usually hymns, and we have often used the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square's (formerly known as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir) arrangements. The surprise is that we can actually pull it off and sound like we are a mini-version of the TABCATS (used to be Mo-Tab).
The bigger surprise is that I'm now singing tenor. Usually second tenor even.
But I'm an alto, right?
Since writing that post seven years ago, my voice has lowered. Or maybe it's just my voice's comfort zone that has changed. Why? I have no idea. Maybe it's one of those part of "getting older" things, maybe it's too many medications (I love using that one as a catch-all for blame), or maybe I needed to be just one more step away from being girly. As if being a tomboy wasn't enough, I now sing the male voice part in songs.
And I have to read music more accurately because, previously, I was pretty good at figuring out an alto harmony without actually looking. But the tenor line often doesn't make sense to me; they're notes that my brain doesn't automatically choose as it follows the melody. I took about a total of three, mostly sporadic years of piano lessons by at least three different piano teachers, and I know that the tenor part exists, its where my left thumb would hit the keyboard, *duh*, but I never had to play that note by itself or figure out how it makes sense as part of a chord. It's an odd cookie trying to fit in, kind of like a red-headed step-child of the family (no offense to any red-heads or odd cookies, I LOVE red-heads and odd cookies). It belongs, but in a different way.
And now here I am, having to pay attention to something I mostly ignored. It's a strange thing. Instead of having to just sing the part I've always sung, and words I'm already familiar with, I have to keep the hymnal open and actively read the music and words and project my voice with notes I'm unsure of until its already out there, good or bad. All because my abilities have changed. I could barely ever sing soprano, unless in a mocking-falsetto (for those few people who have heard it, it's not pretty. That was a one-time performance of the Hawaiian wedding song and will never be repeated. Ever. For the good of humanity.) And now I struggle to reach the alto notes. So tenor line it is. I have enough breath for that, I'm comfortable in that range, and if you catch me during allergy season, I can even sing baritone and bass without too much trouble.
Then it dawns on me. This is a prototype of my life.
I was never the star of the show, I was a supporting role. Now I'm not exactly sure how I fit in, but I have to trust that what is in front of me, is what I'm supposed to do. Still a supporting role, just a different one, one I never thought I would have. I'm still practice following the music, genuinely unsure if what is written is right because I have to look at each note differently. I have to pay attention to something I took for granted. I can't trust what I already know and what I'm used to because that isn't my role. I have to step out of my 'what I think I should do' and plunk forward to what I actually 'should do within my ability'. Tenor line is one that you'd probably miss if it disappeared, but you might not realize why the music doesn't sound quite right. It is subtle and, in a way, taken for granted.
I remember more than once, in more than one year, in more than one sport, more than one coach, telling me something along the lines of:
"You're good enough to make the team, but you probably won't get much playing time. You're a great contribution, a solid player, you play better than average, your stats are where they need to be in hitting/setting/serving/blocking/field goals/free throws/etc., you're a hard-worker. But what I want you on the team for is your enthusiasm, your spirit, and how you keep everyone else working hard and in good spirits."
If I ever started a game or match, it was because it was someone who was starting was sick. Or it was the last home game and the 8th graders start, or, since this pattern continued after moving to Arizona for high school, senior night. Well, hey that wasn't so bad, especially when I played in a basketball game my senior year WHEN I WAS A MANAGER, not a player, and still scored some points (and picked up a couple of fouls). Flu season was brutal that year, and coach knew I could play, not just take stats and cheer.
There's lessons I've learned here. I know I chose to stick around but the reasons I initially chose are no longer the reasons I'm still here. I'm trying to figure out why I am STILL here, and what I'm supposed to be doing. It will be 15 years this January with my official diagnosis of something "fatal and incurable", and most die from it within three years, and I'm still doing good. Part of the reason I haven't written is because I have been busy living it up, doing bucket list type things, traveling to see more and reconnect, and just doing things I want to.
"When you cannot do what you've always done, you only do what matters most." --Robert D. Hales
