Go Ahead, Sing Your Heart Out

Singing is the most direct way I know of to arrive at a place of centered calm, where I feel grounded. With just a few lines of intentional singing, my entire perspective can be transformed, my mood entirely shifted, my spirits lifted. Singing is a birthright, yet for many of us, the wonderful tool of our song-voice is an underutilized gift. My wish for humanity is that we might all sing, every day. It is an essential part of being human, and the world would be a better place if we were to realize this.

To not use my voice for singing would be to clip my own wings as I embark on the human journey towards being fully alive. Without song, I can’t soar to my greatest heights. There is a reason songbirds can fly. I am inspired by their shameless expression, and I do my best to follow their example, to bring forward my own true voice, without apology. A chickadee will sing through the coldest days of winter, emerging even more bright-eyed and resilient in the spring because of it. We humans could learn a thing or two from these tiny wonders, how to weather our own storms with self-awareness, persistence, and fierce beauty.

In the moment, singing often brings a feeling of inspiration. The word “inspire” comes from the Latin inspirare, “to breathe.” In song we are choosing to direct our breath, our very life essence, towards purposeful expression. Over the course of my life, the flow of my voice—that incredible sound created by the exhale of breath vibrating against vocal cords—has washed over my troubled mind and broken heart like soothing medicine. In times of darkness, I have known comfort. In times of light, pure joy.

With singing also comes the gift of catharsis, which allows me to feel things deeply and at the same time, move the feelings through. Singing can take me from grief to awakened joy, from frustration and anger to non-attachment and forgiveness. And while I know I must experience my emotions and process them, I also understand that I need to let them go in order to keep dancing with life. Holding on keeps me living in the past, and traps me in the self-sabotaging worlds I create in my mind. If I stay there, I miss out on what is happening now. It is in the letting go that I become present, and am able to authentically connect with the world and people around me.

Singing helps me to get there—or should I say here—again and again. It’s one of the most well-used tools I have on my belt, an old friend, a mirror that shows me who I am. It reminds me that I have deep wells of capability and endurance to draw strength from. I pull this tool out almost every day, and bring it with me when I go to the river, to the forest, and to the blank canvas—also to the pile of dishes in the sink, the laundry on the bed waiting to be folded, and to the conversation I’ve been avoiding.

When I hear people say, “I can’t sing” or “I don’t sing,” I can’t help but wonder what their story is. I have heard many accounts of childhood wounding centered around song, stories like, “My kindergarten teacher told me my voice wasn’t good, so I was a Crow in the class choir, which meant I was only allowed to mouth the words.” Or, “My parent always told me I’m tone deaf so I don’t even sing in the shower.”

Too many people live with the false belief that they shouldn’t sing. To me, this is an outrage. It is tragic that one person can (unintentionally) strip another of what should be their life-long relationship with singing. The harm is done with the utterance of a single sentence, one thoughtless comment that stays and resonates in a person’s mind, causing them to reshape their identity to include “I don’t sing.”

If you can talk, you can sing. To tell somebody otherwise is like saying, “Hey, would you mind closing your eyes for the rest of your life? I’m a little bothered by their colour.” All too often that person forgets the choice is still theirs. That all they have to do is open their eyes. Or in this case, to reclaim a forgotten voice, a person only has to open their mouth and let the sound come out.

Where does this judgment of our voices come from? In western society, music and singing have become predominantly performance-oriented. There is the belief that only good musicians are worth listening to. The professionals with their instruments are up on the stage, literally placed higher than everybody else, and there is an audience of people who have come to listen. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy good live music as much as the next person, and love getting drawn into the magic. But I make a clear distinction; there is performance music, and there is experiential music. Sadly, the latter is an unknown realm for many of us.

That is why one of the most meaningful pleasures I have in this life is facilitating song circles. This is where I can remind people that music and singing belongs to each one of them just as much as it does to the most virtuosic rock star on the planet. I am so grateful when I can help a person to (re)discover their voice, and to feel empowered using it.

Needless to say, all voices are welcome at the song circle. I introduce a melody to a group of people, then we build on it one layer at a time, so that the song almost becomes a living thing, birthed in the moment of Now. Imagine many voices layered in striking harmony, creating one unified whole, a song-entity that would not be possible with just one voice. We are a flock of individual Starlings, and when we come together, our voices move through the air like a murmuration of birds, changing tone, volume, and direction as a single dynamic expression. It is a choreography of sound, a beautiful whole made of unique individuals sharing a fleeting moment in time. There is no better way to build connection between people, and a sense of community.

I am humbled by the power of song when I see a person who is shy and self-conscious at first begin to stand up straighter, to let their voice emerge a little louder. I watch the sparkle of joy alight in their eyes, often accompanied by tears of gratitude. There are also tears of grief for the quiet years, the years of not being whole, of not being heard. I watch individuals awaken into a different version of themselves, as the voice they have kept hidden—sometimes for decades—starts to get stronger. It’s as if the voice itself is alive, and crying out with sincere joy at being part of something great. This is an honour to witness.

So, dear reader, if you don’t already, I invite you to sing. Weave the practice into your daily life; make it a part of your language for self-expression. Find something that moves you, and go ahead and belt it out. Let the unique quality of your voice ring through the air, sending ripples out around you. These ripples will travel beyond you; they will move out in waves, and carry your intention like a prayer on the wind.

I sing my gratitude, my joy, my awe and wonder of nature, my acknowledgement of beauty. I sing my pain, my grief, my struggles. As one human being alive in the world today, it is my duty and my absolute pleasure to do so.