Voice vs. Self

My apologies for the delay in writing. With the Independence Day activities and other various forms of busy-ness, I have neglected to write consistently about my recovery process. Trust me - it's been in the back of my mind every single day. I just needed a little space to observe my body, my voice and dictate new outcomes.

I went two weeks without singing, drinking excessive amounts of water, and admittedly indulging in some glasses of wine with friends, but truly felt vocally wonderful. I wasn't warming up, nor singing very high, but anytime I did produce musical sound, it felt stress-free. I honestly thought I had recovered. I was prepared to write as my next blog update: ALL DONE! That's how good I felt.

Saturday night rolls around and I have to sing Sunday (yesterday) morning. I made sure not to have a "late night," nor engage in any crazy extracurricular activities with friends (aka drinking two glasses of wine at a restaurant - boy am I one wild child). Instead, we had a nice dinner, I had one glass of Pinot Noir, and was in bed by 11 pm.

Sunday morning = no voice. Uhh... what? ...Is God punishing me? 

I sang at church with every single ounce of breath I possibly could produce and spent the majority of the drive home convincing myself not to cry. After such a wonderful couple of weeks, it truly confused me that I would literally lose my voice at random.

And then I decided...

Here is where my voice is:

a little sad, certainly disappointed, and very confused.

Here is where I am:

mentally balanced, inspired, and overall truly enjoying my life.

My voice and I have two separate identities. Why? Because singers often get caught up in the "my voice is who I am" mantra -- and this in itself can be so mentally damaging! When we're vocally tired, suddenly our entire persona evolves into "I'm terrible. My mind is frustrated. I'm having such a bad day."

You're having a bad day? Or your voice is having a bad day?

It's extremely difficult to separate ourselves from our vocal mechanism. It's a part of us. It's inside of us. It's something we truly cannot manipulate without the help of technique, our brain, and copious amounts of love. Therefore, we identify with it. Completely. Understandably.

Well, I hate to be the barrier of some news -- but there is a life outside of music and our voices.

I know, I know. Only "true" musicians practice day in and day out, inhaling warm ups and exhaling new repertoire. ... right?

But if there is one thing I have learned, particularly over the last month, it is that life is quite beautiful when the pressures of being that "true" musician are not so prevalent. 

I have spent the last month accomplishing things that I have always put aside as "maybe one day" hobbies:

• starting a business. True story! The paperwork has been signed. The lawyers, accountant, and official team has been established. The business plan, marketing materials, and overall structure are well on their way to being implemented. (More information to come!) Entrepreneurship = CHECK!
• painting. A completely new skill set that I have no experience in. And boy do I love learning it!
• reading. Tons of it! There is almost nothing more enjoyable than picking up a book and putting it down hours later with a brain filled with new knowledge that you absolutely must share with everyone you meet (or so we'd hope). 

|| Current read: "Flow" - Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi - absolutely excellent ||

• songwriting. I've always loved writing music and engage it in whenever I can. While pursuing songwriting during my Masters program, I actually felt a bit out of whack - the pressure of writing new lyrics every week challenged me to an entirely new level. I put my work aside for a while and am coming back at it with fresh eyes.
• exercising. This has never been a "problem" for me, per sé, but I am enjoying fulfilling my mornings with whatever work out my body is craving. And for the first time in a long time, I am doing it for MYSELF - versus the pressures of social media, achieving some version of the "beach body" allusion, or to feel validated by how many Facebook or Instagram likes I get for my sweaty selfie.
• writing a book. Also a true story! I am officially in the process of creating an eight week program for musicians to learn how to accompany their students on the piano -- a daunting, often avoided aspect to a teacher's lesson plan that seriously needs to be changed!

So - voice or no voice - I am finding so many ways of creating a new happiness within myself. I certainly miss singing... and am a tad confused by this whole recovery process... but am detaching MY inner self with my VOICE.

"The most important step in emancipating onself from social controls is the ability to find rewards in the events of each moment. If a person learns to enjoy and find meaning in the ongoing stream of experience, in the process of living itself, the burden of social controls automatically falls from one's shoulders."

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad "thing"

June 30, 2015

Day three. Or... day six? Day 37? Whatever.

Though I have not spoken much today with the exception of walking my dog and asking him to please not poop on the neighbor's garden (which he rejected and did anyway), I believe I feel a bit better. 

For those of you that do not know me, I am kind of a - what you might say - "fake" opera singer. I do love it and whole heartedly appreciate it. It's just really not my calling, no matter how hard I wanted it to be. I stopped pursuing the competitions/auditions/performances lifestyle about a year and a half ago while congruently recovering from my first diagnosis of nodules - October, 2013. I had just started graduate school at USC - in Vocal Arts mind you - and low and behold, was one month later facing the embarrassment of this unfamiliar "disease."

At that time, I did not tell a soul. Okay, maybe a couple of souls. But few and far between. Not even my parents knew, nor my directors, nor my (god-forbid) school colleagues. I was absolutely mortified.

"Over singing," my ENT said. "You need to drop something, Allie."

"But I can't. I just started grad school. And I have to do the opera. And all of these summer program auditions. And I need to make money teaching. And..."

"Drop something." 

So after six months of playing the balancing act game, I finally recovered and was in the best vocal shape of my life. I learned so much from that experience. Simultaneously (and certainly not coincidentally), I decided to pursue MY calling -- popular and contemporary music. I became invested in coordinating vocal techniques within classical and popular genres, realizing that many are one and the same. And low and behold, the pressures of competing, singing that damn high C at the end of Donizetti's arias, and waiting to find out if MY "distinct" soprano voice might be the exception to the sopranos-never-make-summer-programs rule, just slipped away. And with that, my voice returned. 

I spent a lot of my initial recovery time that year pondering the connection between the pressures of a classical singer and vocal health issues. I wanted quantitative results: exactly how much DOES stress affect our larynx? So much that we create a physical attribute that finds its home in our vocal folds?

How common are vocal health issues in singers?

Obviously I cannot exactly get the quantitative results I want. But it does bring up the question of stress, anxiety, and pressure on singers correlating to our vocal health. We all know, as singers, how the emotional and physiological aspects of our body are indefinitely intertwined. If this is so, then I beg the final question...

Why do we taint nodules/nodes/cysts/polyps to be this absolutely AWFUL, DISGRACEFUL thing? I've been so curious.

Athletes have injuries. Constantly. But you never hear people say "wow - what an idiot. He's a horrible baseball pitcher for breaking his arm like that."

Singers are athletes. And injuries happen. I spent so much time hiding behind my fear of expressing "nodule-vulnerability" that I psychologically convinced myself of being a "faulty singer." Well shit - no wonder it took me so long to recover if half the recovery was rebuilding my self-efficacy!

How can we overcome this? Will we learn to nurture and support one another through difficult, emotionally draining, physically frustrating times?

So many questions.

Breakdown? Or Blog it Out?

June 28, 2015

It has been one month and three days since our Memorial Day camping weekend — the weekend that not only positively changed my life but simultaneously drowned me in dust, dirt, and second hand cigarette smoke, making my asthma take over my normal breathing patterns. I brought home a persistent two week dry cough keeping me up in the wee early hours of the night and preventing me from being able to speak a sentence without suddenly being attacked by mere phonation and appearing as one of "those" people.

After two weeks, the cough finally fizzled but my vocal cords were damaged. I suddenly had no stamina and could barely sing through a couple of songs without getting tired.

It has now been four days since I went to an ENT (one I did not necessarily trust, but a certified doctor nonetheless) who could tell me that yes, something was not pristine about my vocal cords. Nodules, she claims, or maybe mucus. She was unsure. Nonetheless, the “thing” is present. 

Again.

Today was very difficult. I had spent the entire last week resting, refraining from speaking, canceling any work related jobs, and drinking gallons of water. I finally treated myself to having company over for dinner accompanied by two glasses of wine last night. Turns out, the “thing” gets very annoyed when any kind of “fun” is to be had. It was like pushing a car bare-handed to be able to sing at church this morning -- painful and unbearable.

There is absolutely nothing like trying so hard to be patient and fully immersing yourself in a healing process only to feel worse. 

So today, I decided to lounge around, watch a sickening amount of Netflix, and feel sorry for myself. That’s all I could think to do. How the F*CK could I possibly get nodules again?! After everything I went through in the last two years — after making a complete recovery and being SO proud to say that I was "vocally sober" (if you will) for exactly 1 year and 3 months. How does it just… come back?

Okay. So, I am still feeling this way. I’m not done being angry at God and the world and those damn cigarette smokers that gave me the cough, but I have decided the only thing to do is embrace the recovery process. 

Rather than empathizing with singers who experience vocal health issues with the “I feel your pain” or “I’ve totally been there,” I’m laying it ALL out — I am there. 

Luckily, I have a very good chance of recovering quickly. My circumstances couldn’t be more perfect: I am out of school, finished teaching, am “off season” for performing, and am literally living a summer retired life. I don’t go back into heavy duty singing until September. The "thing" is very small - so small that a doctor cannot distinguish what it actually is - so, I'll take it.

In retrospect, this will just be another journey. A very frustrating one. A highly unfair one. But one that I am willing to share with other singers. 

This will purely be a detailed analysis of my recovery process — my sleeping habits, water intake, level of noise, singing abilities, practice habits, etc. 

And all I can do during this recovery process is:

• learn how to NEVER have this happen again, and 
• help others recover.

Because, frankly, if you're a singer -- any unfair shit is possible.