For as long as I can remember, people have told me that I am a talented singer and a gifted writer. When I run into friends I haven’t seen for years, one of the first things they ask is, “Are you still singing?” If they know that I have been published, then “Are you still writing?” invariably follows.
I could say, “I’m writing excuses for not singing,” and kill two birds with one stone, but I’d be lying about the writing part. Mostly. Plus I sang the national anthem at a Super Bowl party to the appreciation of a lot of new friends who had never heard me sing—another dozen or so people who will ask, “Are you still singing?” every time we meet until the end of days.
The truth is that I love to sing. I have performed alone, in school choirs, in madrigal choirs, and in small local bands. I have sung for weddings, for memorial services, in musicals, on karaoke nights, and in the classroom, to the surprise and delight of my students.
I also love to write. Or rather, I love to have written. Poetry, short stories, articles, essays, blog posts, tweets, letters, and funny one-liners. In my early 30s, I combined my love of music and words into songwriting and created eight or nine demos over the course of about two years.
And still, I can never give a definitive, “Yes!” to either of those two questions.
I have declined some invitations to sing because I’m afraid I’ll forget the lyrics, and I have accepted others and then done just that. After Christina Aguilera’s performance at the actual Super Bowl, my new fans included, “And you even remembered the words!” in their praise. Smugness is cruel: I knew exactly how Christina felt.
My fear of writing—because surely it is fear—is that I will have nothing interesting to say. I can talk a good game about how it doesn’t matter, that writing is about the process, and that I only need to write about what is interesting to me, but when it comes down to facing the blank page, I see it only as a reflection of my mind: blank. I have nothing to say right now. I will have nothing to say five minutes from now. I will NEVER have ANYTHING to say.
We can now say things like, “Our beliefs create our realities,” in public, without having people exchange knowing glances behind our backs. The idea that our attitudes and intentions affect our lives has reached our collective consciousness. That said, as I write this, I am home, sick with a cold that has stolen my voice; teaching middle school is challenging enough on days that I can speak.
Let’s revisit two of my fears and throw in one of my persistent beliefs:
“I’m afraid I’ll forget the words.”
“I have nothing interesting to say.”
“My students don’t listen to me.”
Interesting.
I credit Diane D.M. Solis for bringing me to the page today. After I read her post, Life is Always Teaching Us…Something, it occurred to me: Talking is not an option right now, but silence is a choice. If I don’t honor the still, small voice within, it will stop singing, too. And that would be tragic.
Now it’s your turn. Where are you holding back because of what someone else might think? What things do you dismiss simply because they come easily to you? And, of course: What is the one thing you would do if you knew you could not fail?
Do it anyway.
I am not one to gush at celebrities. People are people, and I respect others’ right to privacy, unlike my daughter’s friend, who all but lost bladder control when David Beckham came into her workplace. That said, I am intrigued by actors, and by knowing who appeared with whom in what. It fascinates me how often I rent two movies, sometimes from different genres and filmed years apart, and see the same character actor in both. When he or she shows up on CSI: Anywhere, a day or two later, I buy a lottery ticket.
I am fascinated by Joshua trees. Some grow in a single column, some have a few twisted branches that make their silhouettes resemble people in unusual poses, and others are truly majestic, with dozens of branches reaching out in all directions. Whenever I cross the Mojave desert in the evening, I see them as spirits of the desert, waiting to strike a new pose the moment I look away.
A funny thing happens when we begin to pursue our dreams. We experience elation: We’re really doing it! And then we feel terror: We’re really doing it! Now what?
In mid-August, I attended a life-changing workshop. In just five days, I changed my eating habits, discovered what it feels like to be truly aware of my body, had a direct experience of being one with everything, and owned up to my having had one foot out the door of my relationship since it began. I also learned what it means to be fully present in each moment; the downside is that it has been a challenge to hold onto thoughts long enough to write about them, hence the big blogging hiatus.
On May 20, 2009, Drew Olanoff was diagnosed with stage 3 Hodgkins lymphoma. 28 years old and embarking on a new job with the mobile startup 
In 2006, Will Bowen had a famous idea: stop complaining, gossiping, or criticizing, and encourage others to follow suit. His goal was to make it 21 full days—the scientifically-recommended time needed to create a new behavior—complaint-free. Any uttered complaint, gossip or criticism would reset the count to day one; negative thoughts would carry no such penalty.
Jen Foster, who would have “given [her] left arm for a major record deal” at 21, became an independent artist/songwriter/publisher because she was “too stubborn to quit.” She chooses to wake up famous every day by doing whatever it takes to stay true to herself. As she says in her 
Admit it. At some point, you’ve imagined what you’d say if you won an Academy Award. Or a Grammy, a Tony, an Obie or a Clio. Chances are, the speech begins with these four words: I’d like to thank.