Sing for me

A couple nights ago, I sang karaoke.

Which was, I must admit, a pretty big stretch for me.

I grew up loving to sing, and, as a young, pre-pubescent boy, could really hit those high notes. I loved singing.

But then the inevitable happened, and I ceased to be pre-pubescent. Suddenly, I couldn’t hit those high notes anymore. But I would try. And people would tell me to stop, because I sucked.

And so I stopped singing.

Well, stopped singing out loud in public. Because people told me I sucked.

But I would sing when I was alone, I would sing under my breath. I would endlessly have tunes running through my head. I would sing all the parts for Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables when I was alone, pretending I could hit those notes like Michael Crawford or Colm Wilkenson. And Sarah Brightman, too.

And you know what? I could. But I didn’t think I could. Because I had been told I sucked and so I thought I sucked.

And years went by. And decades. And I didn’t sing in public.

But the other night I was at the local bar, and there was nobody around except for a few friends, who were all well lubricated. Not drunk, just … you know, having a good time.

And I mentioned I might sing something if it was from Hamilton, the Musical. (If you know, you know.)

And one of the women expressed her love for Hamilton, and for other musicals, and the next thing you know, I was up there singing Master of the House from Les Mis with her.

And … it didn’t suck.

It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. And so we sang a couple songs from Phantom of the Opera, too. And by the end of it all, I wasn’t (as) scared of the mic as I had been at the beginning of the night. It was … fun.

And it got me thinking (as these things always do) about how we allow other people’s opinions of us to shape our own. How sometimes, we let other people’s words colour what we do. How we do it.

But life’s too short for crap like that. If you want to wear that tank top, even though you can see (gasp) your belly, whatever. Go for it. If you’ve always wanted to sing Karaoke but thought people would judge you for it? Screw them. Do it. The people who will judge you will judge you no matter what you do, so might as well enjoy yourself, rather than living life in fear of those whispered words behind your back.

People tell us we are fat, and so we don’t wear that bikini to the beach. People tell us we are too tall or too short or too much or too little, and so we arrange out lives to please them.

First, shame on them for shaming you. You are your own brand of unique. Embrace that. Don’t try and fit into someone else’s predefined box.

Second, celebrate that. I know a great way to do so, wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean? (And if you don’t, I mean celebrate with a photoshoot that captures who you are: personality, emotion, motion, body, mind, soul.)

And third: be you. Be the best you there is. Emphasize the best and most admirable qualities—your humour, your compassion, your passion, your strength, your discernment, your kindness, your joy, your love—lead with that. Don’t be afraid to get up on stage and sing that song you love; don’t be afraid to do the photoshoot. It might be scary, but it’s okay. My job is to celebrate you and lift you up.