moominmuppet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moominmuppet) wrote2012-07-29 09:25 pm
moominmuppet) wrote2012-07-29 09:25 pm
Entry tags:
Dance, then, wherever you may be...
From my last post:
The other is something kind of amazing for me. I'm singing out loud again. Sometime in my teens I lost all my confidence in singing aloud, even in large groups. Its been something that has weighed on me for years, and been one of my biggest personal fears to overcome, and well as a deep personal grief, given my view on the voice as everyone's rightful instrument and tool for joy. Although I never pursued it, I've often dreamt of setting aside time and guts to work with a private vocal coach just to get over that fear enough to sing acceptably well in group situations. Something happened this weekend, mostly because of singing with Kidlet. I've hit a major turning point, it seems. I'm still pretty stunned about the changes in my own fear level, especially at the ripe old age of 37, and there will be a separate post about this, too. I know it's something a lot of people take for granted, but for me this is really, really huge. Today during break I actually had the guts to record myself singing, probably for the first time in my adult life. _And_ the guts to send the recording to my parents, at least. Seriously. Big stuff for me. Joyful stuff for me. Great gratitude to Kidlet for triggering this.
Addition to this: Just a few minutes ago, I gave my two coworkers a rendition of The Pink Pajamas Song, a nudist-friendly camp song sung to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic (incidentally, the Battle Hymn is another song that's strangely powerful for me, but in that case it's because Dad used to sing it to me as a lullaby).
Also, totally did not know about this song set to the same music! Solidarity Forever *plans to start memorizing lyrics*
My voice is one of my greatest tools; it is far and away the physical trait about me that gets compliments most frequently, and I am confident and comfortable using it. I take joy in using it. I'm an excellent public reader, a pretty good extemporaneous speaker, and I can project like nobody's business when I choose. I can read poetry and children's books, generally well enough for comment and praise, and I can intentionally express various emotional states to calm people down, rile them up (*ahem* my old phone sex work), etc. It's been a joke in my office over the years that I'm "Voice of the Helpdesk", and until we outsourced it I did all our recordings. I have, in fact, practiced these things for years because I like the sense of confidence it gives me in interacting with the world. My fear and lack of confidence around singing, even in the most brief and non-threatening ways, was a giant gaping hole in that. It really does matter hugely to me to fix this, and that's part of why it's such a big deal for me to suddenly discover this unexpected progress.
I have this old copy of (800 Christian) Songs from my youth in the church (OK, actually I stole it from the church before I left for college for sentimental reasons. Oh, the irony.) I pulled it out recently because along with all the explicitly religious stuff, it's got a whole bunch of generally "peace and love" songs that're good for sing-a-long, and a lot of campfire classics. I wanted to find some to sing with Kidlet, and refresh myself on them, since there's only so many times I can sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider". Chad and I are firmly atheist, and Kidlet's Momma is pagan (and perhaps his Poppa* as well), so I certainly don't plan to use the more christian songs with him, and was flipping through for appropriate choices.
*For clarification; Chad is "Daddy", and Momma's partner who has been in Kidlet's life since birth is "Poppa".
The thing is, I'm a firmly and politically atheist adult who comes from a childhood and youth immersed in happy church and church-camp experiences. I did not become an atheist because of bad experiences in the church, I became an atheist despite extraordinarily good experiences in the church. And I was intensely religious. As intensely religious as it's possible to be and still identify as Episcopalian (a notoriously level-headed and middle-of-the-road denomination), basically. I'm talking recurrent ecstatic experience kind of intense. Going to national youth retreats kind of intense. Considering the Episcopal priesthood kind of intense. More christian music earworms than pop music ones for most of my teens. Flipping through the songbook was such a reminder that this is the music I really know by heart, that I can still sing after not hearing for 20 years or more, that's embedded in my heart whether I still agree with a word of the lyrics. It's the music that still resonates with how it affected me then. It's weird and powerful for me in strange and conflicting sorts of ways. It's also a reminder of what particular lens I used to interpret christianity, why it was a positive experience for me, why it fed my passion for justice and compassion, where I found and connected with nature imagery that's often more expected in many pagan perspectives than christian, but resonated very deeply for me personally.
The title of this post is a line from a song that exists in both christian and pagan versions, and is based originally on a famous Shaker song: Lord of the Dance. I actually really love the pagan version, and although I can quibble with some gender essentialism than bothers me, I find it a much more comfortable version to teach Kidlet or sing myself. On the other hand, it's the christian version that I've adored since I was young, that did and does give me goosebumps, that reflects how christianity was a source of joy for me.
And last night, after Kidlet was fast asleep, I sat on our back porch 'til 3am singing a capella church songs. Hopefully didn't wake and annoy our lovely new neighbors, because that'd sure be a confusing message! ("the hippies next door are singing WHAT?")
I'm sort of in the process of re-interpreting and re-understanding my entire perspective on singing. It feels like it's happening overnight, almost literally, and it's confusing but wonderful.
OK, I still have a lot more to write and say about all this, including a lot of comment on various songs and what they mean to me, but I think this is enough for tonight. Or at least, I'm tired, and I can't focus on writing any more at the moment.
The other is something kind of amazing for me. I'm singing out loud again. Sometime in my teens I lost all my confidence in singing aloud, even in large groups. Its been something that has weighed on me for years, and been one of my biggest personal fears to overcome, and well as a deep personal grief, given my view on the voice as everyone's rightful instrument and tool for joy. Although I never pursued it, I've often dreamt of setting aside time and guts to work with a private vocal coach just to get over that fear enough to sing acceptably well in group situations. Something happened this weekend, mostly because of singing with Kidlet. I've hit a major turning point, it seems. I'm still pretty stunned about the changes in my own fear level, especially at the ripe old age of 37, and there will be a separate post about this, too. I know it's something a lot of people take for granted, but for me this is really, really huge. Today during break I actually had the guts to record myself singing, probably for the first time in my adult life. _And_ the guts to send the recording to my parents, at least. Seriously. Big stuff for me. Joyful stuff for me. Great gratitude to Kidlet for triggering this.
Addition to this: Just a few minutes ago, I gave my two coworkers a rendition of The Pink Pajamas Song, a nudist-friendly camp song sung to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic (incidentally, the Battle Hymn is another song that's strangely powerful for me, but in that case it's because Dad used to sing it to me as a lullaby).
Also, totally did not know about this song set to the same music! Solidarity Forever *plans to start memorizing lyrics*
My voice is one of my greatest tools; it is far and away the physical trait about me that gets compliments most frequently, and I am confident and comfortable using it. I take joy in using it. I'm an excellent public reader, a pretty good extemporaneous speaker, and I can project like nobody's business when I choose. I can read poetry and children's books, generally well enough for comment and praise, and I can intentionally express various emotional states to calm people down, rile them up (*ahem* my old phone sex work), etc. It's been a joke in my office over the years that I'm "Voice of the Helpdesk", and until we outsourced it I did all our recordings. I have, in fact, practiced these things for years because I like the sense of confidence it gives me in interacting with the world. My fear and lack of confidence around singing, even in the most brief and non-threatening ways, was a giant gaping hole in that. It really does matter hugely to me to fix this, and that's part of why it's such a big deal for me to suddenly discover this unexpected progress.
I have this old copy of (800 Christian) Songs from my youth in the church (OK, actually I stole it from the church before I left for college for sentimental reasons. Oh, the irony.) I pulled it out recently because along with all the explicitly religious stuff, it's got a whole bunch of generally "peace and love" songs that're good for sing-a-long, and a lot of campfire classics. I wanted to find some to sing with Kidlet, and refresh myself on them, since there's only so many times I can sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider". Chad and I are firmly atheist, and Kidlet's Momma is pagan (and perhaps his Poppa* as well), so I certainly don't plan to use the more christian songs with him, and was flipping through for appropriate choices.
*For clarification; Chad is "Daddy", and Momma's partner who has been in Kidlet's life since birth is "Poppa".
The thing is, I'm a firmly and politically atheist adult who comes from a childhood and youth immersed in happy church and church-camp experiences. I did not become an atheist because of bad experiences in the church, I became an atheist despite extraordinarily good experiences in the church. And I was intensely religious. As intensely religious as it's possible to be and still identify as Episcopalian (a notoriously level-headed and middle-of-the-road denomination), basically. I'm talking recurrent ecstatic experience kind of intense. Going to national youth retreats kind of intense. Considering the Episcopal priesthood kind of intense. More christian music earworms than pop music ones for most of my teens. Flipping through the songbook was such a reminder that this is the music I really know by heart, that I can still sing after not hearing for 20 years or more, that's embedded in my heart whether I still agree with a word of the lyrics. It's the music that still resonates with how it affected me then. It's weird and powerful for me in strange and conflicting sorts of ways. It's also a reminder of what particular lens I used to interpret christianity, why it was a positive experience for me, why it fed my passion for justice and compassion, where I found and connected with nature imagery that's often more expected in many pagan perspectives than christian, but resonated very deeply for me personally.
The title of this post is a line from a song that exists in both christian and pagan versions, and is based originally on a famous Shaker song: Lord of the Dance. I actually really love the pagan version, and although I can quibble with some gender essentialism than bothers me, I find it a much more comfortable version to teach Kidlet or sing myself. On the other hand, it's the christian version that I've adored since I was young, that did and does give me goosebumps, that reflects how christianity was a source of joy for me.
And last night, after Kidlet was fast asleep, I sat on our back porch 'til 3am singing a capella church songs. Hopefully didn't wake and annoy our lovely new neighbors, because that'd sure be a confusing message! ("the hippies next door are singing WHAT?")
I'm sort of in the process of re-interpreting and re-understanding my entire perspective on singing. It feels like it's happening overnight, almost literally, and it's confusing but wonderful.
OK, I still have a lot more to write and say about all this, including a lot of comment on various songs and what they mean to me, but I think this is enough for tonight. Or at least, I'm tired, and I can't focus on writing any more at the moment.