Those Uncomfortable Gifts: Joining the Master Chorale of Tampa Bay's Summer Chorus

"People who get on in this world, get up and look for circumstances they want, and if they can't find them, they make them."

— George Bernard Shaw

I won't say I specifically create circumstances, but I do believe that when I change the way I look at things, things I look at change. When I moved to Tampa, I didn't know how I would re-enter the arts.

I have continually learned that I have a lifelong passion for not just the stage, but for the enjoyment the audience experiences through watching the arts. Music, dance, and performing truly make my soul happy; and no matter what I am up to in my life, I will always find a way to serve that inner purpose, that inner calling, that whisper that sounds so friendly and calm.

I met my friend Savannah in acting class, and I immediately enjoyed creating improv skits with her. She started acting classes to add on to her incredible singing abilities. She is a professional singer and performed Caro Mio Ben for us on her second day. Our jaws dropped watching her fill the room with that angelic song, which speaks of yearning for an aloof partner's trust, empathy, and relief from the pain of separation.

When I am not participating in any kind of creative endeavor, I literally feel as if my spirit is singing that song to my non-logical side, my ego, which can be apprehensive and afraid to try something new.

It's literally painful imagining myself doing the things I love and not actually taking the first step toward anything.

Life is kind of like that when it comes to organic passions. They never stop growing, no matter how much I try to ignore it.

One day, Savannah texted me, "Hey, I sent you an email about the Master Chorale of Tampa Bay; I'll do it with you."

I opened the email and read that the choir was inviting the public to participate in the summer program, which was four Tuesdays learning five songs and a performance the following week.

My ego screamed, "Absolutely not! You've never sung in a choir and you will probably sound like a screeching cat!"

Without hesitation, I listened to that voice and texted Savannah, "Ah, nope. I don't think I can do it. I'll sound like an idiot."

Savannah replied, "What the heck, you've been taking voice lessons for over a year?! We sang Popular from Wicked together in acting class! I heard you sing by yourself! You are doing this—for me!"

One thing I respond well to is orders that make me ignore the self-pity committee in my head.

I literally couldn't make sense of why I wouldn't do it, so before I listened to the committee any longer, I filled out the form, paid the fee, and hit send.

I actually felt relieved and bat-crazy nervous, but I made the decision and followed through.

"The worst part of any decision is the noise right before just going for it."

The first day, we walked in, and Heather the director lit up the room with her smile and asked me if I was a soprano or alto.

"I chose soprano on the form because it sounded pretty, but I think—!" I darted my eyes around the crowded room.

"You're a soprano, I heard you sing!" Savannah belted out and dragged me over to the group of women sitting on the left of the large group of singers.

We jumped right into practicing the first song, and I fumbled with the books. I couldn't figure out how to read the lyrics, started too soon, finished late, and fell short of the pitch that Savannah floated on so easily, as if she were a musical fairy.

The committee in my head started chanting—out of tune, I may add—"Gurl, get out now while you still have a shred of dignity! Fa la la la la-la la la LAAA!"

And I almost did, a trillion times. When I went home, Chris asked, "How was it?"

"Jeez, I think I'm quitting." And when I said that, my spirit sang Caro Mio Ben. The pain of giving up was too much for me to let quitting be part of my story.

I said immediately after, "But I'll have my voice teacher help me with the music, and I'll practice as much as I can. Savannah will help me as well, and I feel like as long as she is there, I'll make it through."

Savannah called me the day before our second class. "Hey girlie, I won't make it to class—I have to go out of town for work."

The committee went right for the red panic button and, just like the loyal non-cheerleaders they are, immediately said, "That's it! She was your saving grace—she had to pull you out of the fire during the first class, but you'll get dragged out of class if you go without her! Run for your life!"

I've had situations like this in the past where I thought I would follow through on something new only if someone I knew was there for the long haul.

If something went off course, I'd turn my focus inward and remember that I'm loyal to myself, and that I can always depend on trusting that things work out just as they should. Almost always, things turned out better than I imagined.

I had codependency and abandonment issues when I was younger, and those rascals tend to pop out from stage left at unexpected times.

Learning to separate the thoughts gives me time to see them before I feel the emotions, and then I can adjust my actions.

Am I perfect at this? Nope, but like a dear friend once told me, "We just catch it faster with practice."

YouTube, Google, and my voice teacher became my winning team. I made voice notes, highlighted my lines, marked where the sopranos jumped into the songs, and repeated the routine every day. I got better with every practice—and made a few new friends.

The committee told me not to tell many people that I would be in this chorus. I went the total opposite, had new photos taken, and sent them to a bunch of my friends.

This made me accountable to myself and the choir, and it put an end to the committee in my head.

Savannah texted me after the third class, "Hey chica, I can't finish the class, and I won't be in the show—my husband surprised me with a trip for our first anniversary."

The committee went full orchestra nuts! "The nerve of that girl to have a wedding anniversary after she dragged you into this! Her husband planned this to intentionally destroy you! And she is probably cackling with pleasure at your ultimate failure! Never speak to her again, and no one will miss you in the choir. Just don't show up!"

I thought of that little Margarette with her shiny lace socks and tap shoes, standing in the middle of the stage with a smile so bright there was no need for stage lights—her disappointment when everyone stopped showing up for her shows, her sadness for her grandma, her yearning for the joy she got from watching the audience in awe, all lost in a swamp called depression.

I remember her when I think of giving in to the committee. I think of her depending on me to be her audience, cheerleader, and bright light.

We walked out on stage and took our places. I scanned the audience looking for Chris and Nicky. When I saw them, I waved like I was a five-year-old who just saw Mickey Mouse for the first time. Then, to my surprise, I saw other friends, and my heart was jumping for joy.

All the memories of my childhood came flooding back into my body. The warmth of the lights, the music starting, and the choir working together to share the gift of music with the audience were among the best feelings I've ever had.

The committee in my head even swayed along with no hesitation.

The thing about fear is it can be something I use or something I let use me.

"We can choose to learn through pain and suffering, or learn through joy and gratitude." — Joe Dispenza

Savannah was rooting for me the whole time. And I am forever grateful to the universe for aligning us and giving me the opportunity to learn so much about my voice, working with others, and digging deeper into places that I didn't know existed.

My soul isn't singing Caro Mio Ben right now. But when it does, and I'm sure it will again, I'll answer with perfect sheet music and joy.

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