Sing a song, sing out loud, sing out strong

I can’t sing. Well, that’s what I’ve been led to believe for most of my life. And yet, I still do!

I sing in my car — lead; if you ride with me, you’re automatically relegated to backup. I sing in my shower. I’ve sung on airplanes (danced as well but that’s another blog post) and I sing in my house. Oh, baby, do I sing in my house!

Most of the places I sing are private (well, except for the airplanes) and was intentional. For most of my life, I’ve heard such gems as, “Who sings this song?" I provide an answer. The response: “Well, let them!" I’ve also had the radio turned up when I begun singing and radio channels changed to news stations. Years ago, in the early days of our courtship, My Favourite Husband (MFH) told me I could sing as loudly as I like at Christmas mass since there were enough people to drown me out! 

So, based on all of this, is it any wonder that I’ve been led to believe I can’t sing? 

When MFH died, one of my grief outlets was — and continues to be — aquafit classes. Aquafit is exercising in the water to music. And since I love music and I love the swimming pool, I figured this was a can’t-miss combo.

From the moment I entered the pool for my first class, I fell in love with the vibe, the energy and the people. I didn’t sing during the first few classes until I met my wonderful friend: the young gentleman with Down syndrome who sings off-key at the top of his lungs and messes up 90 per cent of the lyrics. He sings with passion! He sings with gusto! He sings with joy! He does not care what anyone thinks. And that was my cue. I needed to stop caring what other people think. And while I don’t sing as lustily as he does, I do sing. And it gives me joy and makes me smile from ear to ear.

Singing at that pool has morphed into singing at all my classes. I tried not to — I really did — but no one seemed to mind so my humming has become bolder. I now sing out loud. If you’re not going to tell me to pipe down, I won’t.

And my singing has encouraged others to sing as well. And when we sing, we smile. We feel happy. We can exercise and have fun.

Last week, a new class member approached me and told me about an article she recently read that talked about the benefits of music — playing an instrument or listening to it. She offered to bring a copy of it in for me and I accepted. The article said music was as beneficial to mental health as exercising and eating right. The article made total sense to me. When I play music, I feel a wide range of emotions. Music lifts me and makes me smile. Music comforts me when I’m sad. Music recalls happy memories and some brings back aching, poignant moments. One of those moments happened the other day during class. One of MFH's favourite songs came on and I started crying. I let the tears run and no one was any wiser (I splash a lot in the pool) but, even if they had noticed, who cares? It was love that needed to leak out of my eyes and so it did. 

All of these moments are so beneficial to maintaining my mental health and so many of them are inspired by music. 

One other interesting thing has happened since I’ve started my pool serenading career: I’ve been invited to join a choir! At first I wondered how sincere the offer was but I was assured that it was sincere, that my voice was unique and that I can actually carry a tune. The timing didn’t work out but I really wish it would’ve.

My pool serenading is as close to a karaoke night I’m going to get and I’m really good with that. I just hope the folks I’m singing to with my lovely dulcet tones continue to be good with it, too.

❤️