Certain motifs carry on throughout my life. Sometimes I’m in a casino, assessing the risk of what I have stacked in my deck so that I may roll the dice and take the biggest gamble. Other times I’m at a seaside buffet, sampling several different platters of what is being offered to get the best and most filling plate possible. Still other times I’m crewing a ship, headed out to sea with my first mate, ready to battle any rough seas that may lie ahead. It’s interesting to assess. I like being able to express what I’m feeling through various themes, especially when I can make a connection and wrap the motif around it. It sets off a neurological impulse to let you hear my voice through my writing, making it all the more enjoyable to read later.
I mean, I have no idea if that’s true. It just doesn’t feel too far off the mark, is all. This is my blog, you’re meant to hear my voice through it, right? This is just one of those ways for you to hear it if you choose to listen. I have this writing voice, but I also have a working voice, a commanding voice, sometimes even a singing voice. And there’s a time and a place for all of them. I can’t help being who I am, but I can present myself in a way that makes categorical sense for where I am.
I like to sing at work sometimes. There’s still not a lot of people in the newsroom, and I just get excited when we play music throughout the show. There’s a song in my heart and I like expressing it. But I’ve been told that people think I’m weird for that. Like they think it’s not entirely appropriate to do that at work (which is correct, I know). I just never made it about them. It may sound selfish, but I’m doing what feels good for me in the moment. But I know it could come off as obnoxious on its face. I figure that if their biggest complaint about me is I sing too much, then there are definitely worse things to be known for out there. Someone even reportedly said, “Well, it’s annoying but at least she has a beautiful voice.” I thought that was cute. But I get it. My voice is putting a target on me and not in a good way. I can try and minimize the singing in the newsroom and instead save it for my walks home. At least I can get away with it on a New York City street where no one pays anyone mind, no matter what they do.
It all just goes back to choosing the appropriate venues. Just because I won’t let the newsroom know about the song in my heart doesn’t mean I have to jeopardize who I am. I’ll still be that weirdo singing lady, just somewhere else. And that’s okay too. There comes a point where I’d like to open my mouth only when I have something to say. Or sing. I’ll be aware of my surroundings enough and know when it’s time to belt it out. I’m not going to get it right every time, but I know I can come to a satisfying ending. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. That’s all I ever want with every interaction I have, really. And if I know I can’t get there, I’ll bow out. I’m not above doing that. I can compromise. But I know when I’m just spinning my wheels and straining my voice. And I can’t afford to have a scratchy throat for too much longer.
All in its own time. 4/4 time, even. I’ve always been partial to the weird 5/4 time, myself. Maybe we’ll get to write that piece one day. Well, you write it. I can’t read music. I can absolutely sing what we come up with, though. Give me a chance to pitch you my theme. I promise you’ll love it the moment it hits your ears. You’ll be hearing it in your sleep. Because it came from me. And ‘me’ ain’t a bad place to be. Hey, that rhymes.