I had heard this song at least a hundred times, but as I stood in front of the microphone and the beginning notes played, my mind began to race. The lyrics I had rehearsed numerous times drifted in and out of my head as I attempted to collect them before my intro was over. Finally, I heard my cue and I opened my mouth to sing. Out came my voice, familiar and accustomed to the notes, but it was shakier than I hoped. Something about this solo let an angry heard of butterflies loose in my stomach, and let me tell you, they sure were putting up a fight.
I recently moved several hours away from my hometown, and with that meant saying goodbye my high school and enrolling in a new one. This also meant leaving behind my beloved jazz choir and being put in a new singing group. I was particularly nervous about this aspect of moving because choir had become a very special part of my life. I had known many of the choir members for numerous years, and had grown very close to some of them. I knew their voices well, and they knew mine. Solos weren't scary anymore around them; they were fun. No one judged each other when they were familiar with one another's style of singing, but now that I was many miles away and with a new group of people, I would be a brand new voice to listen to, and to judge.
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