When I was young, a wee lad, I was as quirky/weird as I am now. When all of the other Black boys got together they talked about which rap songs they loved. They went over every beat, every bar. While rap and hip hop were surely a part of my life growing up on the edges of Chicago, I found my home in R&B music. I would lose myself in ballads or the harmonies of girl and guy groups. Truth be told, I don’t think I should have been singing any of that music as a young person (shockingly unaware that much of it was about breakups, hard relationships, and sex. ha) But alas, I was mesmerized. I would come home from school and try to catch some of my favorite songs on the radio and record them on my little boombox…I may be dating myself but hush. I cherished those songs and would sing them late in the night to myself or early in the morning. Singing was a balm for my pained, shy, sad soul. What I couldn’t express out loud to people during the normal waking day, I could sing out alone.
“Cut all that noise out!”
My father was a troubled man and our relationship has been tumultuous. I know that in many ways, I was not the son that he desired. Not into sports. A musician. Soft and sensitive. And, when I would sing, especially in middle school onwards, he would express annoyance. I don’t know if I could fully blame him though. It is not like I have an award winning voice. Phew. I wonder to myself in these days, what songs he wasn’t allowed to sing? What music could have soothed his soul?
When I became a Christian my singing continued, taking on new layers. New meaning as I would sit up early in the morning and sing songs to God. I think back on those early days with such fondness. Making up little songs and writing them in a journal as I attempted to establish a morning routine that grounded me.
Almost 20 years later and I am still singing.
I feel a lot older than my 39 years would suggest. I have been cracked by grief. I have traveled to places that this poor Chicago kid could never have imagined. 20 years of intentionally singing in the morning has done my soul so much good. Whether they are songs of lament mingled with my tears, love songs, or songs recounting where I have come from…I am still here. Bless the neighbors over the years who have undoubtedly heard my singing voice at times that they would rather not. Singing is a spiritual practice. A grounding. Something that helps me feel whole. Maybe in this upcoming week you could take a little time to sing.
I love this. I've been reading about how singing calms the nervous system -- our larynx is connected to our vagus nerve, and singing activates it, calming us. And when you sing with others your heartbeats actually synchronize!
Yes! I have often sung to calm myself. Hey, I hummed Silent Night, all the way through 1st grade, to calm myself. Nah, it wasn’t a longing for Christmas, just my need for calmness. I lover Oliver’s poem entitled ‘I Worried’. It ends with
‘Finally, I Aw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
And went out into the morning,
And sang’
I was encouraged to do this again, daily, in the past year of thinking we would move any minute, not k owing where or how we would land, and so much much more. I’ve started sitting and just singing a song , or hymn, or making something up, in the mornings. I feel myself unclench, and my soul spread, and embrace the day better, whatever it will hold.
Also, I am an old body, in my 60’s