I'd Love to Sing for My Supper

After a session with my therapist, I usually feel like shopping. It's as though the emotional purge leaves me empty and ready to add more stuff to my life. I just had to convince myself not to buy a rug for my daughter's room because, although it was adorable, it would have required a redecorating of the whole room to put it in there.

And besides, her room is carpeted. It sure was cute, though.

Tuesday is also the day for my singing lesson. I've been taking lessons for around six months, after a lifetime of believing I was tone-deaf and hopeless. As it turns out, I'm not that bad. I haven't been practicing enough lately, though. It's hard to get motivated when practice means 40 minutes of the same five exercises I've been doing since I started. I am getting better, and the exercises are still valuable to me, but...well, I'm bored. My teacher says I'll be moving on to new stuff very soon--in the next week or two--but it's really been like pulling teeth to get myself to practice the last couple of weeks.

There's another reason, too. In two weeks I'll be 30. It's hard to find the motivation to work on this when I know that there are so many people out there that are so many years ahead of me. Let's say that I stick with this for 10 years, and build my voice up to a point where I could sing professionally--how many hard rock bands do you think will want a 40-year-old woman for a lead singer? Do I adjust my dream (Join an 80s cover band? Learn guitar and be a folk musician? Matronly roles in musical theatre?), or do I soldier on in the hopes that I can be the quirky, punky rock star I see in my head? Or rather, a 20-years-older version of her?

Don't mind me, I'm just having a completely typical pre-turning-30 existential crisis. Maybe I'll go buy another motorcycle.

blog comments powered by Disqus