Edgy exposure…
Singing to strangers, gawd no!
SO I went on a meditation retreat. Only for a day. It was online. I was planning to sit a longer retreat last fall. That got upended by my mom dying. I was long overdue to sit with others, listen to some good dharma talks.
My wife took the kids out for the day. I sat in the living room, bathed in sunlight, feeling spacious as all get out, grateful to be sitting with the queer/trans east bay meditation sangha, even on the zoom. We did some meditating, then some movement. All lovely. Then we were invited to sing. Sure! My voice cut through the quiet of my home, joining the vibrating field of all of us meditators singing together across continents. Quite transcendent really. Then we were invited to sing to each other. In small breakout rooms. One at a time. On zoom.
“Oh hellz no!” I thought. My whole body clamped down. I resisted the urge to log off. I invited myself to breathe, you know, being a meditator and all. What exactly am I afraid of? Why does this kind of exposure feel so edgy? I get people to sing all the time leading trips in the mountains. I believe we all have voices meant for singing.
I clicked the button and was swept into the breakout room with three other faces. Dang, it’s nice to be beamed at by queer people. When my turn came it felt like I was hanging myself out on a laundry line naked. It took a few beats to settle, the vibration of my voice soothed me. I surrendered to being fully received. Tears welled. It was totally glorious to sing to strangers. Just as glorious was listening to my fellow stranger/friends sing to me. I have no idea when the last time someone sang to me was. We breathed. We beamed. We shared how shy we felt, and how held. We beamed some more. It was incredibly tender.
Singing to strangers on zoom clued me in to a very young part of myself that believes no one wants to listen to what I have to say. Good gawd, it’s a little nauseating to get close to this particular truth. Knowing about this little one helps me understand some things though, like where my harsh voiced editor comes from, the one who throws out zingers like “no one wants to read that.” Or the part of me that loses momentum on a creative project and just kind of drifts off. Both of these parts are trying to protect me. From rejection. From overexposure. The funny thing is, there is no hard evidence. No one yet has tracked me down to tell me they hate what I make or write or do. Literally no one. And if they did? So what?
Some of us learn that we are too much when we’re little, or too broody, or too intrusive, or that there is never a right time for our silliness, rambling storytelling and boundless questions. We get older and learn to stifle the impulse to share ourselves and our creativity. Or we do share and relentlessly judge ourselves and our creations. Or we decide we’re just not the creative type. That’s what happens to some of us. And by some of us, I mean me.
In the zoom room the other day I was struck by the tremendous gift it is to offer ourselves to each other. In whatever form, our unpolished, unpracticed, raw selves are conduits for pure magic. So much gets lost when we make ourselves small, stifle our ideas or decide no one wants to hear what we have to say (or sing!)
Here’s my invitation: go sing out loud to a real human. Feel where the “no way” edge is. Maybe your no way edge is right here, reading this. That’s cool. Maybe you’re going to give singing a go. Pick the person, someone who is safe enough that you aren’t going to get outright rejected. Sing one line, or one verse… stay through the feeling silly part. Then what happens?
What do you check for to decide when something is too much, too exposing or unwanted? How do you know? What does it feel like to be fully received? Does staying through the “too much” constricting feeling to the other side help build the muscle of trusting that your voice is wanted?
Beyond this practice, what, if anything, wants to be expressed through you that got lost in the fear of too much, too silly, too whatever?
I’m here if anyone wants to sing to me. I will listen with rapt awe. And I’m cheering for whatever you might be hesitating to offer the world, the stuff that feels edgy, or unwanted or too much. I’m here for it. And I guarantee it’s so needed and so wanted.
All my love,
Liz
