Revelation

One of my clients had a breakthrough yesterday. With her permission, I'd like to share her story with you.

Katherine doesn't consider herself a singer. She works in finance, but heard about me through a friend and thought doing some singing would help to open her up to deeper creative and personal expression.

As many of you know, I've found over the years that vocal tension– for both the amateur and professional– more often than not comes from or is exacerbated by non-vocal issues; lack of faith in self, unresolved or unaddressed emotional concerns, insecurities, fears of failure and success, and the like.

With this in mind, as she struggled through a song, I asked Katherine to focus not on how she was sounding, but rather, to concentrate on the meaning of the words and music. To feel the voice coming from a deeper place. To stop listening to and trying to manage every note, and instead, focus on the process of the sound being born, formed, resonating in, and leaving her body.

I asked her to sing from her soul.

To which she replied, "I don't know where my soul is..."

We sat there together for a long while in silence, as Katherine consciously confronted an issue she'd been trying so hard to avoid- one I'd so carefully been trying to lead her to. Bringing her back to the song, I shared this with her:

You don't have to know where your soul is to sing. By singing, the journey toward your soul begins. And it's a never-ending journey... a leisurely, sensory walk deeper and deeper into yourself and the world.

But the journey of finding and celebrating your soul can't begin until you relinquish judgment and expectation. The soul and the voice don't care how you sound or look. They don't have an idea of how your heart song 'should' go. There is no music they call 'good' or 'bad', no notes they call 'too high' or 'too low', no feelings or ideas or imaginings they call 'wrong' or 'right'. The soul only asks one thing... the voice only asks one thing...

... to sing.

Katherine sat still, eyes closed, hand on her stomach, tears in her eyes, and– as all of the muscles in her face and body released in childlike surrender– made some of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard.

Life is Precious

"Everything is a gift of the universe" - Precious

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way" - Viktor Frankl


A client emailed the other day asking if I'd write a piece for Thanksgiving, to which I replied that anything I'd imagine to say would likely be either redundant or cliché. The lessons of the season are all around us... lessons of which we are all well aware.

As I returned home from the theater last night, however, it occurred to me that while not an original thought, I might shine a light on a shared wisdom we too often forget...

...and that is how blessed we all are. Not sometimes, not occasionally. But all the time. Even in our darkest, most terrible moments.

As many of you know, the movie Precious is an agonizing tale of a young woman's journey through a hell that most of us cannot even begin to imagine. While a work of fiction, the story is an all-too-real life reflection of what goes on behind so many closed doors.

Still, it was a sense of awe rather than despair that stayed with me during and after the film. Here was a young woman determined to push forward, finding and holding to a sense of hope in spite of a complete lack of it in the lives, hearts and minds of so many around her.

There is similar inspiration in Viktor Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning", the true story of a man who found a way, against all odds, to hold fast to a sense of purpose in the worst of human trials. That meaning- hope and faith in the world and his place in it- allowed him to stay both alive and optimistic while so many perished around him in the concentration camps (including his wife and children).

While these stories are certainly inspiring, more important is the reminder of perspective. How quickly our mountains of pain become molehills when we are faced with true human suffering...

And yet, even in suffering- indeed, in every moment- we have a choice. At every turn, we can throw open the gates of our hearts, or lock them tight and throw away the key. Daily, it is up to us and us alone whether to look up and shout with all our might “YES!”, or to bow our backs and heads in a silent scream of 'no'...

For the chance to walk into another holiday season celebrating and embracing all that is and will come, saying yes to and learning from it all, I am truly grateful.

Slow Down

I'm very lucky. Out of my coaching studio window there is a sweeping view of the Hudson River and Riverside Park. I don't take it for granted, and often find myself gazing out at the changing sky and shifting waters during the course of a day. The impact on my clients' spirits and performance is marked as well; I and whoever has the 5, 6, 7 or 8pm slot- depending on the season- often pause to watch the sunset, grateful for and rejuvenated by the seconds of stillness and beauty.

I don't catch the sunrise as often as the set, but this morning, I was up and here as the day started to break. I rushed about, putting on a pot of coffee, turning off all the lights, and setting up my front-row, windowsill seat to catch the show, desperate not to miss a single moment.

And then time stopped.

Unlike so much in our modern lives, the sunrise- and indeed all of nature- is a molasses-slow show whose every moment is filled with more sensory information and nuance than what most of us consciously pay attention to in an entire day. The rapid-fire rate of television, internet, and radio programming are both cause and reflection of the manufactured pace of today's world, in which our mind and body clocks have been reset to permanent 'fast-forward'. Expecting and processing everything faster, faster, faster- and multi-tasking all the while- we feel more productive. We're living more, doing more, becoming more in the 'newer, faster, better' model. Chant with him now, the grand poo-bah of the speed-madness parade himself, Kanye West: "Work it harder! Make it better! Do it faster! Makes us stronger!"

But faster, faster, faster doesn't make us better or stronger. It makes us stressed out and stretched thin, less effective and disconnected.

I was rushing to catch the sunrise, racing about to 'get there in time', anxiously trying to get into the best possible position to see all that I could... only to be reminded that my gerbil-on-a-wheel act needed to stop before the show- and life- could really start.

An hour later, I was still there in the window, mind, body, and spirit mesmerized by the soaring birds, their changing tune, the shifting colors and dancing clouds. Focusing on nature, I was transported back to the rhythm of the earth... the natural and intended rhythm of life.

When the show was over, at that turtle-slow pace I started my morning, and have accomplished more already- creatively, peacefully, and powerfully- than I would normally in an entire day.

When was the last time your mind stilled, and you focused on one thing? Try it, and you'll be introduced to one of modern life's greatest ironies: doing so will make you more productive and efficient. What a novel idea... by quieting the mind, removing distractions, and releasing resistance, the entire world- and every possibility in it- becomes 'immediately' accessible.

Slow down, people. Slow down.

Lessons from a Marathon

I set out this morning for my daily walk in Riverside Park. As often is the case, I ended up meandering off my intended path, happily adrift in my thoughts.

Fortunately, you're never really lost in New York... all roads lead to somewhere interesting, and you generally return home better for the unexpected places you've been. The same is certainly true of life.

After picking up a bagel (I often get hungry during my wanderings), I strolled over to Central Park, where I found myself in the midst of the NYC marathon. I arrived just in time to watch the leaders in the wheelchair/handcycle division cross the finish line. To see men and women who've lost their legs or the ability to use them completing a 26-mile race is something I'll never forget. Neither will I forget the beauty on the faces and in the voices of those lining the course... people cheering on complete strangers as if they were family.

After a time, I started walking uptown through the park, pondering what I'd just experienced. The runners were coming soon, and I was eager to find a good spot to watch Paula Radcliffe pass by.

The sound of whistles and yells brought me back into the moment, and I glanced up to see, off in the distance, two racing cyclists coming down the street. As I was trying to figure out what they were doing on the course, my heart leapt in recognition as my mind put together the pieces in instant slow-motion:

...the cyclists were slightly ahead of and on either side of a handcyclist... the handcyclist was wearing sunglasses... the cyclists had whistles in their mouths... at each bend in the road, one would blast out a signal...

The man competing in the race, who had no legs, was also blind.

Just when I thought the day couldn't be any more inspiring, I was given one of the most powerful gifts I've ever received. Here was a man, who looked to be in his late 40s, without legs, without sight, racing in the one of the greatest, most challenging marathons in the world.

At that moment, I made three vows to myself: to never take a single moment for granted, to never forget how blessed I am, and to never complain about anything... ever, ever again.

I did see Paula Radcliffe run by, as well as the man and woman who ended up taking first place in the marathon. It was indeed a sight to behold. But for me, there was no competition... the real winner had already crossed the finish line.

The Reverent Vessel

I've recently been speaking to a man in England with a very interesting problem. Or better, a very common problem, caused by a very precious dynamic.

Many people I work with are wrestling with fears of rejection, failure, and success. These fears manifest in the body and voice, causing issues that on the surface seem entirely physical in nature.

This man in England, however is another matter. His fears are the same... of rejection, of failure, of success... but not for himself. Instead, he's worried that he is simply not good enough to express the gratitude he feels within his heart for life. He feels unworthy... not of the world or the audience, but rather, unworthy of music.

Oftentimes, I've found that reverent and searching souls are plagued by a pervasive sense of not being good enough. Never feeling adequately wise or worthy to teach, they often remain in the role of perpetual student, seeker and learner. In ways, they feel worthy enough to take, but not to give... a rather curious irony...

The reality though is that this man- and we all- are good enough to both give and receive. Not because of what we've done, or dream to do, but because we are, because we exist. And therefore- no better, no worse than anyone else- we have as much right to sing as we do to listen; to humbly give thanks, express our awe, and celebrate where we are and what we are experiencing in this moment with our breath and being.

Ambition, as you might imagine, is another issue for this man. He becomes very uncomfortable when people compliment him, not because he feels inadequate in his performance, but because he doesn't like the attention.

My advice was to him as is it to you... accept compliments like a wind that blows by you, touching your face for only an instant. They're not meant for you, anyhow. Your gift isn't the gift of the sound of your voice or your performance of the song that carried it, but rather, the place to which your voice has taken them, within themselves.

You are a vessel through which life touches the lives of others. Hold that idea for a moment... is there any more reverent- or worthy- purpose?

Chatting about Criticism

... excerpt from a recent email interaction with a friend and fellow voice coach…

JD: So tell me this then…do you think that there is ever a place for criticism? I really am curious to hear your take on it… the way I see it, the validity of praise is given profundity by one’s willingness to offer criticism… of course, I do have to be careful not to let myself criticize actions or objects in a way that my students or friends transfer it personally… but how do they know that I'm sincere in my compliments unless they know that there is a standard or measure?

jh: Do people have to know they're being criticized for it to be criticism?

JD: Ahhh… you're criticizing my statement, but you don't want me to know it! Clever! But seriously…

jh: Of course there is a place for criticism... I just wouldn't call it that. Criticism implies that where you are at this moment isn't enough, or good enough. I prefer the idea of refocusing, observing, and encouraging growth. Every place you are and have been deserves it's moment of appreciation and celebration before moving to where you want to go next. If you don't fully honor that space, positively seeing its- and your- strengths and weaknesses, you won't walk in confidence & assuredness to the next level.

To your point about a standard or measure… I don't think you need to criticize in order for people to know that your compliments are sincere. Do you need to tell your children that they’re wrong in order for them to believe you when you say they're right? Honesty trumps criticism. I believe sincerity conveys universally without the need for the expression or even recognition of duality. Does there have to be evil for there to be good? Do you have to show someone the depths of your cruelty for them to know the kind power of your love? I don't think so… you have to be honest, and have compassion. To speak with care, realizing that your words can be weapons of destruction or foundations upon which houses can be built. You can be both complimentary and constructively critical with the same kind voice…

JD: Perhaps then it can be valuable to criticize things or actions not necessarily associated with a particular individual…for instance…the Pinto is an ugly car… if I were to say that it were beautiful, you wouldn’t trust my judgment when I say that the Corvette is a beautiful car…

Now, if I know someone who owns and cherishes a Pinto, I think if I were to say that to them, they might transfer value from their car to themselves, so I would probably either refrain or refocus… hopefully…

jh: Is there anything that isn't associated with a particular individual? A corporation is made up of individuals who made that Pinto. And so, I think about who put their heart and soul into crafting that Pinto before making my point.

The real question is what is my point really about? How the car looks to me, someone who isn't driving it, and has no intention to buy it? I don't think it through to arrive at a less powerful, more comfortable point. But a more certain point, that benefits the person receiving the criticism more than it benefits me in any way for saying it.

I feel that is something people often miss with criticism… the goal. Is it more important for you to say how you feel? To be critical? To convey that you have a certain ability for discernment? Or that the person you're speaking with hears what you want to say? Or that they personally benefit from what you say?

One could say that much of this is really an argument in semantics. Still, as we’re a language driven culture, I’ll have that argument. Again, I think kindness can have a strong foundation, and that strength can have a kind one. And I’ll stand by that, whatever words you choose to explain or express it… showing singers their specific weaknesses and/or pointing out and criticizing what they do wrong won’t necessarily make them better. Building their confidence and painting a picture of where they can go next will.

Eve Teasing

Today's blog isn't about singing per se, but is still very much about the importance of being able to express ourselves freely, clearly and fearlessly. Enjoy!

An article in the New York Times this morning announced, in an effort to curb 'Eve Teasing', the advent of 8 commuter trains exclusively for women. Not in New York, but in India, where women are constantly subjected to pinching, groping, predatory staring and catcall shouting on their way to and from work. The government didn't enact a law requiring men to behave in a civil manner, or impose fines or punishment upon those who don't. It simply created a system of separate but equal, circumventing a demand for respect and decency.

While I don't find this to be the case on Manhattan subways, I'm sad to report that the article might very well have been talking about life on the streets of New York City. In truth, at least 5 times a day I am either glared at in a predatory manner, or shouted, whispered or sneered at with language that would make a grown man blush.

I'm not blushing however. I'm deeply concerned. And over the years, I've grown increasingly concerned by those who feel they have the right to a form of blatant disrespect and prejudice that, directed toward any other minority, would be an offense worthy of similar front page coverage in our nation's leading newspapers.

My concern has manifested in a variety of ways over the years. I've ignored the remarks and accompanying energy. I've tried to engage the men with compassion and even love, including starting conversations about how they would feel were their daughters, mothers or wives being addressed and treated in a similar fashion. I've given into anger, fantasizing about having a bb gun to shoot out the car tires of fools honking and screaming as they drive by, tongues wagging. I've creatively imagined being in possession of Harry Potter powers, anonymously zapping bolts of humiliation or empathy through the creeps who walk by making obscene noises, and from time to time, touching me.

But I don't have a gun or magical powers. Instead I– along with thousands of women and girls in the city– wear sunglasses to avoid eye contact and listen to iPods to silence the daily blows. We alter our wardrobes, lengthening our skirts while our confidence, ease, and comfort in the world threatens to loosen.

Though I shouldn't have to, I'd like to insert here for those who may be skeptical of my reports a few items: 1) These offenses rarely– if ever– occur when women are with men, so it may be hard for some of the latter to imagine that they actually happen. It seems indeed that there is a protocol of respect– or perhaps, fear– that enables predators to regulate their behavior. 2) These offenses occur whether I'm wearing a lovely dress, or sweatpants, a baggy t-shirt and a baseball cap. It seems that contrary to the opinion of some– that women bring this treatment on themselves– that sexual harassment is indeed an issue of power rather than one of sexuality. 3) These are offenses, and not feminist or angry misinterpretations of flattering or courteous gestures. Neither I, nor any woman, would take offense to a man or woman respectfully commenting on an attractive outfit, spirit, or appearance. What I am speaking of is entirely different, and entirely unacceptable.

I, like any man, woman or child, would like and should be able to walk 2 blocks to get a cup of coffee, dinner, or an ice cream without being treated in a disrespectful manner. Our society stands up against the heckling and harassment of elderly-Americans, homosexual-Americans, African-Americans, Asian-Americans or Hispanic-Americans. It's time to add female-Americans to that list.