Wake me up when it’s spring (my garden: May 14, 2020)

I just got tired of titling what had become a weekly “in isolation” series in relation to, well, isolation.* I’m sick of it. You’re sick of it. We’re all sick of it. And hopefully, we’re not actually sick. Because what I have been pondering these last few days, as little tulips, grape hyacinths and forget-me-nots begin to open in response to what feels like spring, is my re-emergence. There’s been some talk of things re-opening little by little. There have been suggestions that we might be allowed soon to “expand our bubble” and be able to see some people in person. And as pertains to my singing, my craft, I have been gently feeling out what might amount to a little bit of practice, a little exploration.

And just like what coming out of isolation in the Time of COVID will feel like, I feel a little bit anxious. A bit excited too. How will I start? What can it look like? I’ve been tentatively starting to sing a little bit around the house. It’s almost strange to hear the sound of my own voice. I’ve sung spontaneously in the shower, which feels radical. And I’ve thought about maybe setting my timer, just 10-15 minutes at a time and doing something voice-related. A little breathing. A little humming. Something gentle. Something easy. Something small and contained, that doesn’t feel too abrupt, too committed.

One small step at a time, I will re-emerge. I think it’s gonna be OK.

*Just for the record, this is Week 9 of this Singing in Isolation business, in case you all forgot