Healing Music, Reclaiming Joy: A Modern Day Music Story

Many say that life

Entered the human body

By the help of music

But the truth is

That life itself is music

Hafiz

Growing up, my parents would play CDs, mostly the “classics” like the Beatles. As kids, my sister and I would listen to them all the way through. No shuffle. Just one story told all the way from beginning to end. We would dance and sing and memorize the song order.

I especially loved Christmas time when my dad would swap the usual repertoire for Jimmy Buffett. Run Run Rudolf would send me out in a sprint running in circles around the couch, pretending I was a reindeer helping Santa deliver presents.

As I got older, I’d listen to the Rubber Soul and Revolver CDs in the car driving to and from high school. Something about those albums seemed to capture my teenage experience and help me process some pretty difficult emotions. To this day, hearing a song from them takes me back to the mixed mass of confusion, hurt, heartache, excitement, and exploration that is growing up.

***

As I grew older, my relationship with music shifted from one of solace to one of pressure. One founded in fear, judgement, and criticism.

I grew into a rock and jazz bass player. I studied upright and electric bass in college. With grades on the line and fellow musicians right there to judge me, I took “studying” music very seriously. I became frustrated that I was not as good as other musicians I knew. Frustration grew as I suffered multiple injuries from playing. I loved music, but I felt my skills and even my body were not working with me to fully express music the way I wanted to.

The years after college, I still played a bit here and there. I felt sad though at the gradual decay of my abilities and it became a vicious cycle downward. It wasn’t until a coaching session with a former coach of mine that I realized just how much judgement and self-criticism had accumulated itself around music. I couldn’t just do it for me anymore; I had to be professional, perform, perfect. And now I was just too out of practice.

***

It was in this state that I was at a bit of a loss when, last year, my psychologist suggested that I “make music” as part of my burnout recovery. I had no idea where to begin. Every time, picking up the bass left me angry and frustrated. I was “so out of practice.” What was the point?

One thing that did bring me joy during this time, though, was singing. Just randomly around the house, often making up silly lyrics to known tunes. Always away from prying eyes and judging ears. Safe. Just me. Just silly.

As a child, I had had some negative experiences of singing. Despite having a strong speaking voice and enjoying giving speeches, I had a series of experiences that made me feel inadequate as a singer. I was in a youth choir as a child but I started to feel embarrassed and ashamed, and eventually I left to join a jazz band instead.

***

I started mulling over how to bring back music into my life with a good friend, also a bass player. She shared with me how she had started taking voice lessons and even started singing in a band. I was hit with ... jealousy? Longing? I congratulated her on her bravery and journey, and shared that I “never was a very good singer.” Even if I wanted to sing and found joy in it. She encouraged me to seek out a supportive teacher. I was bit a skeptical but decided to give it a go.

After a few weeks of searching online for a teacher that matched my hopes of a life with music that flowed with ease, gentleness, fun... I found her.

I went for it.

I was so nervous on the train there - what if she thinks I’m a joke?

But now, writing this, I smile. I remember the joy after our first sessions together. Bouncing with excitement. Full of fun, full of joy. With some encouragement, I was SINGING!

And so I sang my way through burnout.

***

As my energy recovered, I started to feel that something was… missing. An ache in heart that came every time I attended a concert, saw a band, or musicians playing together on the street. The power of music was dampened without the support of connection. I missed playing in a band. I missed performing. I wanted to share music with others.

But was that even possible without the pressure and judgement?

I went group shopping. Looking at bands and orchestras. Trying to find one that matched my need for fun and sharing without the pressure of being perfect.

And then I found… a choir. A gospel choir, no previous experience required.

Could I do it? I had not been taking lessons for very long. What if I was a burden? What if I wasn’t accepted?

And yet, I went for it.

From day one, there was a vulnerability and love that permeated through the group, a hammock of support for its members. Emotions flowed freely and people showed up as themselves, where they were. I cried freely twice during rehearsal, the most I had done with anyone outside my family. Somehow, these people had created something… powerful.

Maybe it’s the power of gospel music, the kind of music that can make you want to do backflips like John Belushi in the Blues Brothers regardless of your religion or belief system. The music connects you to something bigger - God, the Universe, or my personal favorite, a sense of interbeing - a concept from Buddhism that all are connected and everything is interlocked in an intimate web of life, cause and effect, ebb and flow. Togetherness.

And so, I became happy in music again.

***

My own modern day music story has shown me that humans are inherently musical. Music cements memories with emotional connections. It also can support emotional regulation and reduce stress and anxiety. We are hard-wired for music. We have musical souls.

The technology of today can help bring us closer to our musical souls. With smartphones, computers, portable speakers, and headphones, we can access whatever song we want at the touch of a button. No more need to change CDs or burn a mix tape. We can create our own playlists and mixes, or shuffle around our music library to our heart’s content.

However, I think that the most profound experiences with music occur without “tech.” Music can grant us pauses from constant connectivity to be fully present in creating something bigger than ourselves, deep authentic experiences of connection and safety undistracted by buzzes and pings. Those moments in choir rehearsal when my phone was away and off, and I felt fully present and part of something larger than myself. And everyone around me was in that same space, reaching for and creating something bigger and more peaceful than what any one of us could accomplish by ourselves. I relished the relief, the relief of interbeing, of connectedness, the healing power of authentic presence.

And I am slowly realizing as I continue this modern day music story that music is available to us always. Even outside rehearsals. If we just slow down listen.

Our choir is here.

As I write this, the trees are rustling outside my house to an uneven rhythm with the occasional tinkle of bikes passing by. The highway growls like a dull bass. Children laugh, and planes pass by overhead. The world sings. I breathe deeply.

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