Let me tell you a story…
About four years ago, there was a girl who was moving hours and hours away from everything she’d ever known. Her family helped carry her boxes and bags into a tiny dorm room; they hugged goodbye, and the girl mustered the courage not to hold too tight. She was left in an empty room to regret leaving home a few days earlier than the rest of her classmates. But she was here to join an organization. She knew no one. She was terrified. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. But then, a knock at the door.
It was an older girl from the organization. She was sent to take care of the young girl, who was then swept away and taken to the first rehearsal of the semester. She had joined a music department, 300 strong. She was plopped in the alto II section, a folder full of music placed in her hands. The director, a matriarch with a commanding voice and an even more commanding presence, told them to stand and warm up. The young girl had no clue what the hell she just got herself into.
She held on for dear life throughout the entire rehearsal. She got lost in the notes and harmonies and her throat was sore by the end. But there was a little something brewing inside her that she didn’t understand yet. The thing had potential, like an unlit match.
That first year in the choir was a whirlwind. She met two other scared girls and they held onto each other like glue. She became a member of an all-women a cappella group called The Sirens; she gained 8 older sisters. She auditioned for the small chamber choir and was thrown into more challenging works than she had ever encountered. At every single corner, in every single rehearsal, she was learning.
This piece taught her to let mistakes live where they lie and to not dwell in them.
This piece taught her the value of love and the pain of loss.
She sang this song with her nine Sirens sisters, it represents the first time she felt like she really, actually, and truly fit into her new home.
She sang this song for the first boy she ever loved.
That tiny match that lit inside her had grown into a hearth fire.
The next year brought the young girl a slew of emotional challenges that she barely faced.
She sang this song before her first heartbreak
She sang this song after her first heartbreak.
She lost herself for a little while there. Her friends were far from her heart and her joy was even farther away.
She ended the year with embers alone.
But then came the summer. And came the joy. She sang in Carnegie Hall with the most joyful piece she’s ever heard. Dan Forrest’s Jubilate Deo brought her back to center. She was reconnected to the purpose of music: the final of the seven movements translates to a simple idea: sing for joy, dance in gladness, shout for joy, all the earth! This piece taught the young girl the power of forgiveness.
The fire was back and blazing.
The next year came around. The young girl moved away from her department to live abroad. She learned how much she could miss it. When she returned, she threw herself into the music with a new perspective.
This song celebrated her resilience from heartbreak and became a battle cry of a new era of self-love and appreciation.
She learned how to say goodbye to good friends with this song.
She sang this as a love song to those in her life who struggle. For the first time, she felt like she could be a light for someone else; she no longer had to seek out the light of another.
The summer following, she toured Austria with a choir of new and old friends. She was humbled by the majesty of a world that existed before her and will exist long after. She sang pieces composed by Mozart in cathedrals that Mozart stepped in. These pieces showed her the beauty of time and it’s dimensionality.
The young girl shifted into a young woman. She entered her final year in the department as President of the choir and director of The Sirens. She was once again terrified, but this time the terror came from a place of strength. She knew she could do it all, the fear came from not knowing if she would have the time to do it all. Nevertheless, she continued learning.
This piece taught her that the department would continue to thrive long after her time was up. But more importantly, it taught her that that’s okay.
She sang this piece to remember her place in her music family.
She sang this song with a friend she came too close to losing; a friend she’s not going to let go for a long time.
It was in this year that she learned that she was only using half of her vocal power. The female voice has 3 registers – head, middle, and chest. The young woman only knew her chest voice. She had lived 22 years with only a third of her voice. So, she stretched and rehearsed until the three were connected. It was in this piece that she found her full voice
She arranged this song for the small girl army that she turned The Sirens into. It became their anthem and all 17 of her sisters learned to respect themselves and each other. Henceforth, they were unstoppable.
She sang this song in celebration of a new love.
She sang this song to reaffirm her confidence and resilience.
She wrote this medley as a love song to all of the women in her life who sculpted her.
This song served as a goodbye to her Sirens, but will live as an affirmation that the love will not leave when she goes - in fact, it will follow.
She sang this piece with her two best friends as a simple thank you.
Her career in the department was coming to an end. She was winding down as their leader, ready to pass the torch. In one of their final moments together, the department was threatened. The young woman’s family was the target of a deranged terrorist threat. She watched her friends flee and cry and all she could do was put on a brave face to hug them all and keep them safe. The kingdom she had filled with love and warmth was flooded by a darkness that no one was equipped to handle. It took everything in her to not feel defeated. She was back in that empty dorm room, a feeling of hopelessness racing through her, tears ready to fall.
But then she was told to get back on stage and she snapped out of it. She remembered that she was not a young girl. One moment will not define her experience. Fear will not define us. And thus, the show went on.
This final piece was created during her first year in the department. She has sung it every year since, and each time it assumes a different meaning. She didn’t truly understand the significance until it was her final time singing the notes. As I reflect on my time - my heart is full, my spirit free, the page reads. As I take in once more that long view down the river. She wept as she sung those lines, surrounded by a family that refused to be ruined.