Ok, so I might be just the smallest, teensy-weensy, tiniest bit burned out.

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But … I’ve been reluctant to admit it to myself (and to all of you.)

I mean …

For one thing, I still have a lot of …er … stuff to do whether I’m burned out or not.

How is whining about it going to help?

Stiff upper lip, nose-to-the-grindstone, no pain, no gain, you got to pay your dues and all that.

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Second, isn’t my life as a musician supposed to be all milk and honey?

Should I really be complaining that I currently have enough work, exciting music projects and money?

What if I jinx it?

(What if one of my many “bosses” reads this?)

What if I’m actually really, really lazy and will never get back to work if I take a break?

What if I say no to something and miss the “opportunity of a lifetime?”

(What if I am whining? *grimace*)

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So.

What finally got me to fess up (aside from the observations of my friends and family) was recalling my keyword for 2010 — nourish.

Overachiever that I am, I’ve done well in nourishing my performance opportunities, contract work options and my bank account.

I haven’t done as well at nourishing some of the other parts of my life.

You know, the sleep-in, exercise, eat healthy, spend time on my art, read-a-good-book, spend-time-with-friends-and-family parts.

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We have a saying in my family — “more credit.” It’s how we remind each other to acknowledge the hard work, hard thing, amazing accomplishment, death-defying feat or tiny step one of us just finished.

Not to minimize or sweep under the rug. Or ignore.

(Like me, with my burnout.)

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The truth is that I’ve done a ton of work since I graduated. Musicals, gigs and concerts. Coaching, directing and temp jobs. Blogs, grant applications and web work.

And right now I’m tired.

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Now that I have admitted I’m burned out, I can do something about it.

In fact, I’ve scheduled a vacation to rest, recharge and rejuvenate.

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Note: That means blog vacation, too, so I won’t be posting on Friday or Monday. *smile*

(As I suspected,) Singing is good for you.

Take these examples:

In a Soul Breathing class I recently attended, the leader Terry told us,

“Breathing removes 70% of the toxins from our bodies. Sweating (and those other two bodily functions) only get rid of 30% of the waste/toxins in our bodies.”

(A lot of breathing happens during singing. *smile*)

Singing also reduces stress and pain. It can help with everything from asthma to Alzheimer’s and snoring to brain to development.

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I have a long relationship with the “healing power of singing.”

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It started many years ago when I was just child. We lived in the pseudo-country and ran around barefoot for most of the summer. This resulted in splinters from the thistles in the yard. A well-remembered ritual of my childhood is sitting with my foot in my mom’s lap while she dug out the splinters with a freshly cauterized needle and tweezers.

Of course, the part I remember most was the soundtrack.

In order to have a splinter removed in my house, you had to sing “Row Your Boat” at the top of your lungs. I think my mom’s theory was that we couldn’t pay that much attention to what she was doing if we were busy serenading her.

Turns out that “singing also seems to block a lot of the neural pathways that pain travels through.”

Gee, Mom, I guess you were onto something.

As I mentioned in Friday’s post, I got to hear the UK’s ambassador of singing — Howard Goodall — speak last week. He talked about how the Sing Up program in Britain began.

As part of the preparation to create and implement the Sing Up program, Goodall and his team (why did I want to type “merry band of men?” *smile*) visited many schools throughout the UK. What they found was that in schools where someone passionate about singing worked, singing happened. In the schools, where no such person worked, it didn’t.

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Goodall said, “The key issue of all was that general primary teachers, classroom teachers, felt very uncomfortable about leading singing and mostly did not want to.

The response that came back [when asked about singing] was seen through the prism of an adult’s version of singing, not a child’s version. The adults would say:

“I can’t sing.”
“I don’t sing in tune.”
“I’m embarassed.”
“I’m shy.”
“I don’t want to do this.”

“They were putting their fear, their worry about singing on to the children. Because if you’ve ever met a 6- or 7-year-old child … No 6- or 7-year-old is scared of singing. They all want to sing, it’s completely natural.

[The children’s] attitude was that they wanted to sing, but the adults were getting in the way of that.”

So … what happens?

When and how do we learn that it’s not okay to sing anymore?

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Frequently when I talk to people about Songtaneous, they tell me that they can’t (or don’t) sing. (Even some of the professional singers I know shy away from spontaneous singing, i.e. vocal improvisation).

They tell me they feel silly singing or their voice doesn’t “sound right” (whatever “right” is). If we talk a little while longer, they almost always relate a story where someone (a friend, teacher, parent, sibling, spouse, partner) has told them — directly or indirectly — that they don’t sing well. And you can see that this story, though they laugh while telling it, is still painful. That the careless comment (by that friend, choir director, etc.) still stings.

I call this singing trauma.

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Part of the problem is that we confuse singing with performing in our society. (Watch an episode of American Idol and you’ll see what I mean.)

Now, I’m a singer and a performer.

Performers do what they do, in part, for the entertainment of others. They should expect some judging of their performances. (We don’t have to like it, but we should expect it. *smile*). Critiques and feedback are part of my job.

Singers, on the other hand, are people who sing. (As Alice Walker wrote in one of her short stories: the fellow that sings is the singer.)

And just about anybody can do that. (Even people who can’t hear sing.)

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Goodall spoke about how singing is woven throughout everyday life in Africa, reminding me of what both Ysaye Maria Barnwell and Bobby McFerrin had to say about the role of singing in other parts of the world. In Africa, Goodall notes, singing is a part of every activity.

In these communities, singing is pervasive and natural, not traumatic.

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Part of my mission is to end singing trauma.

As far as I’m concerned the pros of singing, so extremely outweigh the cons that everyone should get to share in the goodies.

As Goodall said, the list of benefits from singing is pretty impressive.

Singing:

• aids the memory
• helps the brain grow and helps the rewiring of different parts of the brain
• is good for your health,
• makes you feel good,
• helps you concentrate,
• makes you feel good about yourself and helps self-esteem
• brings communities together [emphasis mine *smile*]
  

Given all the benefits, you’d be crazy not to sing.

Believe me when I tell you (yes, you!) that you have something to contribute with your voice just the way it is.