I lost my voice. This happens every year. Never before moving here, not ever.
In fact, growing up in L.A. I actually wanted to get laryngitis so I could sound like Debra Winger. I screamed into the loving tangles of my comforters and pillows some nights to earn the raspy edges of a "sexy" voice; at concerts I sang "I fight authority and authority always wins"at the top of my lungs, screamed from the nosebleeds my undying love and devotion to John Cougar Mellencamp and the eighties like on stage, with high hopes of waking up the next day and going to school sounding like I was deathly ill.
Why?
I don't know why. I don't remember how or when raspy voice equaled sexy, but this was the eighties and far stranger things were fashionable at the time (like, I wore leg warmers when it was 80 degrees outside, along with a sweatshirt tied around my waist—remember that one?) All the same, in vain is as in vain does... my throat screamed in pain, but my voice was stronger than ever. I wasn't happy. Who can explain these things?
Well, the future can, it can! Here I am some 20 plus years later with laryngitis yet again. And even if it sounds sexy, it sure doesn't feel sexy! The weirdest thing about losing my voice this time is the realization that I talk to myself a lot. When I began the conversation in the shower this morning, it came out "sn s nsh x?" I answered back: "H k! oo y! A mn!" I tried to outfox myself by singing or humming, but that did me nary much good. I tried various pitches, even the ones located in the depths of my authentic self, but nothing. In contrast, I tried my phone voice. Nada. Spanish gave me a bit, but not much, and French, well, actually, THAT did sound sexy, but that could be because of what I said.
Well, at least I still had my thoughts. "What are we going to talk about now?" I thought to myself.... and myself thought back, "we'd better get writing," for my talking voice is quite different than my thinking voice. Thinking usually leads to writing, whereas talking usually leads to trouble. But this, I realize, is a whole 'nother story in itself!
When I teach Healing Memoir at the Loft, one of the assignments I give my students is to write their VOICE story. "What do you mean our voice story?" they sometimes say. "You mean our writing voice story? What if we don't have a voice? What if I don't know my voice? What if my voice was taken from me? What if I never had one? What if I have several voices?" And to these very fine and evocative questions I tell them to write the one they want to write. Which one do you want to explore more deeply? Of course wherever you start, I remind them, you will "find" the story you want to be writing on the page waiting for you. If you start with singing, public speaking, hating your voice in recording, etc, you will maybe and likely end up going deeper... maybe into a memory, maybe toward reclaiming a silenced voice left behind long ago.
The more I write, alone and with others, the more deeply I hear into the voices of the personal and collective samskara, body memory, and the universal stories held there. When my students write and share their voice stories, cliche as it sounds, the words sing.
So there's your prompt. What is your voice story? As always, write until you feel it is enough and post here or email for private. Hope to write with you soon!
Silently singing, melodically thinking, samskara, samskara... (isn't that just a deliciously viscerally meal of a word, though?!)
Rox
No comments:
Post a Comment