TURN IT UP!

In my race toward the middle, I have forgotten something: To Have Fun.

I was at my first vocal rehearsal on Sunday, and I did what I had done at my audition: When I got scared of a note (even one I can sing), I pulled back.

I’m reminded of Brene Brown saying that, If we base our performance, our work, our art, our selves, on the reception of others, we will invariably slice off and withhold the most potent layer of our performance, work, art, self. We cannot give our full selves, our full gift, if we are concerned with how we look about it.

To quote another source: You can’t save your face and your ass at the same time.

Did you run out of breath, the music director asked me? No, I just got embarrassed and dropped the note. 

My new voice teacher has told me that she thinks Morticia is from the Bronx – not for the accent, mind you, but for the attitude. Imagine a large Bronxian woman yelling down the street at some paisan – Morticia is like that. The vocal coach told me to speak like I think everyone else is deaf.

Despite dropping out of the “Queen of the Amazons” play, where I was being called to “Be a Royal,” to act how a queen might act, and I was curious and a little scared to see what that would be like, I am again being asked to do the same.

To own my voice.

Be loud. Be big. Be powerful.

The music director said, There is nothing sweet about Morticia.

This isn’t about sounding sweet or beautiful; it’s about sounding powerful.

Honestly, two plays in a row where I’m cast as a powerful woman? I think the Universe is giving me a huge opportunity and challenge here. And as I said to a friend yesterday, I’m going to have to rise to it.

In the middle of all this, however, in the middle of trying to stay on note and memorize the phrasing and the breathing and the rests – I can begin to forget why I came here in the first place.

This is not about perfection; it’s about fun. This is supposed to be FUN! Come on, man? "Addams Family The Musical"? If that’s not supposed to be fun, I don’t know what is.

Now, I get that I have a responsibility to myself, to the cast, to the audience to rehearse, to get as proficient as I can. But I also have a responsibility to be light and fun about it – it will come through if I’m terrified, or scared to belt a note, or worried what you’re thinking of me. Worried that I’m being too much, too big, too loud.

Fears I have shackled around myself for a lifetime, I’m being specifically ordered to discard. Now.

Be more, Molly. Be bigger, be louder.

And, too, within that challenge and order, I am being called to remember to hold this lightly. That this is meant to be so the most fun that I’ve ever had.

The bigger I get, the more fun I should remember to have. It’s the antidote to self-sabotage. And a supporter of humility.

This isn’t really about me. Sure, it’s about me and my challenge to grow and let go, but it’s also about what can come through me. And when I close my voice, drop the note, don’t support myself by not breathing, there is no chance for me to be a channel of joy and fun.

I said it only two days ago: I need to root my safety within myself, and stop worrying about what others might think – especially that they’ll tell me to turn it down. They are literally, actually, verbally telling me to turn it up!

Rise, Miss Molly, to the challenge. This is one of those moments when you have a choice, when you can see the options clearly marked and have the chance to change: Small or Big, Mol? – You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think you could do it.