Shades of Grey

Willpower. Is it real? Or is it simply another way of saying "tenacious". I sometimes question whether I have it or not. I don't seem to be the most disciplined person in the world, especially when it comes to singing -- unless I have an upcoming gig or audition. Then, yeah, I'll turn it on. But in the meantime I find myself sidetracked by a million other things: work, socializing, pets, pressing domestic issues (vacuuming, anyone? Anyone?), blogging on the $%£&^*& computer. Is it any wonder that I don't get around to practicing in between lessons? Is it any wonder when I beat myself up about that? Guilt about procrastination is my cat -'o-nine-tails, my bunch of stinging nettles.

I am fully aware that part of the reason I'm not a more successful singer is that I don't work as hard at it as some of my peers. But would I be much happier if I did? Is it so bad that my life is more varied and less focused on a single goal? Sigh. I'd like to say, "No! Life is actually pretty good, and getting better all the time!" But there's a part of me that can't deny the truth that I'm happiest when I'm performing, when I'm losing my identity for a fraction of a second in whatever role I am playing. It thrills me completely.

So then, the next question I ask myself is, "If that's your biggest joy, why aren't you pursuing it to your utmost?" And I have no simple answer. Maybe it has to do with not wanting to deal with all the unpleasant crap that results: the out-of-pocket expenses, the endless need for preparation, the writing of a flawless resume, the updating of the website and, most of all, the ever-present spectre of rejection. Realizing you're not wanted -- over and over and over again -- isn't just bruising for the ego, it can lead to the occasional serious hemorrhage of self-confidence. Those moments when I lose out on a badly-wanted role are the times when I have to fight despair as if it were a wild animal ready to tear me to pieces. I know that seems melodramatic, but I'm describing my worst moments. The rest of the time, rejection is a nippy little poodle I have to shake off. Painful, but no need for a rabies shot.

I'm still wrestling with this dilemma over my calling. This yin/yang of unhappy/happy. Sometimes I wish I were more like the "super singers" I went to school with. They were focused, had answers, were driven by unseen coachmen. Their worlds appeared black and white. But I just see way too many shades of grey. And, despite all the self-flagellation, I kind of like it that way.