Sing in the Mystery

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

-Mary Oliver

You know that little thrill of excitement you used to get as a kid when you were about to do something you loved?

I have a visceral memory of that feeling from my childhood. My parents volunteered at a camp where there were horses, and I lived for the chance to ride them. Whenever a camper was too homesick or had the sniffles and decided not to ride (my deepest sympathies, of course), I would feel a jolt of pure delight. I’d throw on my riding boots and run full speed to the barn to claim their spot. That mix of anticipation, freedom, and joy is still incredibly vivid in my mind and body.

Recently, I’ve been surprised to find myself feeling that same thrill again. But now, it doesn’t come from sneaking a ride on a horse (although fun aside, I am starting up riding again) It comes from not knowing what’s going to happen with my voice. If you have a background in classical music, singing or opera, you’ll especially understand why this is so shocking to me. So much of an opera singer’s training is about consistency, fine-tuned control, and predictability. You rehearse an aria over and over until you can execute it perfectly, every note placed with precision and care.

But now, I long for the opposite. I feel a rush of joy when I improvise with a client or colleague, unsure of where my voice will take me, but willing to follow it. Even if what comes out is imperfect or unexpected, I know I can meet it with tenderness, or at least acceptance. That same thrill comes when I sing an aria with my own authentic sound and expression, instead of carrying the crushing weight of other people’s expectations or forcing my voice into the narrow tonal aesthetic demanded by gatekeepers.

For many trained singers, we are taught that confidence in singing is attained through knowing what to expect when we open our mouths. To a certain extent, I think this is true. It’s incredibly freeing when we build an understanding of our own voices (some call this technique) to a point where we can sing with intention rather than feeling like we never know what will come out. But so often, this beautiful desire to guide our voices is overshadowed by the idea that guidance is not enough. We are told that we must control our voices.

We are taught that true freedom and happiness as singers come from micromanaging our voices. In classical singing, seamless registration shifts, even vibrato, and the perfect balance of chiaroscuro (bright and dark elements in the sound) are seen not only as interesting and delightful aspects of our voices but also as indicators of excellence. As a result, we feel compelled to constantly monitor these details to make sure they are “up to snuff.” Across all genres, you’ll find similar technical fixations: control, consistency, and accuracy. These qualities are held in a tight grip because clinging to them feels like the key to safety and acceptance.

But I don’t want to micromanage or control my voice, and I don’t think you should either. What happens when we try to over-control anything? There is a loss of autonomy, unique expression, and the ability to make choices, trust ourselves, take risks, play, and explore. We lose the freedom to live in the heart of mystery. Consider what it might mean if the control you’ve been taught to rely on for safety and approval in singing is also the very thing that’s causing you to lose these essential parts of yourself.

So how do we soften our grip? How do we let the wild, energetic, playful, and powerful wonder that is our singing voice escape the tiny box we’ve placed it in and find its way into a wide and expansive field of play? I believe it begins with singing from mystery. Singing from mystery means practicing without any need to control the outcome. And it truly is a practice, because it’s like a metaphorical muscle we need to strengthen in order to reconnect with its beautiful and empowering qualities.

Here’s one way to begin: set aside some time to sing with the clear intention of releasing control over both your technique and the outcome. Root yourself in the decision that all the sounds you make during this time are welcome. There are no bad sounds and no bad technique here. There’s nothing to fix, nowhere to get to.

You might also explore gentle movement during this practice, as the body can be a powerful support in allowing sound to move more freely, especially when there’s a strong urge to control. Let your body’s movement guide you. Explore the experience of movements that feel fluid and free, as well as those that feel tight and gripping. Stay curious about how each motion interacts with your voice.

This simple practice is one way to begin reclaiming your right to both guide your voice and allow it to guide you. This is the deeply satisfying, nourishing, and enlivening mystery of singing. We are our voices, and our voices are us. If we listen carefully, we will find that our voices are rooted in a deeply wise, intuitive, and connected part of ourselves. This part has been waiting for us to ease our grip so it can finally emerge, whole and free.