Believe in nothing, no matter who says it, even if I say it, if it does not agree with your own experience and your own common sense ~ Buddha

When I’m alone sometimes, (let’s be honest. Often) I will sing to myself. Loudly. Sometimes badly.

I know a lot of songs (one side effect of a misspent youth).

I can fake a lot more.

I can go from Ozzy Osbourne to science fiction filk to Great Big Sea,  and back again.

Yes, it’s weird. But it’s also one of the few times I can say with certainty that I’m being authentically me. That’s not to say that I’m a two-faced, people-pleasing chameleon. I’m not sure what I am, but I’m not that.

I would say first that I’m a performer. Perhaps a social scientist.You might just as equally say that I am so multi-faceted that it would take you a multitude of visits in a multitude of situations to even begin to know a fraction of what I am.

All true.

So you know how I know I’m being authentic? I do it when I’m alone, without any premeditation, and I actually feel disappointed and vaguely awkward when someone comes in and I feel I have to stop. You see, somewhere along the lines I learned that my “noise” wasn’t as pleasureable for others to listen to.

There aren’t very many things that I do just for myself like that.

I enjoy gardening, but I like the admiration of fellow enthusiasts even more.

I love to write, but writing is generally meant for the consumption of others, and as such intrisically tied to the value they get from it.

I like to be organized and on top of things, but I especially enjoy being the person people turn to for leadership.

I’m starting to look pretty “extrinsically motivated” right?

What do I do for me, and only for me? My intrinsic motivation is nearly always overshadowed by the pats on the back I crave.

Still, I console myself. (self-rationalization?) If I were the figurative last woman on earth, I would still write, still garden, still be organized. (If I were literally the last woman on earth, these things probably wouldn’t hold the same importance for me)

Until then,

I sing.


Comments on: "Authentically Voiced" (2)

  1. Ignore the philistines! Tell ’em you’re making a joyful noise unto the Lord. Or a barbaric yawp.

    And if they still complain, crank up the Portsmouth Sinfonia until the windowpanes rattle.

    • That was cool! I thought that was a beatbox keeping time, til just about to the end it hit me—do you know how long its been since I heard a metronome?

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