Reliving the Dream

I used to be in an amazing choir. 

Singing with The Capella of Calvin College was arguably one of the most defining aspects of my undergraduate experience, heck, my life in general. Most of the friends that I still keep in touch with from college sang with me in this amazing choir, sharing the ups and downs that come with participating in an elite musical ensemble. I learned a great deal from my esteemed conductor, whom I consider a mentor and a beloved friend, not only about making music but about living a life of humility, grace, and passion. And I was blessed to travel the world with these friends, competing on the international stage in Europe!

If you aren't catching on, I'll spell it out for you: I loved my time with Capella.

Tonight I had the opportunity to see them perform, and my love for the choir was rekindled once again. A friend and fellow former member of the choir drove down to Demotte, Indiana with me to see the choristers give an afternoon concert, and our 60-minute drive was well rewarded. 

The first half of the program was a delight. However, I was even more excited to hear the second half because the choir was singing a piece that we had performed two years ago in France, a personal favorite of mine. Watching those young people sing brought back countless memories. I could almost see myself standing in their places, surrounded by all my friends as in years past. I sighed, a sense of melancholy coming over me with the knowledge that I would never again have the opportunity to sing with this choir. However, I was still smiling when our conductor walked to the microphone to introduce my favorite piece, but I was utterly floored to hear the words that came out of his mouth.

To my astonishment, he extended an invitation to my friend and I to come up and sing the piece with the choir, even going so far as to announce our names from the stage! My jaw dropped, and I immediately lost all ability to produce saliva. Already a nice shade of pink, I managed to make my way up to the front and find a place at the end of a row without falling over. My legs were like jell-o, I was starting to sweat, and I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. And to top it all off, I was breaking the number one rule of singing: I had gum in my mouth. Perfect, just perfect.

 The girl next to me opened her music, but I didn't even look at it. My eyes were glued to my conductor because I WAS TERRIFIED. Sure, I could have sung the piece in my sleep, but when I opened my mouth to come in with the first entrance, no sound came out. Not even a peep. I was still so completely unprepared to sing, so out of practice, so unused to the thrill of performing that my voice rebelled for a brief moment in pure protest.

"Ok, Self." I thought, trying to keep the panic from my face. "You've done this a million times. Just sing. This is SO not a big deal."

"Uh, It is TOO a big deal!" my Self replied. "It's been two long years, honey. Are you sure you've still got it?"

"Yes, I've still got it!" I boasted to my skeptical Self. "I'll show you, too. Just as soon as my voice decides to cooperate."

Thankfully, my hesitation only lasted a moment, and I was able to sing the piece with gusto and emotion, reliving so many glorious moments in the process. My conductor smiled at me wryly as we sang, probably just as surprised as I was that I could produce any quality sound after two long years away from his tutelage. But (as always) the end of the piece came too quickly, and I found myself back in my seat, breathless and sweating. 

After the concert I fully intended to scold him for throwing us such a curveball, but when I finally got to talk to him, all I could do was thank him over and over for the opportunity to sing for him again. His reply: 

"Wow! I can't believe you've still got it!"

Neither can I, Dr. Navarro. Neither can I.