Let me put it this way. All students in the classical department had to take Theory. (how to write/compose music) In my first year Theory class, there were eight people. Including me. Two were in their sophmore year, one was taking the class over. *chuckles*

I was told, after the fact, that the admissions process was long and grueling. I was told that most people auditioned twice and that if you only had one audition, you didn�t get in. I was told that the school was extremely exclusive.

I didn�t understand any of that, or care about it. I figured the kids who told me that stuff were actually feeding me a line of bullshit. I believed that. Completely.

Because:

I sent in the tape with my application. (as did everyone else who applied to the music department) I was called for an audition. I went and sang two songs and was then tested for my range. I sang without trying. The panel excused me and I went home. I was sent an acceptance letter. I did not audition again. I did not have any grueling experiences. It was so very easy.

I remember talking with one of the girls who had joined with me. She was talking about how stressful it was to go through the admission/audition process. She had had to audition twice. She had to have recommendations from her high-school instructors.

I didn�t. I looked at her and shrugged. I said that I didn�t think it had been that big a deal. I just went in and sang my two songs and left. I was accepted and there I was. She looked at me with shock on her face. I shrugged.

The point?

I didn�t really understand what all of that meant. It�s like most Americans not realizing how rich, as a country, we really are. We just don�t realize, in general, how completely wealthy the average person is.

If you don�t agree with that, when was the last time you had to go outside in order to get to the bathroom? When was the last time �wash day� meant that you gathered up the two �outfits� you owned, trekked out to the river and washed your clothes by scrubbing them on the rocks? When was the last time you had to go out to the crick to wash the one plate you owned in order to eat again? When was the last time you had to go out and gather fire wood in order to cook?

There are some places in this world where you still have to bring the water up from the river a mile away before you can start your day. And yet here, in the US, especially in my room, I can just move my arm a little bit, stretch it out and move two inches to my right and I can turn on the faucet of the sink and have hot or cold water coming right out of the wall. I have a dish washer. I have a stove and an oven and a microwave. I have a computer and a phone and not just one stereo, but two. Both with CD players and tape decks.

And do I take these things for granted? Yes. Most of the time, I do.

But again, the point?

Like most people in the US who have and have almost always had radioes and CD players and telephones, I had a voice. It was no big deal to me. So, I had a voice, so what? Everyone has a voice. Me? Talent? Potential? heh. Everyone has potential. What�s talent? So I can sing, whoopee, so can everyone else who attends this college. Some are better than others. So what?

I just didn�t know. I didn�t understand. I didn�t understand that my talent was special. I didn�t realize that there are actually some people out there who, though they can sing and carry a tune, they don�t have the same passion.

It�s like Lee and Bioux and Bob. They have a skill, a talent for programming. *laughs* Like Neo from The Matrix they can see the code so clearly, so easily. Me? I can post links. I can change the color on the page. I can even make some interesting banners and stuff using a special program. But I�m not a programmer.

I can�t set up a page and code in all the fancy-shmancy do-hickies that make it possible for you to tile the window and change the background color and make nifty scroll-bar tricks and such. I can�t do that stuff, let alone take a blank screen, type in a bunch of characters and come out with a game at the end.

Another talent I don�t have. Running. My brother could go outside and �take a run�. He would run around our block when we lived out in Snohomish. Our �block� was five miles. No lie. We lived out in the country and Mom drove behind him once to see just how far the route was. Just barely over five miles long.

That�s 20 laps around a standard track. Up hill and down hill. When he went for speed, he could do that entire five miles in just a little over 25 minutes. But there was more to it than that. He didn�t just run. He ran with such a natural grace and agility.

My brother was good with any athletic endeavor. He could play basketball as if it were in his blood. There was a time, I remember, when he was playing. He�d gotten knocked sideways accidentally. As he was falling in a sort of twist forward and to the side, he just pushed the ball out and behind him sinking a three-point shot as his shoulder hit the floor and he continued to roll, springing to his feet and trotting back onto the court as if nothing special had just happened.

He could sink foul shots without looking and with any distraction. Hell, once he dropped a foul shot even when one person called his name and someone else had bounce-passed a ball to him. Did he get hit with the second ball? No, he grabbed it, bounced it once and sank it. Nothing but net. It was so completely effortless for him.

Do any of you remember the scene from A League Of Their Own where Madonna (I think) speed pitched the ball at Gina Davis and the ball simply landed in Gina Davis� hand? It�s not like she �tried� to catch it; her hand was there and the ball found its way into her hand. My brother could do that. Throw a ball at him, any kind, and he�d catch it. No matter what angle, speed, trajectory... It was effortless.

Mickael Barishnikov (sp) could dance to anything. You could see those leaps and twirls and twists and he made it look so damned effortless. You�d look at him and think, �Hell, anyone can do that.�

Scott Hamilton could skate so fluidly, so completely. He could do double backflips and land straight on his skates on the ice, then within a stroke or two, jump into a triple axle. He made it look so easy, so simple.

Robyn Williams makes comedy look so completely easy. He just sits there and pours out a 20 minute spiel, never stopping for breath and leaving everyone in the audience laughing so hard they�re in pain. And it looks so completely simple, so easy, so... *sighs*

I could sing. I could open my mouth and let out a sound so pure, so intense. I could weave a web around my audience drawing them into what I was singing. I could stand in front of an entire class and just open my mouth and out would fall such pure tones. And I didn�t think anything about it.

Yeah, I had to work at it sometimes. I had to focus on breath control. I had to make sure that my tone was pure rather than raspy. I had to work on my stance so that the sound was consistant. Hell, My voice teacher often told me that I had to get serious about my singing.

I didn�t bother. Why should I? It was just practice. I would stand there beside her piano and she would look at me with frustration in her eyes because I would sing. It would sound good, but there wasn�t any effort on my side. Then she watched me when I was on stage in front of an audience. I became someone else. I just walked out on stage, my friend started playing and I opened my mouth.

It didn�t sound any different to me. I just stood there and out came this song that I�d sung a million times before. But my teacher... *chuckles* She stood there, staring at me, open mouthed. She told me that I there was something special about me. She said that as soon as I stood on stage, my tone was perfect, my stance was perfect and the music flowed from me. She said I was a different person on stage.

*shrugs*

It was so... easy.

Now, shift to 14 years later. Here I am. I haven�t sung like that in about 10 years or so. I haven�t done any breathing excersizes. I haven�t done any vocal exersizes. I don�t sing anymore. Why?

Because I gave up. I really and totally gave up. I looked at my life so many years ago and I decided there was no reason for me to sing. Why should I?

Why did I stop? When did I stop?

*sighs*

Yeah, I�ve been trying to get to this for quite a long time. I�ve been trying to figure it out. So, like I did with the Jonny thing, I suppose I need to go back through and figure out where I stopped caring, when I stopped giving a damn. I need to figure out when, and therefore, why, singing stopped having any importance to me whatsoever.

Can I do that? Can I figure it out?

*sighs again*