One of my favorite memories is the road trip to LA and San Diego that I had taken the spring break of my junior year with my housemates, Heather and Larissa. We had taken my car and drove 21 hours to LA, picked up Larissa's sister, Megan, and then headed over to San Diego.
And of course, there was singing. Loud singing. On-top-of-your-lungs-don't-care-who-is-watching-singing. I am certain we looked odd and a tad bit crazy, but we also looked like we were having a lot of fun.
I miss moments like that.
I have lot of fear and trepidation when I sing. It's not within the comfort zone--or as some people put it--my sweet spot--to sing. As I've mentioned many times before, I find freedom and joy in playing piano. Since I can't carry a piano with me everywhere I go (no, the dinky keyboard I take with me for rehearsals does not count!), singing often becomes the next best thing.
I enjoy singing. I enjoy singing and not caring if anyone hears, not caring if it sounds great, not caring what people think. I enjoy singing when it is about heart and freedom and joy.
Which is probably why you'll only find me singing with such great abandon when I'm taking a long drive in the car.
It's too bad that I can't afford the gas to fuel my car for such carefree frivolity.
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