I love to sing. I’m not a fantastic singer, and I’m not God awful. I have gotten better over the past few years. When you sing for about three hours a day, you tend to get better. I’m that crazy fool who sings while he’s at work. Be it my day job installing floors, or the night shift managing a local convenience store. Mopping, cleaning machines, washing dishes, banging wood into place, or scraping tile. I sing during it all.
It’s the details that make singing fun. Feeling the tiny movements within your throat is both exciting and weird. Hacking the breathing apparatus of the human body to produce sound. How the diaphragm gets pushed and pulled as I force air in unusual ways. The different sounds produced by changing the amount of air through the nostrils. How I run out of breath on lower notes faster than higher ones.
There are the moments of clarity. I hit each tone in the proper order and pacing. In these moments, the world vanishes. The world is gone, while I focus only on my breathing and vocal control. Some moments are just befuddling. I use the techniques that worked before, and produce a new sound altogether. Little changes in how I feel that day can cascade into singing in a different style altogether. Some days are just me finding my vocal limits. Then working on extending the range of notes I can hit and transition to. Some days I just stop singing out of pure frustration. Only to start again ten minutes later. I have my tried and true songs that never feel wrong. I have those songs that never seem to click in place. And some days, I crack open and sing with notes I’ve never produced before.
There are days where I can change genres and have no issue. There are days where I skip half a playlist because I’m in a particular mood. There are days when I can hit sequences of notes, but never connect them into one good song. There are days where I realize I’ve been hitting the wrong note all along. There are days where I just listen and learn. There are days where I realize a tiny half-note change in a song that I thought was constant. There are days where I lose familiarity with everything I hear, as if they are all new. Sometimes, there are just days of nothing.
I don’t seek out approval for my singing. I sing because I enjoy it. There are customers that go out of their way to let me know how I’m doing. It’s a good feeling. There are people who tell me that I’m terrible, and that I should leave it to the professionals. It hurts, but it never stops me. I just smile and sing some more. The bad days can out-number the good at times, and I just consider stopping to preserve my ego. Tomorrow comes, and I sing again. It’s never an activity I do for gain, or for vanity. It’s because I love the sheer act of singing. Sometimes, that’s all I need.
Singing is a simple hobby I do because I can. Melee? Melee is a passion that keeps growing. Yet, look over this again. The two may be more similar to me than I had given credit. Though, that just may be Melee addiction converting everything into a metaphor. If you see me speeding down the highway yelling “It’s Melee! Everything’s Melee!!” assume the latter.