Category: Uncategorized (Page 1 of 9)

Patriot’s Day was Monday here in Massachusetts (commemorates the first battles of the American Revolutionary War—Lexington and Concord—on April 19, 1775.) Along with battle reenactments and a morning Red Sox Game, it’s also the day of the Boston Marathon. 🏃 🏃🏃🏃🏃🏃

We live a mile from the route, so we head over and join the horns, cowbells, and shouts.

Something about this year’s race brought a tear or two. Hundreds of folks from everywhere running together down Route 135 — the potholed winter-beaten stretch usually host to crusty New England drivers nursing their Dunkies on the way to Framingham — became the scene of the best of the human spirit on display.

These runners! I needed this lift — so many folks together, hours and hours of training converging together in this moment, competing and together. So many badasses.

And when I saw the para athletes putting the road behind them with such rhythm and focus. Truly humbling.

With all fiery dumpsters ablaze in the world, it was a gift to see these amazing folks. So grateful.

Made me think of all the singers I’ve had the privilege to WALK 🙂 the road with. How folks have overcome vocal injury, crippling tension, trauma that seemed to separate them from their bodies, and flung themselves into the unknown of witnessing vibrating musical air move through the body.

Also truly humbling.

And makes me want to say thank you for welcoming me into your inbox, trusting me with aspects of your training, and all the ways this community shares with me. I love hearing from you and how these emails, videos, and lessons have helped. It’s why I do it.

What I keep coming back to is this:

All of that progress (strength, coordination, resilience) happens on purpose. It comes from having a way of working. A structure you can return to when things feel off, unclear, or inconsistent.

That’s what I want for you as a singer. And it’s one of the reasons I built The Voice Map.

It’s a way of understanding how the voice works as a system so you’re not just throwing spaghetti, but seeing how everything connects and knowing what to adjust when something feels fishy.

And now, it also includes 6 months inside the Resource Library, so you’re not doing that work alone.

You’ll have:

• live Q&As
• a community of singers working through the same process
• and a growing set of tools to support what you’re building

So you have both:
📚 the structure of the system
🎉 and the support to apply it

If you’ve been wanting a clearer way to approach your voice (and something you can rely on over time) you can learn more about The Voice Map here:

👉 Just click this link.

If it feels like the right time to go deeper to understand your voice and express yourself with clarity and satisfaction, I’d love to see you there.

Please remember there’s only one you. Somebody would love to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS Check out these terrific finish line moments shared by the Boston Globe.

We’re three weeks into our journey of bringing the boys home for learning. And learning we have been doing.

There’ve been heavenly days. And super bumpy ones.

Melissa decided to take the boys to a local Bible study group that had a dedicated class for homeschool kids. Maybe make some new friends. Maybe hear some other big people tell them God loves them. Should be a win-win.

Our nugget number two was not having it.

Last week, Melissa reported that as they were leaving the class, he announced for all to hear that he would not be returning.

I mean, I have to respect his clarity.

His exact words were, “They didn’t appreciate me.”

What does that mean? No, seriously, what kind of appreciation are you expecting to receive?

We were driving back home from a trip this weekend, and we were finally able to tease out some of last week’s events (thanks to Nugget Number One).

I’m not complaining about having an older child reporter in the house. I was definitely the interpreter for my younger brother. Big air quotes around “interpreter.” Genetic.

We found out the teacher asked, “What are some of the ways that you learn about the love of God?” Nugget Number Two answered, “My mommy.”

First of all, that melted my heart. His mommy strengthens my faith in love and goodness, too.

Apparently, some of the kids in the class saw his answer as theologically unsound. I believe there was some laughter.

The teacher quelled this reaction, reminding them that each individual person experiences God in a different way.

Nugget Number One then said, “Hey, I have a question. Why would someone saying their mom helps them learn about God be something you laugh at? I thought that was a really good answer.”

Well done, Nugget Number One. Well done.

But all of a sudden, I understood deeply why his six-year-old heart accurately expressed, “They didn’t appreciate me.” They didn’t. He offered a vulnerable answer in a room full of kids he didn’t know. And they laughed. That would hurt my heart. (I mean, I’m still getting over some comments I heard about my parenting three weeks ago.)

But seriously, Bible class kids?

The point of this: our six-year-old knew exactly what happened, and he reported it accurately.

I knew that even if he didn’t get the details right, he was truthfully describing his experience. (But it sounds like he had the details pretty spot on.)

A lot of people go through life not being believed or taken seriously when they try to share that something bad happened. And when you’re a kid, it can disorient your whole world. Wait, did that happen? I guess I made it up, right? If it did happen, it was probably my fault.

Then you walk into adulthood, learning to ignore the signals your nervous system still tries to give you.

That twinge-y feeling in my gut probably doesn’t mean anything. I’ll stay around these people who are a little iffy.

I felt like that was probably a dig. I don’t think that comment was kind. Nah, I’m probably just reading too much into it.

Yeah, my shoulders are aching. My head’s pounding, and I feel like something is leaking energy somewhere in my body. But I probably just need more coffee and to lock in more.

We do this in our artistic training as well. We ignore unsustainable discomfort. We discount signals our body sends us. We even let questionable training methods slide because we think it’s just the way it is. We don’t ever stop and think, “Wait, is there another way to do this that might be sustainable, efficient, free, and joyful?”

I can still recall several instances in my career when people in leadership roles said inappropriate things to me, and I just told myself, “Well, that’s just what people do in the theater.”

Our body does send us important information, and it’s never too late to start listening. As someone who had cut off complete access to mine, (and even felt physically ill when teachers would encourage me to go into the body) I’m telling you it’s possible and worth it.

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I talk about proprioception and misread signals in a slightly different way in this week’s video, specifically the difference between twang and nasality, and how easy it is to go down the wrong path when we don’t quite understand what we’re feeling or hearing yet.

​You can check that out here:

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Most of all today, I hope you remember there’s only one you, and somebody would love to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,
Dan

P.S. If you want a clearer way to understand what your body and voice are actually doing so you don’t have to guess or override those signals, that’s exactly why I built The Voice Map. It’s a systems-based way to understand how everything works together so you can trust what you’re feeling and make better choices faster.

You know how the plan-your-day-and-win-at-life folks tell you you have to prioritize? Just pick three. No more.

I hate it. Don’t make me choose.

I want to write down 87 things on my list for that day and accomplish them all. Thank you very much.

And don’t tell me to time block. Acknowledge and adapt myself to the constraints of time and space? No, thank you.

I’d like to continue being overwhelmed by my list and tell myself every morning that today’s the day I will snatch timelessness from the jaws of finitude.

It hasn’t happened.

(Writing this email was one of my top three priorities on Monday.)

It’s funny because as a singer and teacher, I bow to the laws of physics and physiology as well as I can. I know what certain vowels will do to registration. I know how certain levels of support will affect sound. I’m all about leveraging the things I understand about the voice.

But when it comes to other areas of life like planning or breaking down large projects into smaller chunks, I’ll eventually do it (clumsily), but I’ll be mad about it.

It’s okay.

It’s how my brain works. Melissa asks if there’s anything we need for the grocery list while I’m loading the dishwasher, and my brain’s all like, “How daaaaaare you interrupt my focus on this crucial task????”

So it’s a question of trying to meet my brain with curiosity, trying to understand how it works, and working with that in a beneficial way that creates good and satisfying outcomes.

Same with our singing training or any kind of artistic pursuit.

Do you like long spans of focused practice? Do you have time for that? Or do you like short bursts of attention? Little check-ins that help build motor learning over time. Maybe a little bit of both. What do the realities of your life allow at this time?

I’m doing revisions on the play we’re premiering in August, and I know if I don’t work on it right after I make coffee and do a little bit of writing and praying, it’s probably not going to get done that day. Knowing I spent 45 minutes working on it before anything else is helpful for my brain and useful in actually getting the revisions done. This morning I only got through about seven lines, but I got through those seven.

All this to say — as much as I’d love to be a time blocking expert, it might not be how my brain works best. Are there things in your life and practice that you’re trying to square peg? Maybe take a gentle, curious look and ask yourself if there’s a way for you to work that would be more effective.

Or maybe take the tool the experts say works so well and see if you can adapt it to your purposes.

It’s about understanding the principle of a thing and then seeing if and how that harmonizes with your nature.

I’m working on it.

One thing I am confident about, though, is that there’s only one you, and somebody would love to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS Speaking of trying the thing, this morning I actually spent ten minutes taking my tasks and putting them at specific times during my day. It made my guts tighten up, and I was angry about it. So. Much. Executive. Function.

But I also have to say, my day is going pretty straightforwardly. And I’ve been be-bopping through the tasks pretty well. Maybe I am a grudgingly grateful time blocker after all. I’ll keep you posted. 😡

PPS And I guess I can break a large project into small chunks and get it done. That is, if I have to show up for people. And that’s how we created the Voice Map Course. It teaches you about all the systems of your voice and how they work together, and gives you intimate wisdom of how your body, breath, phonation, registration, resonance, articulation, and overall artistry collaborate. If that sounds like something that will help you on your singing journey, you can check it out here.

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There are several graduating seniors in the conservatory studio this semester. One of the toughest aspects of being in your final year is the showcase.

Everybody gets a 90-second feature along with various and sundry other performance tasks to put together a cohesive show that they can present to industry folk at the end of the semester.

Tens of creative, ambitious musical theater performers in one room hoping they’ll be noticed by favorable casting decision makers based on their performance of half of “Shy” from Once Upon a Mattress while peers and sundry offer their various artistic opinions. What stress could possibly ensue?

Number one, Peers and Sundry is a great name for something. Probably a brunch restaurant.

Number two, that cut of “Shy” worked really well for one of my seniors a couple years ago. So there is that.

All that to say is it gets really easy to get tornadoed up in the crazy frenzy.

So I’ve been asking seniors to have a quick visit with somebody very special. In their case, I asked them to get a quick perspective from 35-year-old them.

It’s wonderful to see how quickly some of them can hear from their older selves. I really do believe that on some sort of quantum physics level that I don’t understand, we do have access to ourselves along our complete timeline.

But just that little thought exercise where they check in with themselves about 17 years down the road is a wonderful shoulder melter and load lifter.

I’ve been using this tool on myself lately.

When bedtime’s taking longer than I think it should and I have so much WORK to scurry downstairs and finish up, my sixty-year-old self reminds me to enjoy this super sweet and precious time.

When I look at my Google Tasks and Bullet Journal and 15 sticky notes with all the unfinished open loops, and feel objectively overwhelmed, older me tells me it’s it’s still helpful to accomplish two tasks, even if I can’t accomplish 25.

And when I start to get paralyzed on play revisions and reach for dopamine distractors, older me it reminds me I’ve got a lot of help around me, smart people who can encourage me. If I just keep taking steps with good tools, I’ll make something decent.

Older me is super low drama, so sometimes it’s annoying how wise he is. But I’m super grateful for him. He brings me back down to earth regularly.

So I encourage you to reach out to a version of you who’s traveled down the road a little further ahead. And as long as we’re in these miraculous bodies and breathing, there’s always a phase of us we can consult.

I’d love to know if you got any good advice. Feel free to email me back and let me know if you heard anything good from you.

One thing I do know for sure is there is only one you, and somebody would love to hear this story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS If you’re going to be in London in early August, go ahead and get your tickets for my new play with music Train to Cleveland with John Ruskin, which is going to be happening at the Camden Fringe Festival at Circle and Star Theatre in Hampstead. ​

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PPS And remember to check out The Voice Map, the systems level framework that will take you from confusion to clarity and into a deep understanding of how the systems of your voice work together:

• body
• breath
• phonation
• registration
• resonance
• articulation
• and artistry

🗺️ a compass and a guide you can carry with you throughout your singing life, simple in-depth videos, and open comments and questions beneath every module so you can ask your questions as you explore.

Check it out here.​

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This is the first time I’ve done an inbox double header, but this keeps tapping on my shoulder to share with you.

Our boys attend a fantastic public school here in small-town Massachusetts. The teachers are great. The staff is great. The administration is terrific. They care about the students, and they have excellent expertise.

And it’s become clearer and clearer to us over the last couple of years that our boys are not thriving in the public school environment.

We’ve had the meetings, we’ve had the conferences, we’ve consulted the helpers, and after a lot of thought and prayer and harmonizing gut feelings, we decided to bring our boys home for school.

When you tell folks this, the reactions are legion.

They span from “Congratulations, this is going to be terrific!” to “Wow, that’s a bold move.” And if you’ve had any time in theatre circles, you know that’s the equivalent of someone saying, “You sure made some strong choices on that stage.”

Totally fine. When you share such a big change with people and they haven’t had the privilege of seeing your process, of course things come as a surprise.

But, what I wasn’t prepared for was the deep sadness and even grief that I would feel as we actually submitted the application to the superintendent, as we communicated with the classroom teachers about our choice. We wanted the system to work out. We wanted this excellent school to be the thing that was best for the boys.

But it was clear, especially in one of them, that the light was getting snuffed out. When you look at your kid and you see the spark is just hanging on by the tiniest Tinkerbell in need of a lot of belief-applause, you know you’ve got to make a change.

And there’s grief.

When the boys brought their workbooks and composition books and daily journals home from school, along with sweet cards and a goodbye booklet compiled by the teacher, I felt this deep well of sadness. There’s love and goodness in this community, and at the same time, it’s not the right fit.

I know in the deep cells of my guts we’re making the right call. And I know there’s challenge and figuring it out ahead, but I’m very excited to see what unfolds.

A couple of weeks ago, our older boy was going with me into the bank. He started skipping and galloping (I, of course, joined him 🐴); I hadn’t seen him be playful like that in a few months. We stood in line, and I said, “Hey buddy, correct me if I’m wrong. I’m not trying to project here, but it seems to me that since you knew you were going to start learning at home, there’s been a lot more sunshine in you. Am I seeing that right?”

He grinned and agreed.

It’s a new chapter unfolding, and we’re here for all the unknowns. I will say my inner nerd is gleaming with delight, looking at all of the curriculum options and digging out 19th-century arithmetic books and drilling them on

It’s amazing how excited they get about learning over breakfast or saying “I don’t want to read” but then getting curious about what you might be discussing about the Mayans with the other brother 😊 .

All this to say that I think maybe you’re making a choice that you know is right, that you know in the depth of you is what’s most true and wholesome and good in the season you find yourself in.

At the same time, you’re feeling grief, and I want you to know that that’s being a human. You’re walking through changes that many people might not understand, but as long as you know in the depth of you that it’s the step forward you need to take, let me be the cheerleader who tells you: 📢 Well done, way to access your courage, and I’m excited to see what the next chapter holds for you.

If this was for you today, I hope it helps.

And please do remember there is only one you. Somebody would love to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

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It’s Patriots’ Day in Massachusetts which celebrates the role this state played in the Revolutionary War.

It’s also the running of the Boston Marathon. We went into Boston yesterday to see my Conservatory kids do Something Rotten, and it was a mess. The city, not the show. (They were terrific.)

Between race people and Red Sox people and your garden variety Massholes, we made it in and out relatively unscathed.

We even got a cookie and a blondie at Flour Bakery, so BONUS!

Walking down the street and holding hands with Melissa is one of my top favorite things in all of life.

The marathon goes right through Ashland a mile from our house, so we might try to get a peek at the folks who need to run, even without anything chasing them!

Yesterday about 2/3 of the way into Boston, I said to Melissa, “Those folks will still be running at this point. AND have a ways to go.” Bless em, God.

Got me to thinking, though, what kind of focus does it take to decide you’re going to run a marathon? Training for said marathon, and then running the 26+ miles…whether or not you choose to display a number sticker on your car. Up to you.

But what’s that runner’s reason for this? And what do they tell themselves for early morning training? What do they say when their brain logically tells them, “This is an insane pursuit. You should stop and have a snack.” Perfectly reasonable.

Do you know Tabitha Brown?

I watched her make a kale salad on Instagram today, and then she got a word from the Lord. She looked right in our souls from her kitchen and said, “You getting distracted.”

How do you know about me, Tab?

I mean, there’s been a lot going on in Calla-town. If life were a college course, I could be getting all kinds of extensions. (Though I did get taxes in this weekend. Boom! And ouch.)

But I have to be honest.

When I do have half an hour to sit down and write a scene, revise the musical that had a reading 18 months ago, or make a funny postcard for the casting director I’ve committed to bug every 6 weeks, I’m amazing at answering work emails, researching the best place to watch the marathon, or playing Wordle.

So, today I’m reaching out for your help.

What do you do to transcend or sublimate distraction? Write me back and tell me! I’ll share with the class.

And if you’ve run a marathon, how did you train? What did you do on days you didn’t feel like training? Fill me in.

One thing I do know, though, and this helps. I’m a forgetful creature. I forget why writing stories is so important, why singing means so much, why I still feel a tap on my shoulder telling me I have more to share.

We have so many chances for distraction. So many ways to get pulled off the path. Like, actual technology platforms designed to commandeer our brains and dominate our attention.

We have to exert a huge amount of choice energy to stay on the path.

So, I invite you today to write down why the thing that always taps your shoulder and burns your guts is crucial to you. Maybe investigate what’s behind that knee-jerk jealousy you feel about that person you have thing about. That’s a map and points you to the kind of work you you need to be sharing. (A helpful idea from Julia Cameron.)

I’ll do it, too. And for real — write me back and tell me how you diminish distraction. Share with the class.

And here’s one big why — there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing

Love much, Dan

You know about Clifton StrengthsFinder? It’s an assessment tool that’s a locator of your easy things.

Every time I’ve shaken its Magic 8 Ball, one attribute always features first.

No, (blush), it’s not magnanimity, wisdom, or humility. Thank you, though. I’m humbled.

It’s Input. ?

When I was a kid, my version of “You’re not the boss of me” was, “You’re not the TEACHER!” 

Or [tɛɪi-tʃəɹɹɹɹɹ] for an International Phonetic Alphabet transcription of my Surry County tot-twang.

See? I even IPA my hills-n-hollers cradle dialect. Input.

I collect data like it’s my 4th grade rock menagerie, and I’m mystified when my exuberant educational evangelism yields glazed eyes and grocery list contemplation in the listener.

Lordt, I’m remembering one of the first academic classes I taught and the informational firehose I pumped out (via Power Point, of course).

No wonder one of the student reflections stated, “Lectures were boring.” Not to ME! I overworked HARD on those rabbit trails about the Princess Musicals and Dorothy Parker! 

And now we arrive at the jammed junction where Clifton Strength meets Callaway Cluster.

If I can make it harder, I will.

I own the bizarro version of the Staples Easy Button–

–a Rube Goldberg contraption of levers, gears, and pulleys, and when the little ball bearing lands in the cup at the end, a voice exclaims, “That was satisfyingly complex!”

I don’t mind taking one sock down to add to the laundry only to realize I left the songbook on the steps. No worries. I’ll just take that downstairs, too, while I leave the iPad on the kitchen table for a separate trip to the charger. 

Doesn’t frustrate me in the least. 

This week I tormented my soul trying to select an online scheduler that could accept credit cards, send automatic reminders, and julienne sweet potato fries; I knew the wrong software would lead to the imminent demise of everything.

So I toiled and brewed, becoming the person attacked by Tupperware on an infomercial before the low-larynx voiceover intones, “Introducing…?” 

The irony is not lost: I subject myself to a morass of brain complexity and fantasy flow chart in search of a magical system that promises simplicity. “You just teach and let us do the rest.” ?

I knew what I needed to do.

(thanks to a Marie Forleo podcast one time about how to get your head to stop yelling at you.)

I got on the elliptical machine I was super resistant to us buying and has turned out to be a body and brain saver. Thanks, Melissa-Lee. 

After fifteen minutes, a lotta sweat drops, and answering questions from lil Jude about dinosaurs and what’s ewwiptical mean? in ragged two-word fragments, things started to clear up.

I didn’t need the software.

I needed paper and pen.

Complication was my way of getting in my way.

Do you have a thing like that?

A tricky moth-to-flame resistance activity that claims you’re making progress while you know you’re wheel-spinning and slinging mud on your windshield? 

Lemme tell you what my complexity movie montages backed by Avil Lavigne’s 2002 chart-topper do for me.

I bet your own clever machinations will become clearer to you, too.

It protects me from ease.

Why would you wanna be protected from ease? That’s crazy.

Yep. 

Making things hard upholds an early belief I crafted —  I get everything through hard work. (This includes love and acceptance.)

Even miraculously free and un-earnable things like breath (I know how to do it well because I’m a singer) or health (I eat this, and I exercise this way) become star charts. 

I’m a poor vacationer, board game player, and mid-day movie watcher. I’m working on it.

It keeps me out of action and away from the unknown.

When I was in the UK, I never even crossed the Channel.

You know why? I didn’t want to go anywhere I didn’t speak the language, and I woulda been lost in Spain, anyway.

My need to KNOW things and LOOK like I knew was consuming.

And who cared? Ding ding ding — moi. 

It shields me from rejection, being a beginner, and feeling inept.

Offering anything to anybody means they could say no. So, if you don’t offer, they can’t say no. Opening yourself to any kind of response from folks — same.

And when you try something new, even if it’s a new version of something you’ve done for years, you have the just-born fawn stumble going on for a while.

What if we cheered ourselves on like a grandparent claps for their 13-month-old grandbaby standing, stepping, stumbling, and standing again? We’d probably get moving with a lot less self-inflicted cortisol. 

I think I need to look fancy.

On our road trip back from NC, Noah took on a regal identity when he donned the Burger King crown he picked up in Staunton, Virginia. Together with one of Gram’s necklaces he couldn’t resist taking as a souvenir, he knew he was looking special.

When he climbed into the back seat after lunch, he asked, “Daddy, do you think all those people knew I was a king?”

“I’m sure they did, buddy.”

And how is keen sense of audience perception an inheritable trait? ?

I’ve added bells and whistles to my business that I don’t need because I think they look impressive. It’s the equivalent of financing a car you can’t afford so that you look like you have more money than you do. 

So, now I’m writing my active client and waiting list down on a super simple couple pages in my bullet journal, and it’s like a life changing magic of complexity release moment. Sparks all kinds of joy not to mention freedom, relief, and as intensely uncomfortable as it is, EASE.

I leave you with this.

If you can remember to ask yourself this question for life AND singing, things can go pretty well:

How can this be easier?

And if there’s no practical way to make something easier, how can you go easier? On you and everybody around you?

I think this is what we have to ask ourselves in 2023. Things aren’s getting easier on their own, so how can you walk through with love and tenderness toward you and the world you’re connected to?

Moving through like that, you’ll share more. And that’s good because I do believe with all my heart that there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,
dan

ps If you want to know more about Clifton StrenghtFinder (or their new rebrand as CliftonStrengths), it’s here.

pps If you ever have presentations to make or talks to give, I recommend any and all of Echo Rivera’s resources.  Her stuff saved me from creating more death by power point. Another terrific resource for teaching and talking is Dr. Patrick Wilson’s talk at MIT. Together we can end Power Point abuse. 

ppps Please do yourself a huge favor and watch this. ?? This feature from CBS Sunday Morning made my week. It’s just 2 and a half minutes, and your soul will say thank you. There is good and beauty in the world. 

The Calla-clan went over the Delaware, Potomac and James rivers and through allll the woodses to Gram’s house in NC.

We piled into the house where the hardware’s still off the bathroom door my younger brother donkey-kicked when we were in fifth grade,

and where the cow pasture behind us used to be the tobacco field where we hurled red clay clumps at each other in our GI Joe simulations. (Many a noggin was knocked by a hidden hunk of quartz.)

The 2-day drive down was good, and our lil nuggets named themselves the Road Rangers.

They did miles better than I did on road trips as a kid — my patience petered by Lake Norman when we took summer trips to Carowinds. Even the promise of the Scooby Doo Roller Coaster couldn’t temper my impatience with my legs sticking to the blue vinyl back seat of the Ford Fairmont station wagon. 

One crucial operational duty you have to manage on road trips with a 3- and 4-year-old: snack management. 

Once glycemic indices fluctuate, you have a brief window to mitigate a detour onto Hangrytown Highway.

(We refer to the the passenger seat occupant on road trips as “The Snack Bitch.”)

We wended our way through the interminable Commonwealth of Virginia, witnessed the potentialities of human behavior when subject to just 2 lanes on the interstate, and the under-fives weren’t the only denizens of Hangrytown occupying the motor. 

I rode snack-gun while Melissa landed us at lunchtime.

Grace Patricia (GPS’s first and middle names) began to exhibit decision fatigue, so I asserted my navigational insight while the boys decided their Magna-Doodles would make great seat-back bludgeons.

An ambulance whizzed by, and motorists executed ill-considered left turns out of the nearby Sheetz.

“Turn right here, and that’ll get you back to the light you need,” I offered.

Melissa proceeded straight.

“Turn right here. Here!”

No turn.

“Now we missed it.”

Why was nobody LISTENING to me????

A knot cinched my growly stomach and slung a lasso up around the back of my tongue.

My guts stomped and silent-screamed — much like my four-year-old recurring nightmare of Darth Vader slinging me over his shoulder and carrying me out the door while my Mom and Dad smiled and waved, “Have a good time :).”

No one was listening to me!

Melissa telescoped her focus on the road, turned right on an actual road and then safely U-turned. It was later than the one I said she should make, and I barked as much.

The car climate shifted from frenetic to stormy.

Melissa’s face looked like I’d just thrown her chocolate peanut butter ice cream cone on the sidewalk. I’d hurt her feelings.

I saw this with my eyes and ascertained it with my brain, and in my four-year-old Darth Vader capture moment, I was incapable of meeting her there.

Empathy was as distant as everything on Interstate 81 — stuck between an 18-wheeler and the Buick Lacrosse with the Texas plates who needed to BACK OFF.

With tears behind her eyes, Melissa said to me, “You’d think after the weeks we’ve had–all the packing, planning, cleaning, wrapping, wrangling — the exhaustion I’m feeling right now — the OVERSTIMULATION. I literally couldn’t hear you with all that was happening.

“I just hoped you’d have a little more understanding with where I am.” 

Shit

I heard her. Her words made sense.

I was still 4, though, and no one freaking listens.

Lunch was a little shut down and sad, and the next several miles down the highway, too. 

I said a couple things about “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…” and “If you just understood…”, and when I realized I sounded like the grade-A narcissist the YouTube Psychologist warned us about, I got quiet.

Melissa folded her arms and leaned toward the passenger side window. Get your own snacks, everybody.

Finally, I said, “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I hurt your feelings. My trigger triggered your trigger. I couldn’t pull myself out of my reactivity. I’m working on it.”

We’ve learned after nearly 10 years married that we need a little time to come through our respective feeling swamps. We held hands, closed our mouths for a while, and bought some time pumping the Encanto soundtrack. 

You ever been there?

Something happened, and before you knew it, the floor vanished, you didn’t know which end was up, and something akin to imminent soul death gripped you like monster vines?

It’s happened to me more times than I can count. 

In Melissa’s case, I didn’t SEE her when she needed to be seen, met, and understood. 

For me, I didn’t feel like anybody was listening. 

For both little Melissa and little Dan, very tender wounds got punched.

You got any places in your little-hood when you desperately needed someone just to see you? To listen when you tried to tell a big person something was terribly wrong? 

Makes a lot of sense that folks with deep longings to be seen and heard become singers, right?

Or teachers. 

As you can see from my road trip trigger-sode, I’m working on it.

And there are things that’ve helped me, too.

Here are a few:

Sometimes you’re going to be an asshole. Try as you might, there will be times when you get sucked down the wormhole to your wounded whatever-year-old self.

These moments are necessary.

They take you to the place that needs your compassion and understanding.

They also make you realize most of us are walking around with hurting five-year-old selves in need of a hug. (especially that Buick Lacrosse driver who I still hope gets pulled over and ticketed SOMEwhere. I need justice!)

The work you need to do feels a lot like rest, and it’s scary as hell. When painful reference points leap up and grab you, the first thing we want to do is smush, suppress, DE-press.

Por qué? Because you probably had a precious caregiver who had to smush and suppress, too, so they weren’t able to let you cry on through, scream on through, or experience a full emotional cycle.

You didn’t get to experience the fact that a big feeling comes, your body cries, shakes, or yells, and then it stops.

Most of us stick ourselves in the stage of suffocating the onset of emotion. Makes sense — if your big person couldn’t handle your feels, you learned how to dull them. No one likes feeling rejected or too-much.

Here’s where the rest part comes in. I’ve found that when the stuff comes up, it’s important to let it do it’s thing. Meet it and yourself with the willingness to understand, with the compassion you’d offer a dear friend.

You don’t need to understand. In fact, it may be best just to let your body make some sensations, breathe through them, and then make yourself some tea.

We get into trouble when we try to work it all out with our noggins. There are all kinds of things my brain understands; just because I understand how a bicycle works doesn’t mean I can ride one.

and last — 

Open up to the gift that’s there. The hurts I walk with tenderize me. They’ve worked compassion into my heart, and they’ve opened my ears and my soul. I wouldn’t be the husband, dad, or teacher I am without them. 

I’ve howled, cried, raged, screamed, pounded my fists, and asked plenty of whys, and I’ve had enough time and miracles to look back and see beauty in how the stained bandage threads cross each other and wove quite the picture. 

Learning how to feel things has helped me show my students that they can too. I often say, “It’s just crying.” Not to minimize the experience, but to remind us that crying starts and crying ends. Just like a song.

And I want you to remember that there is in fact only one you, and folks do need to hear the story that only you can sing. May need to cry and laugh through some things as you work on it; that’s just the love in the recipe. The most important ingredient.

love much,
dan

ps I’ve been listening to several interviews with Dr. Gabor Mate recently, and his latest book The Myth of Normal sounds like an essential read for all of us. He points out so many things about the water we’re swimming in, usually unaware that it’s been polluted. I’m wondering more and more what I can do about that. Go search on YouTube.

pps And two of my FAVORITE hearts and thinkers talked to EACH OTHER recently. Brené Brown interviewed Father Richard Rohr at the Center for Action and Contemplation. Here’s Episode One of the two-parter, “On Breathing Underwater, Falling Upward, and Unlearning Certainty.”

ppps You need a lesson? I got some time. Skewl doesn’t kick back in for a couple of weeks, so if you want to sing or work something out, email me back, and we’ll make a time. ? Just hit reply 🙂 

Happy Holidays! ?

We visited Nana and Pappy in Ft. Myers, Florida, this week. 

It’s been Christmas music at the pool, tinsel-clad golf carts, and this alligator sunning himself by a roadside lagoon.

Nope nope noooope. Give me the rogue wild turkey gang roaming the stone walled curves of Ashland, Mass, any day.

One feature of belonging to Melissa’s family — the Italian DNA is profondo. 

This means that as you’re washing down your cinnamon raisin English muffin with your last swigs of coffee, someone’s asking, “What’re we doing for dinner?”

One evening the choice was pizza. Or pizzer. They’re Rhode Islanders. (The [r] rules are complex.)

When the plan was set, Nana’s eyes widened atop big smile, and she skipped back to the pantry. She emerged with a substantial pepperoni sausage she held aloft like a drum major.

“We can use THIS!” she proclaimed. 

Despite the fanfare, homemade pizzer plans met a veto in favor of pickup and paper plates. But Nana had introduced the pepperoni as a symbolic fixture for this family visit.

Jude immediately recognized the cured meat’s bellicose/phallic implications and concocted a yet-to-be-introduced Marvel Universe identity wielding the deli item like a (Dr.) strange cylindrical flesh hammer.

He’d already been taunting his older brother about his toy fire truck’s ladder length. This stuff’s cellular, apparently. Boys, you both have nice fire trucks. 

Later in the week, we hung the piñata Aunty Krissy brought from Mexico in the front yard so the boys could get out some energy and dig for the strewn contents among the St. Augustine grass. 

We searched the garage for the best paper mache thwacking implement — a broom handle? the light bulb changer thingy? the grill brush? Someone please get the grill brush out of Jude’s hands. 

But who knew that the perfect safe and effective piñata demolition device would be a cross-cultural salumi? 

The peppeRONE. 

Loofas, Pez dispensers, and candy canes flew, and the meat log served a surprising purpose.

Then, on our last morning, the boys were bouncing around shenanigizing as usual. Noah slipped on Nana’s cushy carpet, and his lower lip met the corner of her stylish mosaic coffee table. 

There was blood and tears. 🙁

As I doctored Noah’s lip and patted his back, Jude barreled out of the pantry door once again wielding the titanic tube. “Here you go, Noah! This’ll feel you better!”

The two boys laughed and laughed, and it was the best moment — seeing your lil nuggets share a joke and see how one can help the other in his own way.

The pizza topper was soon weaponized again.

All this to say —

You never know when you’ve got a pepperoni just hanging out in your pantry that can 1. spark your imagination, 2. bust open a piñata, and 3. make your bestie laugh when their lip’s bleeding. 

Every tool we have can be used in tons of ways, so when you’re working your way through a hairy situation with your singing or otherwise, that thing you do for your breathing might help you with your belting, and that thing you do with your belting might just help you with your head voice vibrato action.

Try stuff. 

And if you just need a good laugh, take a look at Jude menacing you with a pepperoni in Joy jammies.

Most of all, though, remember, there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,
dan

ps speaking of warfare salami, do you know about Steven Pressfield? Author of The War of Art. Terrific book and helpful tools to recognize and transcend resistance. He did and interesting interview with Tim Ferris recently. I recommend. 

pps I’m sharing regularly on the social channels, so if you’re not already there, come to my party! IG is here. FB is here. Read. Listen. Comment. Send me messages.