Being a vocalist means that I don't eat chocolate before 9 p.m.
Being a vocalist means having a feeling that the waitress scoffs at me behind my back when I order a water with my beer.
Being a vocalist means taking a good breath before picking up the phone and saying, "Thank you for calling Courtyard by Marriott of Salina, this is Michael."
Being a vocalist means that I don't talk for more than five minutes straight, and being grateful when people give me hinting looks if I ramble anyway.
It means that a night of singing karaoke is a night to say, "Damn the audience, I'm gonna sing this song because I FREAKING FEEL LIKE IT!" ... because I just need to pretend that someone likes the stuff that I like to sing when I'm at home.
It means "Ooooo, macaroni and cheese sounds good! ...oh, wait, I have a show tomorrow/tonight... Ramen, broccoli, and apple juice it is."
Ditto for a bowl of cereal when I wake up on show day. Not happening.
Being a vocalist means riding the exercise bicycle because I reeeeally need to hit those F#s, Gs, and G#s with more ease.
It means that no, I cannot belt powerful head voice/falsetto songs by progressive metal band Dream Theater all night long the night before an evening of barbershopping for some retired folks.
It means that I cannot shout my malcontentions at bandwagon Red Sox fans all through a 3-hour game at Kauffman Stadium (home of the Royals) in Kansas City, MO.
It means, "Thank you, director of the Salina Chorale, for moving me away from all of the other tenors so that I don't have to shout just to hear myself well enough to know if I'm on key" or "Please, guys, can you turn your guitars down just a little so that I don't have to shout?"
It means that I must not, no matter how much fun it is, try to imitate Steven Tyler... I'd prefer not to have vocal chord surgery twice before I turn 70.
Being a vocalist means saying to myself, "I don't care if you're not thirsty! Walk over to that sink and pour yourself a glass of water and drink the whole thing until it's gone."
It means that I may not, when I take my Grama to church at 10:30 a.m., belt out all the hymns. For heaven's sake, my voice should still be in bed. Gently, now, gently.
No screaming in anger. Just, none. Nope. Can't do it. Doesn't matter if a certain un-named somebody stole my beer.
Being a vocalist means speaking in the easiest way possible, even if it means that, at 25, I sound like I'm 16.
It's massaging my throat and my jaw and that, somehow, most sung sounds have a little bit of "n" in them.
It's remembering that high notes should feel low, and low notes should feel high.
It's taking breaths that fill my lungs to my hips, and pushing them out 'til it hurts.
It's carrying a bottle 'o' water in my car... just in case I need to fill it.
Being a vocalist is putting feeling into everything that I say or sing.
In short, it sometimes seems like nearly everything that I do is in preparation, in waiting, and in anticipation of, the next time that I put my heart on the line, expressing myself in the way that I've always felt compelled to do so since before I can even remember.
