Singing is a Way to Access Joy 🎶

"Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing."

Occasionally Impervious is a twice monthly newsletter. You can learn more about it here. If you like what you read, consider subscribing and have it delivered directly to your inbox.

At a recent family gathering, the children devised a game to determine who could sing the most annoying song. It began with “Never Gonna Give You Up” and morphed into “It’s Raining Tacos.” Attempts by the adults to ignore, and then shush gave way to resignation. One by one we added our voices to theirs. By the time we got to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” everyone was singing aloud. By the final um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I we were beside ourselves with laughter. 

That afternoon, the adults were reminded of what the children already knew. Singing is a way to access joy. It can transform a mood, evoke a range of emotion and provide cathartic release. It’s why audiences sing in unison during a concert and sports fans sing in support of their team. We employ song in celebration, before battle, to offer comfort and to declare our love. Collective singing provides cover in the same way singing alone in the shower banishes inhibition. Giving in to song, for the sake of singing, even if (especially if?) no one else can hear it, feels good. 

My family’s sing-a-long reminded me of a moment in early motherhood. Those first nights at home with my newborn found me worrying, of all things, that my singing voice wasn’t good enough to soothe my son. It’s not honeyed like Sade’s. I lack Ella’s perfect pitch. I rocked and held him but I was in awe of everything about him, including his beautiful, brand-new-to-the-world ears and I didn’t want to ruin anything with my singing.

I do not remember the moment I decided to let all that go, but I am certain memories of how I felt while listening to my mother sing to my brother and me emboldened me to sing aloud to my own child. I wanted my son to know that feeling too.

Once I allowed myself to sing, I realized that almost anything can become a lullaby. I’ve already admitted to singing tracks from the Pixar movie “Cars” to lull my children to sleep but romantic songs can (and have) been adjusted to accommodate little ones too. 

Take for example the stalwart that is “You Are My Sunshine.” A review of the full lyrics reveal a lengthy country song full of heartbreak and sorrow that ends with an ominous threat:

You told me once, dear, you really loved me

And nothing else could come between

But now you've left me for another

And you shattered all of my dreams

I'll always love you and make you happy

If you only say the same

But if you leave me for another

You'll regret it all some day 😳

The single, “Adore,” from Prince’s “Sign O’ the Times” is far from G-rated but I regularly sang the first few verses alongside “Brahms Lullaby” for years. (Everything after those opening lines is grown folks business. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

Until the end of time

I'll be there for you

You own my heart and mind

I truly adore you

If God one day struck me blind

Your beauty I'll still see

Love is too weak to define

Just what you mean to me

I’ve been a parent for nearly two decades and I’ve yet to stop singing with my children. An enduring favorite is the made for “Sesame Street” song, “Sing.” We especially like the lalalalalalalalalalala part and can never get through it without laughing. Its message guides me to this day: 

Sing

Sing a song

Sing out loud, sing out strong

Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear

Just sing

Sing a song

So maybe skip the scenario where half a dozen children belt out “Baby Shark” and “The 🦆 Song” before attempting a live-action rickroll at your next family gathering, but do find your way to singing. Sing to yourself, your plants, your true love, or no one in particular. Just sing.

A Few Things:

1. This lullaby guts me. every. single. time. 

2. Kristin Wong’s essay, “What Lullabies Teach Us About Language.” She writes, “Lullabies, it seems, are a way of telling your children that you love them before they understand the words I love you. In that way, lullabies are like a language of their own.”

3. That first verse of “I’m Glad You Came” by the Wanted is something you might croon to a newborn. It reads like a poetic birth announcement. The rest of the song is…🤷🏾‍♀️.

4. If I had a voice like hers this entire essay would be moot. 

Tell Me:

Do you ever sing aloud? Exclusively in the shower? In a chorus? Absolutely never, ever, ever? Let’s talk about it in the comments. 🎙️