Apartment living equals hearing things you sometimes don’t want to hear from people you barely know. For example, in my last apartment our downstairs neighbor used to have raging, and I mean I almost called the cops kind of raging, fights with her boyfriend. Scary, awful, and makes you want to buy a single unit home.
As a result of having horrible neighbors in the past, I try to be respectful. I don’t play my music too loud, I make sure our parties end before the clock moves into the next day, I do my part to keep our common area neat. And I stifle my singing voice.
Yesterday I was working on some writing and listening to Pandora when an Adele cover of Make You Feel My Love came on. I love that song and wanted to sing but felt nervous about my neighbors hearing, both because I don’t want to bother them and because I can’t always hit notes that I attempt. But I decided that my thinking was crap. I want to sing and I should be able to in my own home.
So I sang along with Adele, then with Nora Jones, then with Sarah Bareilles. I kept singing for a good 30 minutes and only stopped because the hubby came home and engaged me in conversation. It was so freeing, to allow my voice to ring true. I crawled up the scale, loving the feel of the vibrations along the roof of my mouth, and let my throat cradle those silky low notes, feeling the hum in my chest. I cracked a few times, but it didn’t matter.
Polite is good sometimes, but I’m beginning to see a flaw in my logic. When I take everyone else’s lives and comfort into consideration, my own life and comfort fall lower and lower on the priority list. And sometimes I just need to sing.