I spent most of this morning in church fighting tears. For the 4th Sunday in a row, I was unable to sing in the choir or join in my beloved hymns. I have not really been able to sing effectively in almost 2 months.
We had a guest singer, Maura McIntosh, who has a lovely alto voice. She is doing what I had hoped to be doing someday, traveling and singing at different churches and gatherings.
Despite vocal rest, my throat is more sore than ever. I am beginning to despair that my voice will never again be truly reliable. What begins as a minor cold can take me out vocally for 2 to 3 months when the inevitable complications set in.
I try to wrap my head around what it would mean to no longer be a musician. This is an identity I have had for most of my life. I cannot ever remember a time when I was not singing, and getting attention for being good at it. It is such an integral part of the way I see myself and the way others see me.
Who am I, if I am not a musician? It looks like I may have to find that out.
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