Do over, please
If I had a nickel for every time that I have wished that I could rewind and start over, I’d be a wealthy woman. My most recent example, at least the one I’m willing to describe here, was at Thunder Pinard’s Karaoke Night at Giggity’s last Wednesday. I have recently become a karaoke addict.
“Hello, my name is Monica, and…” Okay not really, but I am having a lot of fun getting back into singing a bit in this laid back scenario where it’s okay if you don’t sound perfect, which makes it the perfect outlet for my rusty and imperfect singing talents, or lack thereof. Singing is straight up good for the soul and it does mine good not only to have this personal opportunity, but also to be present as others bear their souls to the tune of whatever tune moves them.
It has happened more than once that I come up with a song that I’m sure will be a good one, only to find that it is not, at all, a good choice for me. I usually soldier on, because what else can you do? Well, last Wednesday I soldiered on past my tune confusion in Alannah Myles’ “Black Velvet” but then later in the evening, about halfway through Linda Ronstadt’s “Love is a Rose,” I had to cry, “Do over!” The song was a terrible choice, and the deeper I got into it, the more I regretted it. Thunder very kindly allowed me to start over with a different song, after heartily laughing at me for crying uncle, but I was left with the question: how often do we really get that chance?
Choices are sticky wickets, aren’t they? We can talk ourselves into and out of just about anything based on our own perspective, the influence of others, etc., but in the end we are the ones who must live with whatever those choices may be. Nelson Mandela said, “May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” When I’m choosing a song for karaoke and base my choice on how I hope it will sound, rather than talking myself out of it for how I’m afraid it will sound, I may open up the possibility of a “Do over!” moment, but I learn and stretch myself in a way I might not had I simply chosen safely.
One of my great regrets in life is not terribly more significant than what song I choose for karaoke, but it has long stuck in my craw with that “What if?” nagging that has been a real life lesson for me over the years.
When I was a student at Berry College, I was involved with the theatre and was a member of the Alpha Psi Omega dramatic honors society. One year, when it came time for the Miss Berry pageant, a fellow member was nominated to represent our club, but when she declined I was asked if I would do it. I was not your typical pageant girl, by any means, so it was easy for me to talk myself out of the prospect. But I did give it due thought, and when considering what my talent would be, I came up with an unusual and elaborate plan to photograph the swans at Swan Lake over the course of many days at different times of day, a full documentary photo study, and set the images to music and screen it at the event as my talent. No one had ever done something like it, I was sure. I became truly obsessed with the idea, but I sadly became even more obsessed with my fears about every aspect of the prospect. What if I didn’t get enough unique and quality images for it to work? What if it just came off as weird, rather than artistic and innovative? What if I tripped in high heels in the evening gown category? What if, what if, what if… Needless to say, I talked myself out of it and have regretted it ever since, left with the big “what if” of how it might have gone had I followed my hope rather than my fear.
Of course, there was the strong possibility that I might have tried and failed, but which form of regret is worse? Alfred Lord Tennyson said, “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” I think he could easily have said, “’Tis better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all.” For years, as I reflect on that situation, I have had the internal nagging wish to cry “Do over!” and have the opportunity to go back and do the project as I imagined it, small though it may seem in the scheme of life.
Alas, that is not an option, so I must find some peace on the matter and embrace the lesson the situation taught me about the importance of not letting our fears get the best of us. About the way it is always best to put your heart and feelings on the line rather than hold back in fear, and about the importance of trusting that while our pipe dreams may well fail, the value of failure lessons is far greater than the value of safety. Kathy Mattea sang about it back in the 80s:
“You got to sing like you don’t need the money
Love like you’ll never get hurt You got to dance like nobody’s watchin’ It’s gotta come from the heart
If you want it to work” Hmmm, maybe that will be my next karaoke choice.