Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue

Here’s another corny post about singing because that’s what I do.

It’s Valentine’s Day, yet another heavily commercialized holiday in the United States, and most people fall into one of two categories. Some folks enjoy donning pinks and reds, giving or receiving chocolates, flowers, and other little gifts from loved ones, or eating an overpriced dinner amongst couples with the pressure of a marriage proposal looming overhead. Others shun the holiday entirely with a Scrooge-like “harumph” and an attitude of bitterness or sarcasm. Regardless, the somewhat controversial holiday is here, and it’s all about love.

Valentine’s Day rehearsal for Falstaff at UNCG, 2019.

Typically, Valentine’s Day consumerism is dominated by an expression of romantic love. It’s a nice acknowledgment of partnership, but the pressure makes it disingenuous– “Today, I have to show you I love you more because everyone is doing it.” It’s nice, but the whole thing feels a little forced.

However, like most holidays, I enjoyed Valentine’s Day growing up. My mom always got my sister and me little candy bags with notes about how much she loved us. Beautiful flowers and two cards (one funny Snoopy card and one gushingly romantic card) adorned the table as a present to my mom from my dad. The little boxes we made for Valentine’s Day at school were a thrill, and I loved reading into whatever Valentine my crush gave me– of course, it all meant nothing, as we were in third grade. But it was fun and lighthearted. Love can be like that, too.

Love is an ill-defined emotion shared among humans at a certain level of intimacy, romantic or platonic. It’s different for everyone and designates a relationship as important. I’ve made it a point to tell my friends I love them nearly as often as I do my family or boyfriend– I want people to know I love them. It feels good to be loved.

The love I felt for this hot chocolate and croissant might have matched my love of singing. Idk. Paris, 2020.

The physical sensation of the emotion of love is similar regardless of whether I love a person or an activity. Maybe this is normal; I’m not sure. We throw around the word “love” with various degrees of weight, like, maybe when I say, “I love this cheeseburger,” I don’t mean that I love that cheeseburger as much as I love my mom, but dang, that is a great cheeseburger.

Fine, I don’t love a delicious, overpriced artisanal cheeseburger as much as I love my mom, but I do love to sing as much as I love my mom. The physical sensation of love is the same when I sing as when I hug my mom. There’s less of an adrenaline rush, sure, but my body’s intense perception of love and joy at that moment is the same.

Yes, I forgot to save this to my phone before posting on Instagram. Please forgive me. St. Paul, 2023.

I had the pleasure of craning my neck in my partial-view seat at the Ordway in St. Paul to see the second-to-last performance of Minnesota Opera’s Daughter of the Regiment on Saturday. Regardless of comedic or dramatic outcome, operas tend to tell love stories, and this light-hearted, funny show was no exception. It tells the story of Marie, a young woman abandoned at a French regiment’s doorstep as a tiny baby. She is raised as a daughter of the regiment, with each soldier acting as a father figure to her, and creepily, she is expected to marry one of them once she feels ready to settle down and become a mom. Weird.

She falls while picking flowers one day and is saved by a Tyrolean man, Tonio. The regiment is not a fan of this burgeoning love affair since Tonio is not a soldier. He joins the French army to gain their approval just as Marie’s long-lost “aunt” comes by to say, hey, I’m royalty, so glad I found you, and you’re going to be a duchess and marry this Duke of Krakenthorp. Marie has a tough time being a lady, misses Tonio, and in the end, the “aunt” reveals herself as Marie’s actual mother (illegitimate child alert!), and she allows Marie and Tonio to get married while saluting France.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again– if you think opera is boring, think again. Minnesota Opera’s next show is Don Giovanni, and phew, let me tell you, that one’s a doozy. If you missed Daughter of the Regiment, I recommend catching Mozart’s fiery tale in May.

Besides the engaging plot and sharp comedic timing, the singing was phenomenal. Marie and Tonio, the leading soprano and tenor roles, have some of the most challenging passages of bel canto repertoire. Both Vanessa Becerra (Seagle alum!) and David Portillo sounded magnificently free and joyous throughout the show. They love to sing. They worked for years to attain this level of facility in their singing, and their playful energy was palpable to the audience. It was electrifying and magical– everything I like to hear at the opera.

The first step in reclaiming my love of singing happened across the world in Madagascar. Antananarivo, 2022.

I lost my love of singing for a while. Singing was hard; I couldn’t get it right, I got fatigued all the time, and I didn’t like how I sounded. I was in my head, my breath was forced, and my high notes were non-existent. It wasn’t fun or joyful, and I certainly didn’t love it. I kept talking about quitting because, truly, what was the point of all this work for nothing when I didn’t even enjoy myself anymore?

I’m so grateful that changed over the past few months. 

I had a rehearsal for an upcoming concert last night, and it was thrilling to sing through some German art songs with a fabulous and fun pianist. The feeling of love rushed over me, and I remembered what makes music so addicting–that emotional response. It’s corny, but so is Valentine’s Day, so I’m calling it appropriate. Singing is as lighthearted and fun, like a childhood Valentine’s Day, as it is serious and romantic. I love to sing. I hate saying it that bluntly because I feel like a giant cheeseball, but it’s true. I try to instill that emotion in every lesson I teach, practice session I embark on, and audition or performance I sing. I don’t have to get every role, award, or accolade; I can just love the process. And as I continue my vocal recovery, I can acknowledge that’s enough to keep going.

For tickets to my upcoming concert, “Du mein Herz,” at the Germanic-American Institute, click here.

Advertisement

2022: Parting Thoughts

The view that changed my mindset. Mantasoa Lodge, Madagascar, June 2022.

Rarely do we notice the trajectory of our lives change in an instant except in retrospect. I had one of those moments in 2022, but it took me months to internalize it. Staring out into Lake Mantasoa with a cup of Malagasy coffee in my right hand, I listened passively as two creative colleagues discussed future projects and grant applications, only half listening. After all, I planned to keep studying with my teacher for a few months until I was magically the desire of every young artist program and agent in the country. As I zipped up my pink raincoat to brace myself against the morning breeze, their attention turned toward me.

“Victoria, if you could design any artistic project for yourself, what would it be?”

Flustered, I said, “I’m not really a creative person. I just want to have a traditional career.” I will never forget my reply.

Years ago, I should’ve figured out that a “traditional” music career would never happen for me. 2022 is the year I finally started to embrace that.

By the end of the trip, I had resolved to apply for two prestigious grants and felt like a genuine performing artist for the first time in over two years. Everyone there viewed me as a colleague–not a technically deficient student, but a fellow musician. I lost that feeling somewhere in the endless rejection and criticism. Sometimes, you just have to go to a different continent to gain perspective, I guess.

---

Fast forward a few months, and I’m nervously retooling my definition of being a working artist. I have a pesky tendency to plow through my life full speed ahead without acknowledging my growth and setbacks, never satisfied with my progress or trajectory. What better time to look at myself than the end of an especially precarious year?

I’d be lying to you if I said this year was easy. I was able to hide my failures behind the walls of the pandemic, but after two years of a career-imploding tornado, this was the year I finally had to clean up the mess left behind. I’m still picking up what’s left and figuring out what I can do with them. I sort of feel like a puzzle missing a few essential pieces.

When I look back on this year, I will remember sleepless nights with a new puppy that my old voice teacher told me not to get because she would “be a distraction.” I’ll remember almost backing out of the Madagascar contract, which was professionally and personally life-changing. I’ll remember mourning the end of a toxic relationship and healing other connections that had endured damage for one reason or another. I’ll recall running my voice into the ground and planting the seeds for vocal rebirth. Either I’ll look back and think this year was when I was able to shift my singing career in a way that would change my life for the better or was the beginning of the end of my musical goals. I don’t know that part yet.

Ready to giddy up into 2023 sans polyp with my doggo- October 2022.

Looking forward to 2023, I’m uncertain but optimistic. Singing is taking me abroad at least twice next year. I’ve developed new goals and project ideas with mentors and collaborators, so stay tuned there, too.

I came as close as I ever have to quitting singing in 2022, which caused me to think deeply about the things I like about being a musician. I like being challenged, problem-solving, working with others, self-motivation, attention to detail, being in front of people, and having a flexible schedule. There are careers outside of singing where I could have those things. Unfortunately for me, the things I love most are music, singing, and the arts. So, here I am– not quitting a career that seems to want to abandon me consistently and figuring out where I can meaningfully and realistically fit into this incredibly cutthroat industry. I’m open to widening what that means.

---

The last thing I want to say this year is thank you. Writing this blog kept me focused when I was at one of the lowest points of my life. I have a paid freelancing gig that I’m starting in the new year because you all empowered me to keep writing– I finally felt good at something. Every time you reached out to me to say you enjoyed a post, that my honesty spoke to you or that I made you laugh kept me going and allowed me to open up my interests and skills to another medium outside of music. I honestly can’t thank you all enough for reading my selfish ramblings twice per week. You give me hope.

Happy New Year, everybody.

Victoria

Who Am I?

(For my musical theatre people: I’m Jean Valjean)

Allowing ourselves to just “be” rather than constantly “do”

Look, I climbed a literal mountain! Our social media addictions feed our desire to showcase accomplishments. Hurricane Mountain, The Adirondacks, September 2021.

I had ample opportunity to track my accomplishments as a kid. The millennial generation was known for our participation awards, but I never needed those (hair toss). I got good grades, made it into honors bands and choirs, and performed roles in school plays and musicals. I didn’t need a participation award to quell my eternal need for attention; I already got it when I excelled. You’ll notice that sports are nowhere on my list of school activities– I wasn’t good at them. In fact, I was downright awful–my brain just can’t fire those hand-eye coordination neurons very quickly. I avoided what didn’t garner immediate external validation.

Since we as Millenials spent our childhoods showered with praise for our accomplishments, it’s no wonder many adults today define themselves by their jobs. I have the distinct pleasure of not having the career I want and aligning the entirety of my person with that lack of a meaningful operatic career. It’s not a healthy combination.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a precursor to this post about grit. For more on passion, perseverance, and grit, CLICK HERE.

I lamented on Instagram that I had no auditions in October 2019, but it was okay because I didn’t define myself as only a singer anymore. If only I had been telling myself the truth and not just trying to comfort myself with likes on social media. Greensboro, NC, 2019.

A couple of years ago, I tried to define myself not as a singer but as a whole person who sings. This shift in mindset was a lovely thought on paper, but what I neglected to cultivate was the actual practice. 

I didn’t and haven’t stopped associating my worth as a person with my identity as a singer. For example, I am more worthy if I perform well or have an excellent coaching; I am garbage if I get rejected from multiple auditions or don’t sing as well under pressure as intended. 

The untangling began when I was diagnosed with a vocal injury in October and was embarrassed to identify as a singer. Could I even call myself a musician without gigs or auditions on the horizon?

When I stop defining myself as a musician, my other identifying traits trip me up. Ok, well, now I want to be seen as attractive and healthy, so I take the time to style my hair, makeup, and clothes. I make a spreadsheet measuring my macros so I can eat well and exercise daily. Oops- I ate a cookie at a friend’s house, snacked on some chips, or had a couple of glasses of wine. I didn’t feel like cooking, so we ordered DoorDash. I didn’t push myself as hard as I could have in my workout. Now, with my tummy full and my pants tight, I lament that I have failed to uphold the beauty standard I set for myself. Why is it so hard to become thin? Why do I care about this, anyway?

Ok, so I won’t be the fittest person alive. That’s fine; I like food too much anyway. Let’s focus on some of my other traits. I may not be the best singer, but I am disciplined and hard-working. My to-do list stares me in the face, daring me to get started or fall short of my expectations. I sit at my tablet to write, edit my samples, and fix my cover letters. Ding! A text from a friend. Ding! An email; I’d better see if it’s about an audition. Ok, it’s not, but suddenly I’m on Instagram scrolling through other singers’ successes. Ok, back to writing. Back to practicing. My puppy needs to go outside. Is it already time to leave to go teach voice lessons? Jeez, somebody needs to vacuum in here. 

What an incredible surprise and disappointment when I realized I was less disciplined than I thought. After all, if I were genuinely disciplined, that Excel sheet measuring my macros would be no problem. Does your brain do this to you, as well?

Disconnecting my identity from what I do is more complicated than I thought it would be.

Sometimes, I get to wander through the literal wilderness, not the proverbial wilderness of my shortcomings. Mantasoa Lemur Sanctuary, Madagascar, June 2022.

Bear with me for a second as I recount a Bible story from the Old Testament. Yes, this is happening. If it helps you to infuse a religious meaning into this tale, feel free, but the parable itself has been eye-opening to me through this time of transition, with or without spirituality attached.

In the story of Exodus, the Egyptians free the Israelites, but it’s not easy going from there. Fast forward, and Joshua prepares to lead the Jewish people to the Promised Land. However, they wander in the wilderness for forty years before crossing the Jordan River into Canaan, the land of milk and honey. 

When I look back on my choice to pursue a classical singing career, I cringe at the number of wrong turns I took along the way. Every grad school visit, new teacher, audition I wasn’t ready for, and day job I took felt like stepping closer to the banks of my proverbial Jordan River when in reality, I was wandering in circles in the desert. That’s a brutal truth to face. I feel like I’ve been meandering in a wilderness of my own design for nearly ten years.

Milestones are meaningful to me, so it’s no surprise I’m putting so much pressure on my thirtieth birthday. A recurring thought in my mind has been the lamentation that I have nothing to show for myself. This mindset is wrapped up in what I do. I can’t help but feel that it’s inevitable I will cross a river into my own promised land soon. I’ve been wandering for so long, and it didn’t feel aimless before, but it does now. The question from a few weeks ago of what comes next continues to loom over me– I still don’t know. I’ve experienced my fair share of uncertainty throughout my twenties. I do feel sure, however, that I’m ready to stop meandering. A shift in perspective is a dip of one toe into the river’s banks.

---

It’s challenging for us not to define ourselves by our successes and failures in work and our personal lives. Every time I try and identify myself with traits I have cultivated rather than my accomplishments, that lets me down as well– I’m not disciplined, funny, extroverted, or creative all the time. I constantly fall short of my expectations. Sometimes, I am a lump of coal.

I hate to get hippy-dippy, but I’ve settled on not defining myself. Assigning specific traits or identifiers to ourselves results in self-limiting beliefs. We don’t have to do anything special to be worthwhile humans; we just have to be. When we allow ourselves to simply be, our paths are more sure, free of judgment, and straight ahead– the wandering in the desert ends. The way forward is the right choice, and if I ever free myself from my bruised ego, I believe that road will become apparent.

I am Victoria, and I am not a singer. I am a person who sings.