Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Sing like you don't need the money...
As you know, Saturday was our Chapter meeting. It takes about 45 minutes to get to the meeting from my house. Sometimes I’ll ride with one of the other Playfriends, but most times, I go alone. I don’t mind; in fact, I look forward to it. I can use that time to plot my book—since I have to “talk” my way through things, the privacy of the car gives me the chance to do that without embarrassment. Sometimes, I just need the chance to think or the time to be alone with my thoughts.
But most of the time, I SING.
I sing loud. I sing proud. I sing with feeling and pizzazz. I turn the stereo up to levels that threaten my hearing and sing my soul out to the back rows of sold-out arenas. Given a long enough trip, I can sing myself hoarse. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but give me the open road and I’m Aretha, Madonna, Reba, Billy Joel, and the Beatles all rolled in to one.
Admit it—you have a CD or tape hidden away that you’re embarrassed to mention you own. But, in the privacy of your car at 70 mph, that CD is the music of choice because you can really sing along (not sing; I mean SING, baby). I have a couple that go all the way back to my college days when I made the trip between Knoxville and Birmingham every other weekend. No, I won’t tell you which ones. It’s my driving music. It’s personal. And embarrassing.
Singing at the top of my lungs energizes me. It’s something small I can do for myself to recharge. Since I’m in the car already, it’s like I’m multi-tasking. (And since I love to multi-task, I get the extra boost from that.) It costs nothing but gas, and I’m paying for that anyway—song or no song. I might as will do something that makes me happy.
(Tangent alert: Why are small things that make us happy called “guilty pleasures?” Should I really feel guilty about the Hershey kiss stash in my desk drawer that my child doesn’t know about? If I want to take the afternoon off and watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding or Emma for the 500th time, should I feel guilty? I have a piece of lingerie that makes me feel beautiful when I wear it. I paid far too much money for it and no one but DG ever even sees it. Is wearing it a guilty pleasure? Why do we have to feel guilty about making ourselves happy?)
So what do you do to make you happy? And how long has it been since you’ve done it?