I’m Comin’ Out
Not of the closet. Been there, done that. But there is something else I have been all but hiding for years.
(Hint: If you follow me on Instagram, you may have an inkling)
I determined that before Quarantine was over, I would âgo publicâ with this side of myself, the ONLY âMust Doâ on my long list of quarantine goals. I would come out to my family, friends, and acquaintances, old and new. Iâd let you all in on my little secret. And since this Sunday will be my first day back to work full-time, it looks like timeâs up. So here goesâŚ
Iâve got music in me.
No, not a catchy song, not a feeling. A swirling sea of words and melodies, a light from a candle flame thatâs been burning for almost three decades.
Shortly after I learned to read and write I became a songwriter. I remember the first song I wrote, lyrics and melody, when I was seven years old. I remember my babysitter looking surprised, impressed, when I sang it for her. I remember all the words, as is true for most of the hundreds of songs Iâve started and the dozens Iâve finished over the years.
In middle school and high school, I sang in chorus groups. I was invited to join a more elite, competitive group, and singing, and music, were a huge part of my adolescence.
At the same time, I was filling diaries and journals with difficult emotions, deep, dark secrets, hopes, fears, and all the mundane a teenage girl could be expected (often mistakenly) to write about.
Sometimes these came out in diary entries, the kind you see in teen movies, complete with salutations to begin and end. But often they were in the form of poems, metaphors, and, true to my musical self, song. I found that unlike report, essay, or story-writing, songwriting wasnât hard.
I did not have to scratch my head, stare at the screen, decide what to say and then figure out how to say it. Instead of painstakingly crafting one single sentence and then another, the words of a yet-unknown song simply happened. They flowed out of me, nearly fully-formed thoughts. I knew that it was a natural talent, as writing in general was for me. I hardly had to try.
And so I didnât.
Never.
This is me coming clean.
Iâm not exactly sure what shaped my warped ideas of success and failure, talent and hard work, as a child. Perhaps being praised for things like my academic abilities, singing voice, and writingâthings I didnât create, but instead for which I held natural inclinationâlead me to believe that if you were good at something it would come easily to you. Perhaps I was so accustomed, from such a young age, to praise, that I did not understand how criticism could be anything but rejection. Or that rejection could be a step on the staircase, and not a locked door.
It’s embarrassing to say that Iâve been learning these lessons in my late twenties and thirties. But since itâs true, Iâll say it.
With that being said, I was woefully uneducated in the matter as a young person. When I encountered my first musical rejectionsâfailing to secure a part in the school musicalâI understood that I must not be all that good. Good enough for chorus and chorale, sure, but not good enough for the spotlight. For the big leagues. I developed pretty severe stage fright, and realizedâor, more accurately, decidedâthat I was on the âintramuralâ team.
In college I focused equally on my coursework and getting drunk with my friends. Extracurriculars included keg stands and Saturday afternoon hangovers, long stretches of overnights in the library fueled by coffee and poison energy drinks. Music was gone from my life when I graduated high school.
And stillâŚ
And still there were times Iâd find myself heartbroken and writing about it. Singing melodies of my own makingâquietly in case my roommate should walk in. Just a tiny candle that I held close enough that no one else could see its spark. And I kept it lit for years.
Fast-forward to 2012.
Iâm falling in love. Iâm writing. Weâre hitting milestones, Iâm writing.
To 2017.
Iâm going through a pivotal moment in a relationship and utterly unable to decide what to do. Iâm writing.
Fast-forward to two years ago.
Iâm getting my heart poked and pierced and tossed around by someone who didnât deserve it in the first place. Iâm writing. Iâm in a toxic, circular experiment and though I canât think or communicate clearly, Iâm writing beautiful songs about trying to.
And again, 2018.
Iâm pouring over songs Iâve written, scrolling, listening, and naming the hundreds of untitled entries in the audio recorder app on my phone. And Iâm catching myself by surprise. Theyâre good. To be fair, some are most definitely intramural, but many are sparkling nuggets. The perfect rhyme, a clever metaphor, some quick irony and defiant intonation. Of course, they are not that good.
But stillâŚ
I begin listening closely to the radio. Tuning in to the lyrics of popular songs. I discover that half of it is intramural. At least.
I begin watching closely at live music performances in bars and local venues. The singers canât hit every note. And yet, they sing.
This radical idea begins to form inside of me that You donât have to be the best artist to be an artist.
Thereâs only one Adele. Thereâs only one Whitney. Thereâs only one Christina. But that didnât stop the millions of other female singers before and after who sang their hearts out. It didnât make them less.
The shameful realization creeps in. I never tried.
I’m sharing this with you because I owe it to myself
to try.
I was seven when I wrote my first song.
I was eight and accepted into a gifted writerâs program.
I was 15 and invited to an elite chorus group.
I was 33 and still holding my candle.
Iâve done this thing, humming melodies, spitting up song starts, and later adding and changing and finishing, for almost three decades. It has been the most constant thing in my life. Some years I didnât give my talents and passions the respect they deserved because I was busy and distracted. Others I was simply too scared.
I decided over a year ago that if I died having never even tried at the one thing I love best, the thing in which I feel most at home, it would be a true disgrace.
Far more disgraceful than if I share my songs and other people donât like them.
Ignoring your heart out of fear is disgraceful. It is disrespect to oneself. It is cowardly. And the only regrets I plan to die with are those formed in college after the keg stands.
So, this is me coming clean.
I am an amateur singer-songwriter, with emphasis on âwriterâ.
I created a YouTube channel to debut my music and an Instagram account to match. Less scary than open mics, but still pretty darn scary. You could criticize my voice, my singing face, my words. It would sting because behind each and every one is a feeling, hard-earned by experience. The vulnerability required to let people see your flickering inside-light is intense. It makes me sweat just thinking about it.
Iâm sharing this with you because I owe it to myself to try. To show up in the world in my truest form. (Yes, I did just read âUntamed,â by Glennon Doyle, but this is totally unrelated.)
Here’s my musical debut.
One of my favorites, even though I ALMOST forget the words in the beginning.
An oldie but goodie. And bonus is I get to see the progression of learning how to do eyebrows throughout these videos :/
About the name:
As a flight attendant, I spend half my time living in hotels. I thought this name would be a cute, if not kitschy play-on-profession. And putting toilet paper in the logo allowed me to appear far less serious than âFirstNameLastName Musicâ.
How could anyone hate on âthe bathroom singerâ?
Obviously I had to make some adjustments in the times of Corona; I haven’t been to a hotel in four months. But the hotel living is starting up again soon, and in the meantime I’ve been singin’ my heart out at home.
Maybe someday I won’t feel the need to use anonymity to protect my delicate ego. Or worry I’m “taking myself too seriously.” Maybe then I’ll do a rebrand.
Sin Instrumentos
For years, the reason for not performing was that I did not yet play an instrument. I had to learn, be able to play along with myself, before I could âdoâ music publicly. I bought a guitar off craigslist and picked it up a few times. I tinkered with an old keyboard, but truthfully, I never committed to either. After years of this one thing being my âreasonâ, it began to look more like a forever excuse.
I would love to learn to play an instrument someday. But for now, the one I have is in my throat and in my mind. And Iâm going with that.
So, spoiler alert, everything on the YouTube page is a capella (save for a mean body drum.)
Iâm working with what Iâve got, but Iâm hopeful that in the future I wonât have to only do acapella. David, my friend and the man formerly known as New Guy, is a fantastic guitar player and we had some really good songwriting and jam sessions. I have plans to get together for a musical weekend with my cousin John, another talented musician, to see what happens. I have friends that sing, that play, that produce electronic music. There are a million little webs and connections that Iâve simply never tried to explore.
Until now, it would seem.
Follow David_Betesh1 on instagram to see more strumming
So, What do I want?
(Oh, you werenât asking? Well, here goes anyway.)
1. To be brave, true to myself, to be seen on the outside as I am on the inside.
2. Constructive feedback. And since Iâm not 15 anymore, critical feedback is okay too. This creates the chance to grow, improve, progress.
3. To open doors for collaboration. Letâs make music together. This post is a way to get the scary part out of the way so that I can get to the fun of learning, creating, experimenting, and hopefully, finding community.
4. To inspire YOU to stop being scared and do that thing youâve been hiding from. The one you find yourself gravitating toward over and over, despite all the excuses youâre making to yourself. If you canât stop being scared, do it anyway. Respect your candle, keep it lit. Show the world your light.
Whew, that was a tough one.
Thanks for reading and (maybe) listening. You can follow my Instagram account for more frequent musical posts and feel free to subscribe to Hotel Bathroom Singalongs on YouTube if you feel so inclined.
What candle are YOU holding? Tell me about the thing you were scared to do but did anyway. Or the one youâre working up your nerve to finally try. For musical friendsâtips, feedback, collaboration opportunitiesâany and all are appreciated.
Until next time!
Rae
So proud of you Tone. đ
Toni
Thanks Raeeeeeeeee <3
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