On taking care of your instrument...

I didn't sing a note yesterday, or the day before.  No, I wasn't sick.  And no, I wasn't on holiday.  I was on vocal rest.

I know what you're thinking.  Another singer on "vocal rest".  She's being lazy.  She's being precious.  She's being a diva.  But before you judge, let me explain what led up to this...

The past two weeks have been pretty vocally intense.  Just as I was getting over a bad cold, I was into rehearsals for a French baroque opera, where I was singing in the chorus and belting out the ball-busting role of Juno.  We were rehearsing ten hours a day and I was singing full voice the whole time.  Singing through a cold is no easy task.  When you're trying to blast through all that congestion, it's easy to push your voice too much and tire yourself out.  Which is exactly what I did.

But there's no rest for the wicked!  As soon as we had finished two performances of the opera, we plunged right into a series of masterclasses on Italian repertoire.  And naturally, being the kind of over-ambitious idiot that I am, I had chosen to work on one of the most difficult coluratura mezzo arias in existence: Non piu mesta from Rossini's La Cenerentola.  As well as the usual runs, cadenzas, and high notes, this aria features a series of rapid scales all the way from the top of the range down to the depths of the chest voice.  The words "vocally tiring" are an understatement.  It's more like the vocal equivalent of running a marathon.

And unless you're an Olympic athlete, you'll look like this by the end.

I did my best to push on, despite being in bad shape after the cold and feeling tired from the opera.  But I did not feel good.  Even when I started a day feeling fresh, by the time I'd sung for twenty minutes I had a very sore throat.

I knew this was not a good sign.  My singing teacher in Toronto used to warn me to back off if anything hurt.  "Dancers feel pain," she'd tell me, "but singers never should."

Ooft.  Poor dancers.

I tried to take it easy, only singing in the masterclasses and resting as much as I could.  At the end of the week we gave a concert to present all the repertoire we'd worked on.  I sang Non piu mesta.  I didn't feel pain anymore, but I didn't feel in shape either.  And I didn't sing well.  In fact, it was a Non piu MESS. 

(Funny story, afterwards I said "well at least the Rigoletto quartet will be good".  The Rigoletto quartet fell apart in a spectacular manner.  Wow.  Way to jinx it, Brynne.)

At times like this, there's only one sensible course of action.

Wine.  Lots and lots of wine.

Seriously, though.  After I'd sufficiently drowned my sorrows, and the ensuing hangover had worn off, I took a step back and assessed the situation.  And I decided I needed a couple of days off of singing.

Not singing is harder than it sounds.  I always have trouble justifying it to myself.  I come from a family of string players who put in countless hours in the practice room.  My tuba player boyfriend frets about losing his embouchure if he misses a day.  I'm surrounded by people with a strong work ethic, and a firm philosophy of "use it or lose it".  That is to say, if you want to maintain your technique, you have to practise constantly.

I also know that singers are always getting flack for being lazy because they don't spend as much time practising as instrumentalists do.  I know that people roll their eyes at us for being so neurotic about our health, for saving our voices by marking in rehearsal, and for taking days of "vocal rest" where we don't speak or sing.

But here's the thing about being a singer.  You can't see your instrument.  You have no idea what's going on in there.

Unless you have someone constantly sticking a laryngoscope down your throat when you sing.
In which case, you have more problems to worry about.

If you sing too much, or sing when you shouldn't, you could easily be damaging your instrument without knowing it.  And you can't take a damaged voice to an instrument repair shop, or buy a new one.  A damaged voice may need extensive surgery.  In some extreme cases, it may even be irrevocably ruined.

I'm not trying to scare anyone here.  I'm just trying to explain why it makes sense for singers to err on the side of caution.  Our instruments aren't made of wood or metal.  They're human bodies that need to be treated with care to avoid injury.  And when they get tired they need to rest.

So ok, it's smart to rest up when my voice isn't feeling good.  But isn't it kind of... lazy?

Well it is if you want it to be.  But there is a lot of work a singer can do without singing.  Although I didn't sing in the last two days, I did study German and listen to recordings.  And I did a lot of silent practice, studying scores and reviewing the pronunciation and meaning of the text.  Silent practice is surprisingly effective.  I'm always amazed to see how much I've improved vocally after reviewing a piece mentally.  And the best part is, you can do it literally anywhere.  On the train, on the couch, or even in bed.  I often think through my music when I run.  I find the exercise helps me think clearly and really cement things in my brain.  Of course, as everyone knows, the very best way to study a score is at a cafe with a good cappuccino.

Scientifically proven to help you learn arias.

And here's another thing.  I know it feels great to put in X number of hours in the practice room, but what are you actually accomplishing with that time?  Are you practising, or are you just repeating?  Are you getting in better shape or are you burning yourself out?  When it comes to practising, quality is better than quantity.  If you take the time to rest and recover, you'll find you have more focus and energy available to you the next time you sing.

So while I may feel guilty about not singing for a while (and trust me, I do) I am doing something positive for myself.  I'm giving my body time to recover while I focus my mind for the next practice session.  And when I do sing again I'm sure I'll be pleasantly surprised by how all that rest and mental work has paid off.  Sometimes it takes just as much discipline to not sing as it does to practise regularly.

Look, in an ideal world, I wouldn't have had two weeks like that with no rest in between.  But we don't live in an ideal world.  We live in the real world, where singers have to deal with crazy schedules like this all the time.  You can't always control the timing of your schedule.  But you can create your own balance.  Be smart.  Don't sing full voice in all the rehearsals.  Don't take on demanding arias when you're in bad shape.  And when you have the time and you feel you need it, take some rest.  Trust me.  You and your voice will thank you for it.

On avoiding the diva trap...

When I called this blog "Diva on a Dare" I wasn't seriously calling myself a diva.  I intended for the title to be a bit tongue-in-cheek.  Because actually?  Nobody wants to be a diva.  I try pretty hard to avoid being a diva, and I'd like to think that most of the time I succeed.

What is a diva exactly?  Seen in a positive light, a diva is someone majorly talented.  The star of the show.  They're confident and assertive.  They know what they want and they're not afraid to ask.

They also tend to call themselves things like "fierce".

But most of the time when we use the word "diva" we don't think of that.  We think of someone difficult and demanding.  Someone who makes ridiculous requests, like asking a big bowl of blue M&Ms in their dressing room.  A diva is rude, confrontational, self-centred, and inconsiderate.  The very worst kind of person to work with.

Like I said, I try to avoid being a diva.  I'm pretty sure every singer out there tries as well.  But if we're being perfectly honest here, when things get tricky, we sometimes have our diva moments.

Why does this happen?  Why do we end up acting like a diva even when we're trying ever-so-hard to be polite, considerate, humble, friendly, and down-to-earth?

There are a lot of possible factors that can lead to a diva moment.  Maybe you're dealing with a difficult work situation.  Maybe there's been a breakdown in communication.  Maybe things aren't going the way you want, and you feel frustrated.

Or maybe you need to have a Snickers bar.

Whatever the deal is, you know that acting like a diva is not going to help.  If you're struggling to communicate with your colleagues, throwing a big hissy fit will only make matters worse.  It's important to think of the people around you.  To be patient and agreeable.  To be understanding.  To play well with others.  You know all of this.  But sometimes, when you're tired, fed up, stressed out, hungry, or all of the above - you forget.

I had a diva moment this week.  We were working very intensely in the studio, staging a one-act opera within seven days.  The days were long and tough.  And the director worked in a way that's very different from what I'm accustomed to.  Throughout the week I was becoming increasingly frustrated and stressed out by his staging process.  One particular evening, I was really fuming.  I didn't realise it, but I was quite obviously in a huff.

Like this monkey who didn't get his way.

Luckily, the director was perceptive enough to see that I was unhappy and asked what was wrong.  I told him what the problem was.  And the next day he worked things out and everything became much clearer.  But on reflection, I was rather embarrassed by my behaviour that evening.  I realised that I had overstepped the line.  I had crossed over from the land of the reasonable to the land of Diva-dom.

We've all been there.  Am I right?  And the worst part is, you never realise it's happening until it's too late.  So how do you prevent it?  How do you stop yourself from acting like a diva?  Well, I've thought about this a lot and I've come up with some key tools to help you stay out of the diva trap.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

The Anti-Diva Kit

1. The first tool is Communication.  It's so SO important to keep a dialogue with your colleagues and your employer about what is happening at all times.  Most importantly, if you're unhappy or confused, SAY SOMETHING.  And don't wait until you're so frustrated that you can't be polite and diplomatic about it.  The more you communicate, ask questions, and explain your side of things, the more likely it is you'll avoid confusion and conflict down the line.  If I had been more communicative with this director from the beginning, I'm sure I could have avoided acting like a diva.

2.  Secondly, you need Understanding.  Put yourself in other people's shoes.  Perhaps you're not the only person struggling here.  What kinds of challenges are your colleagues dealing with?  How could you be more considerate, sensitive, and helpful towards them?  Try to treat others the way that you would like to be treated.  No man is an island, and we all need to help each other out now and then.

3.  Right, so we all need to vent sometimes.  This is why you need the third tool: your Sounding Board.  This is a person who is totally removed from the situation and who you can safely vent to.  Your Sounding Board could be your best friend, it could be your mom, it could be several different people.  The important thing is that they are NOT a colleague who's involved in the same project.  They are a third party, and they're basically impartial.  They love you enough to listen and nod sympathetically, but they won't chime in with your complaints, or disagree vehemently, or tell person X what you said about them.  My boyfriend is my Sounding Board.  When I need to vent, he hears all about it over skype (poor guy).

4. Finally, when all else fails, you need a Diva Alarm.  This is a friend who loves and respects you enough to be honest with you.  When you're being unreasonable, overly-negative, self-centred, insensitive, or whatever, others might pretend to agree with you, but you can trust this person to tell it like it is.  Do you think you might be acting a bit like a diva?  Ask your Diva Alarm.  They will keep you in check and say "STOP!  Diva alert!"

Here are some other reasons you might need to stop.

This is the Anti-Diva Kit I've assembled, and like everything, it's a work in progress.  I don't always remember all the tools, or use them in the right way.  I'm sure there are some other helpful tools that could be added to the Kit later down the line.  But I'm learning as I go, and so far these are the ones that work for me.  May they serve you well.

 Despite the best intentions, we all have moments when our emotions get the better of us.  Moments when we turn into a diva.  But with good communication, understanding, and the support of friends and family, you can keep your inner diva in check.  You can deal with stress, get along with others, and continue being the kind of colleague you would want to work with.

On being an introvert...

When you picture an opera singer, what do you see?  Someone with a larger-than-life personality?  Loud, talkative, exuberant?  The life of the party?  Prone to using Italian hand gestures?

Which are apparently as complicated as baseball signals.

Well, I could see why you would think that.  It's certainly what you see from opera singers onstage!  But offstage is a different story.  Offstage, perhaps a lot of opera singers are the life of the party.  But there's also a lot of us who are rather quiet.  Mild-mannered.  Unassuming.  And yes, introverted.

It may seem like a contradiction in terms, but there are a lot of introverted opera singers.  And I am one of them.

What does it mean to be an introvert?  First of all, let me clarify one big misconception.  It's not the same thing as being shy.  Shyness means being afraid or anxious about social contact, whether you want that social contact or not.  You could be an extrovert who wants to talk to a lot of people but struggles with shyness.  Likewise, you could be an introvert who is confident in approaching people but prefers to be alone most of the time.

It's also not the same as being antisocial.  Introverts don't dislike socialising.  We just prefer to socialise with people one-on-one, or in small groups.  And while we may love socialising, we can find it tiring.  The same party that makes an extrovert feel energised can leave an introvert feeling drained. 

Like one of those Sailor Moon villains has sucked the life force out of you.
Yes.  I am that geeky.

Why is this?  Well, there are a few possible reasons.  First of all, us introverts tend to spend a lot of time in our head, and we like it that way.  We like to reflect on things, and consider our thoughts and feelings in detail.  Often it might seem like an introvert is being quiet, like their mind has gone blank, or their "head is in the clouds".  As a matter of fact they are probably thinking about a million different things at once.  Why did John say that in the meeting?  What will Mary do tomorrow?  Am I really happy with my life?

So when an introvert talks to someone, they aren't just carrying on the conversation on the surface.  Their mind is probably working a million miles a minute, reflecting on what this person is saying, comparing it with their own thoughts, feelings, and experiences, and wondering what point or topic might come up next.  It can be extremely overwhelming!  It's no wonder that an introvert might become quiet in a conversation.  They aren't disengaging, they're just taking time to soak it all in.

I may look like a mindless zombie right now, but I'm just an introvert.

Secondly - and this may seem strange, but bear with me - introverts react more to outer stimuli than extroverts.  In her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking (great read), Susan Cain describes a study in which a psychologist followed a generation of children from when they were infants.  He believed he could predict which babies would be introverts and which would be extroverts.  He presented the babies with a series of surprising sights and sounds (e.g. a balloon popping or a person in a clown mask).  He predicted that the babies who reacted the most - whether by smiling, crying, or waving their arms and legs - would become introverts when they grew older.  And for the most part, he was right.

How does that make any sense?  Wouldn't the extroverted babies be the ones waving their arms all over the place and making lots of noise?  Well, actually, it makes a lot of sense if you think of it in terms of balance.  You see, since introverted people are more reactive to outer stimuli, they're more likely to become overwhelmed and seek more calm and quiet.  On the other hand, since extroverts are less reactive, they might seek more outer stimuli to "feel alive".  Both types of people are just seeking a happy balance that feels right for them.

Not too loud, not too quiet... juuust right.

If you think about it, it's no wonder that after spending a while at a loud party, the classic introvert wants to go home and get some quiet.  We need this kind of quiet time to reflect, to rejuvenate, and to process everything that's happened.

Introverts and extroverts can get along well, as long as they understand and respect each other's differences.  My boyfriend is a complete extrovert - if you don't believe me, you should have seen us at this party last week.  While he tore up the dance floor and chatted with loads of different people, I sought out quiet corners and had in-depth conversations with a few people.  Sometimes I would come and join him on the dance floor, and sometimes he would join in on one of our conversations.  We know that we both enjoy parties differently, and neither of us would try to force the other to be someone they're not.  Our differences complement each other, and we both bring something special to the relationship.

We're both special.  Mr Rogers told me so.

But how does all of this work with being an opera singer?  You know, like a big, loud, drama-queen opera singer?  How can I be larger-than-life onstage, when I'm a quiet introvert offstage?

This is a question I've struggled with a lot, and I still find it difficult.  Of course, my natural temperament doesn't do me many favours when it comes to acting.  A director once told me I had a "natural reserve" that will always be a challenge for me as a singer.  And it's true - I do tend to be inhibited, understated, a bit slow-to-warm-up.

But then the stage gives me the perfect chance to be someone I'm not.  To unleash my inner extrovert.  I know some truly great introverted singers who do just this, and it's an amazing thing to witness.  See, the great thing about performing is that there's this neat little line you can draw between onstage and offstage.  Onstage, you can fully inhabit another personality without worrying about losing yourself.  Because when the performance is over, the performance is over.  And offstage, you can go back to being you.  It's an incredibly liberating experience!

But sometimes the show isn't quite over yet.  Now we come to one of my biggest nightmares as an introverted singer: the Post-Performance Reception.  I've just finished a show, it's late, I'm exhausted... all I want to do is go home and read my book and go to sleep.  The last thing I want is to schmooze and make small talk with a bunch of strangers, pretending to be all sparkly and outgoing.

Don't get me wrong.  I get the post-show buzz.  I like meeting the audience.  I want to celebrate with everyone.  But by the end of a show, I'm already feeling tired and drained, and talking to a lot of people is just going to drain me even more.  It's not that I don't like the reception.  It's just that I want to hang out there for maybe half an hour, and then go home.  I need quiet and calm to recover.  A glass of wine, yes - but by myself, with my book.

Ah, bliss.

The Post-Performance Reception is a difficult thing to navigate, and there's no avoiding it.  Nobody is going to appreciate me leaving early or staying in a quiet corner.  That will seem rude.  The only thing to do is grin and bear it, and keep on my extrovert mask a little while longer.  I've grown to think of it almost as part of the performance.

But there are definite advantages to being an introverted singer.  Reflective thinking and self-awareness are great attributes for any artist to have.  They're great tools for developing a character, or reaching a deeper understanding of a poem.  An introvert might perhaps have more trouble communicating their thoughts and feelings to the audience, but trust me, they have a lot of thoughts and feelings going on there.  Still waters run deep.

And introverts tend to find it easier, even preferable, to do quiet work on their own.  So skipping that party and staying in to study a score by yourself?  Not a problem for the introverted singer!

As for travelling, which comes part and parcel with this career, I love it.  While many people might dread the "boredom" of spending hours on a train or a bus, I savour this quiet time to myself, when I can read my book, write in my journal, or just think things through.

So is it a disadvantage to be an introverted opera singer?  Only as much as it's a disadvantage to be an extroverted one.  There's no better or worse - they're just different.  And it would be a very boring world if we were all the same!  So whether you're a quiet and reflective introvert, or a loud and kooky extrovert, embrace it.  We all have something unique to offer.

On clowning around...

This is it.  The week I've been looking forward to the most this year.  Yes, call me silly, but I am really excited about clown training!

I've always had a fondness for clowns and physical comedy.  For as long as I can remember I've had an ongoing love affair with the great slapstick masters like Charlie Chaplin and the Marx brothers.

Sheer genius.

Although I may show a serious exterior, deep down inside there's a part of me that longs to be ridiculous.  To be silly.  To be a clown!  So it was to my great delight when I discovered that, as part of the opera studio, I would be doing an intensive workshop of clown training.

We started with some warm-up games, and in true clown fashion the games were very physical and very silly.  We ran, wrestled, pushed, pulled, and giggled our way through the first morning.  And what did I learn from all this?  That whether I'm sitting on my bum pushing someone with my feet or leaning down and pushing them with my shoulders, I'm still a total weakling.

Now it was time to get into the real substance of being a clown: storytelling.  First we tried out a series of tableaux to create a narrative.  Then came the real challenge: using our bodies, at the director's whim we had to build a series of objects, such as rowboats that rowed and gates that opened.

And thrones that throned!

When a clown tells a story, he loves to exaggerate.  So we tried taking everyday actions, such as ironing and folding clothes, and making them first ridiculously humongous, then ridiculously tiny. 

Once we had sufficient practice acting alone, we were able to work with balloons as props, first trying to lift them as if they weighed a million pounds, then trying to catch them when they keep hopping away, then trying to push them away as they tried to kiss us.  Finally, we were able to put together scenes with music, using balloons and coloured cloths as props.  I won't say much of my scene, except that there was a desert and a camel, and I got to do a clown faint.

But of course you can't tell stories like a clown if you don't learn to really use your body to express yourself.  So in the immortal words of Olivia Newton-John...

Let's get physical!

As we found, the best way to learn to be expressive with your body is to take away your biggest acting crutch: your face.  So we covered our faces with expressionless white masks, got in front of the mirror, and practised showing emotions with our bodies.  At first it was pretty difficult.  You never realise how much you use your face until it's taken away from you!  But after a while we began to discover the unique and powerful body language we could use to communicate each emotion.

Now it was time to find our clown walk.  We walked around the room for ages, experimenting with different angles, positions and speeds - feet pointing outwards or inwards, chest and shoulders open and proud or closed and shy, knees angled in or out, chin jutting forward or buried into the neck... There were millions of possible combinations to experiment with!  Finally we each found a clown walk that we liked, and an emotion that seemed to go with it.  Personally, I favoured a variation on the cheerful Charlie Chaplin walk.

He is the master, after all.

Now it was time for us to discover which kind of clown we are.  There are three different types of clown.  First there's the White Clown.  He's the boss of everyone and he thinks he's very clever.  But, through some comic twist or other, he usually loses in the end.  Next there's the August.  He's the young and naive one, and like a child he expresses every emotion in the extreme.  While people think the August is a fool, he's often the one who makes things happen, and he usually wins the day.

Homer Simpson would probably be an August.

Finally there's the Go-Between.  He's like the mother of the group, always taking care of the others.  He tends to be melancholy and he's always in love.

I had no idea which clown I would be.  At first I thought I would be the White Clown, since I'm always trying to be clever and stay in control of things.  Then I thought about it more and considered that I might be an August.  People are always remarking that I have a youthful face (must be the chubby cheeks and the freckles).  And I do have a tendency to be naive...


As it turns out, I'm neither.  In an exercise to find "our" clown, we were each asked to put on a red nose and act out emotions as they were called to us.  Afterwards everyone would say which clown they thought you were, and we would try to reach some kind of consensus.  When my turn came, I acted out a few emotions, until someone said "miserable".  At the director's urging I became more and more intensely miserable, curling into myself and sobbing crocodile tears.  Everyone went quiet.  The vote was unanimous: I am a Go-Between.


Apparently I'm good at looking sad!

 

I don't think I was the only one surprised by my clown personality.  Many people changed as they put on the red nose.  Someone I might have pegged as a definite Go-Between - always maternal and caring - transformed into a child-like August before my eyes.  What was going on?  Was the red nose changing us, or was it revealing our true selves?  In fact, as the director explained, we each have all three clowns within us.  At different points in our lives, or even different times of the year, one of the clowns might just come out stronger.

After discovering our clown identities, it was time to choose a clown face and put on our clown makeup.  We had a selection of books to browse for pictures, and after much deliberation I chose my face and got to work.  I was pretty happy with the results...

Yippee!

Finally it was time to put together a show.  With little over 24 hours before the first performance, I was a little nervous as to whether we could get everything ready in time.  But we did it in the end!  We created a show of lieder, arias, pop songs and showtunes, all performed as clowns.

As we got ready for our third and final performance, the director gave us a little pep talk.  He reminded us to keep our clown personalities and "not let the singers take over".  Why would he say this?  What's wrong with letting the singer take over when you're singing?  Well, the singers in us might want to make everything controlled and pretty.  But the clowns wouldn't worry about that - they would just want to go for it and put on a show!

So what can an opera singer learn from a clown?  A helluva lot, as it turns out.  Clowns may seem like they're silly, but there's a lot more to them than that.  Clowns wear their hearts on their sleeves.  They make everything larger than life.  They don't just smile - they double over with laughter.  They don't just cry - they weep with their whole body.  They throw their entire self into every story they tell.  If I can learn to harness that kind of energy into my singing, my performances will surely pack a powerful punch.

Sometimes we feel like a White Clown, like we need to be in control of everything.  And just when we think things are going well and we're oh-so-clever, everything topples over in a messy heap.  Other times we may feel young and naive like the August, and every emotion we feel is magnified tenfold.  Or maybe we're a melancholy Go-Between, worrying about our friends or sighing with love.  We all have these clowns within us, and we all have things to learn from them. 

So although the shows have ended, and I've put away the costume and taken off the makeup, I'm still listening to my inner White Clown, my inner August, my inner Go-Between.  And I hope that from now on, whether in life or onstage, I will always feel - at least a little bit - like a clown.

 

All photos of the clown project courtesy of Emilie Lauwers

On having no regrets...

Do you ever have one of those moments when you take a step back, look at your life, and think... "What the #$?%-ing #$?% am I doing???"

Well, I was having one of those moments last week.  Being back in Canada, seeing all those familiar faces and places, I couldn't help but re-evaluate the choices I've made in the last few years.  Choices which have brought me further and further away from the girl I was when I lived in Toronto.

It was completely random that I ended up in Glasgow in the first place.  I had never thought of applying to the conservatoire there.  But as it happened, my teacher had taught a someone who came over from there on an Erasmus exchange.  She still had vivid memories of this singer (now a world-class mezzo) and what she had said about the conservatoire in Glasgow.  At my teacher's urging, I applied and flew to Glasgow for the audition.  The audition went well and they offered me a generous scholarship.  I accepted the scholarship, but I still wasn't sure if I wanted to go.  It was an excellent conservatoire and from my visit I could see it had a warm friendly atmosphere.  But I didn't know if I could make such a big move, all the way across the Atlantic.  Anyway, I had some auditions later in the year and if those went well I might move to the States to study instead.

As fate would have it, as the auditions in the States approached I was struck by a nasty cold.  The cold kept getting worse until it turned into bronchitis.  When the time came for my other auditions I hardly had a voice at all.  Needless to say, these schools were not so eager to have me.  And so it was that destiny brought me to Scotland.

And so it must be, for so it is written on the doorways to paradise..

Was it fate?  Kismet?  A random act of the universe?  Or just my run-down immune system?  Whatever the reason, I ended up moving to Scotland and changing my life forever.  After finishing my degree I thought it would make sense to stay there and explore the work opportunities.  Before I knew it I'd been living in Scotland for 3 years and was on my way to Belgium to study opera.

Well.  It didn't quite happen like that.  This is a highly-edited version I'm telling.  A lot of surprises, disappointments, failed relationships, and other twists in the path happened along the way.  But the point is, here I am now.  And I never thought this was where I would be.

If you met my 20-year-old self what I'm doing right now, she would probably be completely dumbstruck.  She would have expected to stay in Toronto, and go down the same career path that she'd seen older generations of Canadian singers travel.  Or perhaps she would have considered moving south to the States and going to one of the big name schools there.  But Europe?  Europe was kind of a far-off dream of a place, where famous singers travelled to sing at Covent Garden or La Scala.  The 20-year-old Brynne would not have pictured a future in Europe.

She would also think that my life sounded very exciting and glamorous.  Living in Belgium, studying opera, jetsetting about Europe for auditions, visiting a Scottish boyfriend in Sweden, flying back to visit family in Canada... what an adventure!

Kind of like Carmen Sandiego, but with less crime and more singing.

But honestly?  Although it might look like an adventure from the outside, most of the time my life is just really complicated and stressful.  I'm always trying to plan the next trip, struggling to find the cheapest deal (which normally means taking a very long and convoluted journey that starts at 3 in the morning).  Most of these trips are to sing audition after audition for hundreds of people, most of whom won't hire me.  The most meaningful conversations in my life take place over skype.  I'm always missing my boyfriend, or my family, or (most of the time) both.  I am on my third European visa.  I have no idea what I will be doing or where I will be living in 6 months, never mind a year from now.  I don't have a tv, an oven, a microwave, or even a real bed.  I have bank accounts in three countries and mobile phones in two. One of my phones just got blocked because with all the travelling I've been doing lately, I haven't had time to take out cash from my Canadian account and put it into my Belgian account to pay the phone bill (yes, this is how I have to pay my phone bill, and incidentally, also my rent).  My laptop is currently plugged in with a Canadian plug attached to a British adaptor attached to a European adaptor. I don't even know how that works, but somehow it does.  In short... my life is ridiculous!

And no, not in that fun Harry Potter way.

I only wish that travelling still held the same novelty it used to when I was younger.  The other day my niece was telling me lamentably how long it's been since she's flown anywhere.  "I'm just desperate to go on a plane!" she exclaimed.

And she sounded exactly like Anne of Green Gables.
Bless her wee melodramatic soul!

Ah yes, I remember those halcyon days of youth, when going on a plane was something fun.  Now it's just an annoying necessity, a way to get from A to B.  It makes me sick and tired and stressed out.  And as if that wasn't bad enough, it's also making me stupider.  No, I'm not joking!  Jetlag actually makes you stupid!

What might seem like an adventure from the outside often feels like aimless wandering.  I'm not really sure if I'm in the right place, or if I'm going in the right direction.  I feel lost.  What if this whole thing is just one big wrong turn?

Each time I've moved country, I've had to start over again.  I've had to throw away my hard-earned professional contacts from the previous country and work on making new ones.  I've had to explain my background to people who aren't familiar with the Canadian music world (or the British music world), and I've had to convince them that I am actually worth hearing, even though they don't know me from Adam.

Or in this case... Eve??

I see singers who stayed in Canada who are doing really well, and I ask myself, should I have stayed?  If I had stayed in one place, perhaps I would have established myself by now.  Perhaps people would know who I was, and my background would be worth more to them, because they would actually recognise everything on my CV.  Perhaps my life would make much more sense, having everything and everyone in one place.

It was in the midst of all these doubts and misgivings last week that I had a lesson with my old teacher in Toronto.  She hadn't heard me in 3 years, and I was curious to see what she would think of my singing now.

The lesson was a revelation.  My teacher and my coach were both thrilled at how my voice has grown.  And all at once everything rushed into perspective.  I remembered who I was when I left and how far I've come since then.  Not just as a singer, but as a person.  How I've matured, grown braver, learned about myself and the world.  I would not be the person I am today if I hadn't moved abroad.  Nor would I be singing the way that I am now.

I don't know if moving abroad was the right decision or the wrong decision.  But then again, perhaps there is no absolute right and wrong with a decision like that.  It is what it is, and it's shaped my life.  The important thing is not the decision itself, but how I deal with its consequences in the years to come.  And when I see the bigger picture and realise how far I've come - and not just in air miles - I can see it was a good thing to do.

There's no point in looking backwards, wondering what if.  The important thing is to keep looking forwards and make the most of where you are now.  And if you do choose to look backwards, always remember: every decision you've made has led you to become the person you are now.  Once you realise that, you'll probably discover that you have no regrets at all.

On coming home...

I’m on the bus from Kingston to Toronto and my laptop is officially confused.

Poor little laptop - her life has been full of surprises.  First she was purchased in Canada, where she was given to me as a Christmas present.  For a brief but blissful sojourn, she was allowed to plug into lovely Canadian walls and connect to lovely Canadian wifi, just as nature (or the laptop manufacturer) intended.  But before she knew what was what, she was whisked away to the wilds of Scotland.  Everything was different, from the shape of the plugs to the funny accents to the source of the internet provider.  However, much as she tried to resist her unexpected new home, she did eventually adapt to British ways.

Literally.

But just as my laptop grew accustomed to British ways, she was carried over the English Channel and deep into the heart of the European continent.  Once again she has had to adapt, plugging into Belgian walls and using Belgian wifi.

Now, only months after her latest move, she has been flown all the way back to Canada again!  Despite the lovely Canadian walls and lovely Canadian wifi, it must be very disconcerting.  What is a laptop to think of all this?  I mean really, it’s no wonder that she’s now refusing to connect to the wifi on this bus, and suggesting that I instead connect to the opera studio’s wifi in Ghent.

Yes, computer, even though Ghent is over 5000 km away, that would totally work.

I suppose you could say that I’m visiting home.  We have a long winter holiday before the studio resumes, and having spent Christmas in Scotland with my boyfriend, I’m now spending some time in Toronto with my family.

But then again, is Toronto really my home anymore?  And if Toronto isn’t home, what is?

They say that home is where the heart is.  In that case, I have no idea where my home should be.  Is it in Canada with my family?  Is it in Scotland, where I lived for the last three years and where I met my boyfriend?  Is it in Belgium where I’m studying, or in Sweden where he’s studying?

When I first moved from Toronto to Glasgow, I used to get homesick all the time.  I missed my family, I missed my dog, and I missed the Canadian weather.

Yes, that's right.  I like snow.

But with time, I got settled.  I met new friends, found a job, found a nice place to live.  I got used to the British banter, and even learned to decipher some of the thicker Scottish accents.  I discovered favourite foods and tv shows that I didn’t have at home.  I learned where to get a lovely meal when you can’t be bothered cooking (Marks and Spencers) and where to get moisturiser and toothpaste (Boots) and where to get chocolate at 3 in the morning (the newsagents, or, if you’ve planned ahead, the cupboard).  I learned to use words like “lovely”.   I learned to navigate the train system, the subway system, and the bus routes.  So when my family came to visit me this summer, I was able to show them around easily and suggest great places for coffee, curry, drinks, or whatever they fancied.

When I left Glasgow in September, I kept my gaze fixed firmly forward.  I had enjoyed my time there, but it was time to move on.  I didn't think I would miss it.

Fast forward a few months and I’m leaving Ghent for the Christmas holidays.  First stop: Scotland. 

As soon as I arrive back in the UK, I feel a rush of relief.  Everything feels so familiar.  I mean first of all, people here speak English.  I can actually assume this when I meet them, without doing the whole awkward do-you-don’t-you dance and feeling terribly guilty for not speaking Flemish/French/German.  But it’s not just the language.  It’s the little things.  Costa coffee and Minstrels and Scotrail tickets and Hello magazine…

With gossip in English about celebrities I actually know!

Every little detail I used to take for granted now gives me a little tug of nostalgia.

The feeling intensifies when I visit Glasgow.  This pub, that bus stop, that street corner… everything is infused with memories.  And suddenly I feel really sentimental.  Suddenly this feels like home.

It’s not that I don’t like Ghent.  It’s just that I’m still so new to it.  Having moved only four months ago, I still don’t really know the city.  With time, who knows?  It may grow to feel like home.  But right now I’m still finding my way, and it still feels very unfamiliar.  So it’s not just Glasgow that I miss.  It’s that feeling of being settled, of knowing my way around.  It’s the comfort and familiarity in my day-to-day life.

And now I’m back in Toronto, where I lived the first 24 years of my life.  Surely this should feel like home, even more than Glasgow did.  Right?  Well, it does and it doesn’t.

I haven’t lived in Toronto for 3 years, and a lot can happen in 3 years.  Shops can close down and be replaced.  Prices can go up.  People can move.  Nieces and nephews can grow up.  And even the things that used to feel normal can become distant and strange.

For example.  When I first moved to Glasgow, I remember thinking everything was very small and quaint.  Well, at some point I must have gotten used to things being on a smaller, more European scale.  Because now when I come back to Toronto I’m overwhelmed by just how big everything is!  Canadians have lots of space, and we use it to live large.  Six-lane highways, skyscrapers, endless fields… everything seems to be on growth hormones!  And it’s not just the size of things, it’s the extent of them.  The millions and millions of options.  You don’t just watch tv, you choose from thousands of satellite channels.  You don’t just buy your food at a shop, you go to a giant supermarket the size of a city block and choose your breakfast cereal from about 900 different brand names.

I recommend the Apple Jacks.

Did I used to think this was normal?  Apparently yes.  But now I feel a sort of reverse culture shock when I visit my family.  It all feels very familiar, and yet very unfamiliar at the same time.

And what about me?  Am I now unfamiliar for Canada?  Have I changed too much?  Having spent so long away, I can’t help but wonder if there is a place for me here anymore.  My family and friends enjoy seeing me and catching up.  But can we really catch up?  Or is there just too much to catch up on?  We all like to think there would always be a place for us if we returned to where we came from.  But perhaps it’s unfair to expect everyone to keep the home fires burning.

The truth is, I can never really return to the Toronto I know.  Not the way I'd like to.  Because nothing ever stays the same.  Just like I’m not the same person who left Toronto, Toronto is not the same city I left behind.  And perhaps it’s moved on just as much as I have.

So where is my home now?  Where do I belong?  Perhaps I don’t have a home.  And perhaps I have many homes.  I will always feel deep ties to my Canadian family and background.  But I’ll also enjoy reminiscing with British ex-pats about things like X Factor and Tunnock’s teacakes.  In time, I will settle into my place in Belgium, and this will start to feel like home too.  And who knows how many other countries I might live in, in the years to come?

Sometimes, like my laptop, I feel confused.  I wish my life was simpler.  I wish I was like Dorothy, and I only had one home and there was no place like it.  And instead of planning complicated trips with trains and airport changes, I could just click my heels and be there.

Beats Easyjet any day!

But I’m grateful for all the homes I’ve had, and the memories they’ve given me.  Because there’s no place like Toronto, but there’s also no place like Glasgow.  And there’s no place like Ghent, or even like Gothenburg.  Each of these places has become part of who I am, and they have made my life all the richer.

On staying positive...

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Well, not necessarily.  Depending on who you are, it may be the most terrible time of the year.

It's the time when, after sending out millions of CVs and CDs and application forms, singers are starting to hear back from people.  It might be good news, it might be bad news, or it might be no news at all.

Perhaps you've been accepted into a postgrad programme.  Perhaps you've got an audition for an opera studio.  Perhaps an agent wants to hear you.  And perhaps... none of the above.

For me, unfortunately, this season has yielded me a healthy crop of "no thank you" emails.  Emails which, on their own, are unpleasant enough to read, but in batches, can pack a powerful punch straight to the gut of the old self-esteem.

At times like this, it's difficult not to get a bit down.  And it's especially difficult not to "look sideways", as my Scottish teacher calls it.  Wherever you are in your own progress, there always seem to be people around you who are doing so much better.  People who are getting accepted to courses, invited to auditions, getting contracts, getting concerts, getting their big break.  In comparison, you might feel like you're going nowhere.  You might feel lost, forgotten, left behind.

Like a sad little teddy bear in the woods.

Looking sideways is never helpful in my experience.  If you're already feeling down, comparing yourself to others will almost certainly make you feel worse.  Especially with online media like facebook, which allows people to filter their lives so that they only share the good news.  You won't hear very much on facebook about your friends' failures, disappointments, or nights spent at home eating ice cream and sobbing along to the latest Michael Buble album.  But you will definitely hear about their successes.

Some people like to celebrate their successes with a bit of gloating, and I can't say that I blame them.  If I got some awesome news, I would feel pretty awesome, and I would want to share that awesomeness with others.  Granted, some people take the gloating too far and get a bit, well, obnoxious...

I am so amazing that I'm going to do a dance about how amazing I am!

But when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter how people around you react to their good news.  Whether they tiptoe around it sensitively or rub it in your face, the fact remains that you feel bad about your own disappointment.

At times like this, when you're feeling down in the dumps, your friends, colleagues, teachers, coaches, mentors, family members, and pretty much everyone you meet will chime in with that old familiar chorus: "STAY POSITIVE!"

This chorus will often alternate with verse after verse of sports metaphors, inspirational quotes from famous people, anecdotes of people who didn't make it big until they were 50, and recycled cliches about the long, hard road to success.  Now, if you're really feeling discouraged, and if you're anything like me, you probably reach a point in all this motivational blethering when you feel like this:

I mean come on, when you're feeling really down, that kind of oversweetened Pollyanna-style optimisim is the last thing you want to hear.  Am I right?

However.

Much as I hate to admit it, cliches are cliches for a reason.  And there is some truth in all that inspirational nonsense that people are throwing your way.

Now, before I go any further, I should point out that I am writing this for the same reason that I usually write my blog.  What is that, you might ask?  Basically, I'm giving myself a pep talk. I mean, I do hope that anyone reading this is able to get something from it as well, but most of what I'm writing here is directed to myself.  I tend to keep a fairly positive and chirpy overall tone in this blog - or at least, I try to.  As a matter of fact, the reason I make such an effort to do so is that in real life I am terrible at practising what I preach. I am terrible at staying positive!

Hey, you!  Buck up!

In the past, I have really let rejection get me down. I know that it's an inevitable part of the career, and I know that I need to develop a thick skin to survive in the music world. But knowing that has never really changed the fact that I have a thin skin. I'm oversensitive, I'm a worrier, I'm a pessimist. I hold myself to high standards and I am easily discouraged by perceived failures.

There have been times when I've really wallowed in my disappointment.  I spent days, even weeks, beating myself up.  Telling myself I would never make it.  I'm a failure.  I may as well give up.  What came from all of that?  Well I certainly didn't feel any better.  And when I finally emerged from my haze of self-pity, I looked back and saw how much I had sabotaged myself.  How I had let my low confidence get in the way of performing well at auditions and gigs.  How I had wasted loads of precious time, time that could have been spent practising and getting better, so that the next time perhaps I wouldn't get a "no".

An ex-boyfriend of mine used to tell me "a bad review can ruin your breakfast, but never let it ruin your lunch".  Another recycled cliche, I know.  But those are actually pretty wise words to live by.  Because we all need a bit of time to mourn and sulk after bad news.  But if you let the sulking carry on for too long, it will really hold you back.

There are two ways you can react to a rejection.  You can decide to give up, or you can decide to keep trying.  And if you have any intention at all to keep trying, then for God's sakes don't waste all your time feeling sorry for yourself!  You have work to do!

This lemur just remembered how much music he has to learn.

As much as I'm sick of people telling me to stay positive - and trust me, I have heard it all, a million times over - they do have a point.  Because if I don't stay positive, the alternatives are pretty grim.  The alternatives to staying positive are: 1) give up, or 2) keep trying, but feel so discouraged and negative about things that I do a totally half-assed job and I may as well have just given up in the first place.  So basically, I would be choosing between letting my hopes and dreams die a quick and painful death, or letting them die a slow and painful death.  Not very good options there.

The real reason to stay positive?  It's the only way to keep moving forward.  There's no way to stay motivated and keep working hard if you don't really believe it's going to lead somewhere.  So basically, you have no choice here: you can't stop believing!

Listen to Journey, kids.  They were right about this one.

I'm not ready to give up yet.  And if I'm going to go for something, I want to really go for it.  Not just pretend to myself that I'm really going for it, while I'm actually letting low confidence and lack of motivation get in the way.

So yes, I will let myself feel disappointed when I get a "no".  And yes, I will even cry about it if I need to.  And while I'm sulking, I might hate people a little bit for giving me corny motivational speeches.  But this time, once I've had my sulk, I will pick myself up, I will dust myself off, and I will keep going.  And damn it all, I WILL STAY POSITIVE.