On believing in yourself...

I have always been a singer first and an actor second.  I started developing my musicianship and my singing technique long before I started to act on stage.  I took piano lessons and sang in choirs, and later on I began private voice lessons.  But I never took acting classes or joined a drama club.  In the course of my singing career, acting was something that just kind of happened to me.  It was like those parents that teach their kids to swim by throwing them into a pool.  At one point someone just plopped me on a stage and said "act".

I suppose some people would respond to this approach well.  They would act naturally, using their intuition.  But not me.  My response was more like this...

Uhhh... what?

I'm not the kind of person who listens to their intuition.  I like to learn things methodically.  I like to know exactly how I'm doing something, and why.  So when I was told to act, without any tools or method, without any guidance or technique, I got scared.  I didn't understand what to do.  I guess I saw that there was no one right answer and that kind of freaked me out.

As I continued my singing education, I never felt confident about my acting.  I thought some lucky people were just naturals at it, and I wasn't one of them.  People were always telling me that my acting was a weak spot.  And so I kept telling myself the same deadly words. 

"I can't."

These insidious words stayed with me all the time.  Eventually, they were what caused me to shy away from opera and pursue concert singing instead.  By singing in concerts, I could avoid the scary prospect of running around onstage, doing all kinds of crazy things and acting all kinds of crazy emotions.  I could essentially isolate my technique and musicianship and just be a "singing head".

Park and bark - sounds pretty good to me!

Eventually it dawned on me that nobody makes an entire career singing concerts anymore, and I began seriously pursuing opera.  But by this point it was too late.  I already had a firm idea fixed into my head: I can't act.  And so, even now that I am in an opera studio, this idea holds me back every day.

It's not that I don't try to act.  Of course I know it's something I have to do.  But I never do it with any amount of conviction.  I never take risks.  I never really go for it.  And it shows.  I'm always being told that I wasn't expressive enough, I didn't go far enough, I didn't make it big enough.  It frustrates me to no end.  I want so much to be that powerful actor that gives the audience goosebumps.  But what really happens is that I try just hard enough so that I can tell myself I'm trying.  I'm too afraid to really do it.  I'm too afraid to take the plunge.

Eek!

This week we did some sessions with a fantastic Belgian director, and he saw right through me.  He knew there was a step to be taken and I didn't dare to take it.  He asked me about my background, and I explained it to him.  I told him how I had worked in an office and sung in concerts, and I hadn't had much experience in opera.  I told him that acting was still very new to me.  I told him I wasn't a natural like some people were.  I told him that nobody had ever properly taught me how to act.

Basically, I told him a load of excuses.  And he dismissed them all.

This director told me a difficult truth.  A truth that's always been somewhere, tickling at the back of my mind.  A truth I've always brushed away, because I didn't want to believe it, because I couldn't bear facing it, because I couldn't stand thinking about what it implied.  The difficult truth is this: nobody can teach me to act.  It's just something that I do.  And either I do it or I don't.

In fact, the difference between acting and not acting lies in two very powerful words.

"I can".

President Obama's advice on acting.

The director told me it was very simple - either I go for it all the way, or I never dare and I never learn to act.  After this moment of truth, he asked me to sing Prince Orlovsky's aria, and to go as far with it as I could.

For those of you who don't know, Prince Orlovsky is the host of the big party in Die Fledermaus.  He's a very strange man, and a complete alcoholic.  In his aria, he explains that if his guests don't keep up with his drinking he will throw them out the door.  So basically I had to act drunk and aggressive, and make my imaginary guests feel as uncomfortable as possible.

I had a long table and some chairs to work with.  And as a starting point - this is just a starting point, mind you - the director told me to try prowling around on top of the table like a lion.

Prince Orlovsky meets the Lion King.

Normally I would freeze up in this situation.  I hate doing crazy things like this.  I always feel like I'm going to "do it wrong" and end up looking stupid.  But this time was different.  This time I told myself "I can".  I gave myself permission to act as stupid and weird and drunk as I could possibly imagine.

I prowled around like a lion on top of the table.  I swiped at imaginary guests with my paws.  I took off my shoes and threw them away.  I rolled around in a drunken stupor.

I stopped worrying about doing things right and lived in the moment.  And you know what?  It was pretty good fun.

In retrospect, I think it was the first time that I really acted.

Dr Strangelove, or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Stage.

All this time, I have been trying to act, but at the same time I've been saying to myself, "I can't".  I can't, I can't, I can't.  These may seem like only words, but they are actually extremely dangerous weapons.  If you say the words "I can't" to yourself enough times, the words turn into a belief.  As the belief strengthens, it turns into the type of action - or lack of action - which reinforces itself.  The more you tell yourself "I can't", the more true those words become.

The words you say to yourself are incredibly powerful.  They have a strong influence on how you think and act.  If you turn "I can't" into "I can", eventually you will start to think and act like someone who can.  But only you have the power to make this change.

When I gave up singing and went into arts administration, I remember that a small part of me hoped that someone would try to stop me.  A small part of me wanted someone to say "no, you are a really good singer and you can't give up".  But nobody did this for me.  Nobody told me I should keep pursuing singing.  That was something I had to figure out on my own.

When it comes down to it, there is only so much encouragement and motivation that you can expect from your friends, your teachers, and your mentors.  When it comes down to it, you have to be the ones who believes in yourself.  You have to be the one who says "I can".  Once you say that, and really believe it, you will be amazed by just how true it is.

On travelling...

If you read this blog you'll be aware that I travel pretty often.  Just yesterday I returned from a trip to Gothenburg, via a long bus trip through Oslo and Rygge (hey, it saved a lot of cash).  With all the jet-setting I've done over the past few years, I've been able to get a few things right - and a lot of things wrong.  Which is exactly why I feel qualified enough to share a bit of travelling wisdom with you.  Ladies and gentlemen, here are my very own Do's and Don't's of travelling cheaply through Europe...

DO plan your trip carefully.  Print out maps.  Look up timetables.  Make sure you have detailed directions.  Otherwise you might end up experiencing something like my Italian audition trip fiasco.

DO compare prices. Use price comparison sites such as www.skyskanner.com to find the cheapest flights - and if you're flexible with your schedule, you can also choose the cheapest days and times to travel.  A word about accommodation: if you aren't lucky enough to have a friend to stay with for free, find a cheap place to stay at a website like www.booking.com or www.laterooms.com.  My friend tells me that Ibis hotels are always good - they're clean, safe, inexpensive, and can be found everywhere.

DON'T stay overnight at the airport.  Unless it's completely unavoidable - and I mean completely unavoidable - just don't do it.  Yes, it may seem smart to save money by sleeping rough and catching that cheap flight that leaves at evil o'clock in the morning.  But trust me, the sleepless night curled up on the airport bench is NOT worth the difference in price.  Especially if you're at London Stansted - or, as it's better known, Purgatory.

DO pack lightly.  Ok, so I haven't always been great at this, as friends and family will attest...

Simulation.  Not writer's actual suitcase.

But after being on several flights with strict carry-on weight limits, I have learned to hone down to the essentials.  One pair of smart shoes in the suitcase, one comfy pair worn on the plane.  Makeup bag, phone charger, toothbrush, and a couple of outfits - that's all you need.  Remember: unless you are travelling to the wilds of the Saharan desert, you will probably be able to do laundry.

DON'T assume buses and trains always run on the same schedule.  Travelling on a Sunday is a dangerous thing, as I discovered yesterday.  Buses that usually come every ten minutes suddenly get very lazy.  They may decide instead to only come every thirty minutes, or every hour, or two or three times in the day on a random whim.  Be prepared for lazy Sunday buses!

DO invest in the future.  Think ahead.  Will you be taking this same bus back to the airport?  Then get a return ticket.  If you'll be using a bus/train/tram/rickshaw regularly on this trip, think about getting something like a ten-ride ticket or a weekly or monthly pass.  It may seem not seem like much, but all those single ride tickets add up to a lot of extra money you don't need to spend.

DO stay hydrated. Planes are extremely dry, and it's easy to get dehydrated or even get sick if you don't drink lots of water. Yes, it might be embarrassing to be that guy who's always asking his neighbour to get up so he can squeeze past and go to the toilet. But trust me, it's worth it to not feel like this the next day...

Evian, why have you forsaken me??!

DON'T be a sheep.  I can't believe how many times I've seen people rush to line up for boarding just because they saw one guy stand up. 

Baa.

And then they end up standing there for ages while nothing happens.  Why, why, WHY??  What are you actually achieving by lining up like that??  If you have an assigned seat, you will be sitting there whether you board the plane first or last.  If you don't have an assigned seat, get this - being the last to board is actually not the end of the world!  In fact, it probably means you will get an aisle seat, which means you can get up for the toilet as much as you want without bothering your neighbours (see hydration, above).

DO be smart about money.  Did you know Norwegian coins have holes in the middle of them?

They're like fancy metal Norwegian doughnuts.

That's pretty cool.  It's also cool to know that you'll need to carry cash in Norway - whereas in Sweden and Denmark you can pay for virtually anything with a debit card.  It's always good to know how money works wherever you're going, and to be prepared accordingly.

DO try to eat well.  Yes, it can be hard to find proper food at airports and train stations.  But if you eat real meals you'll be less likely to waste money filling up on crisps and chocolate.

Well, ok... maybe you can still have a bit of chocolate...

DON'T let your temper get away with you.  Here's a little story for you.  The last time I flew to Canada, I had an early morning and was feeling very tired and grumpy.  And to make matters worse, the person behind me kept punching the back of my headrest.  As I sat there fuming, and the punching continued, I built up a very clear image in my head of this obnoxious headrest puncher.  It must be a teenage boy, drunk or possible stoned.  He would be wearing some kind of sports jersey and baggy jeans.  And he was sitting there with his friend, laughing at me, punching my headrest, knowing I was too polite to confront him about it.  After several hours of torment, my anger and resentment towards this headrest puncher grew to such an extent that I finally exploded.  I whipped my head around in rage -

Not a simulation.  Writer's actual face.

- only to discover a meek and apologetic older woman cowering behind me.  She was not in fact punching the back of my headrest on purpose, as my sleep-deprived, travel-enraged mind had led me to believe.  She was just trying to turn up the volume of her movie on a rather unresponsive touch screen.  The lesson?  It's easy with all the stress of travel to get extremely irrational and angry.  So when you feel your temper getting the best of you, take a deep breath and count to ten.  Things are probably not as terrible as you think they are.

DO bring something to fight the boredom.  Whether it's a book or a magazine or the latest season of your favourite show - just make sure you keep it light and fluffy.  This is not the time to try to read War and Peace.  You will be stressed out, sleep deprived, and distracted by boarding announcements.  Basically, you should prepare to have about half of your usual IQ.

DO plan for recovery time.  Travelling is tiring, especially if you're crossing time zones.  And in my experience, jetlag only gets worse as you get older.  I recently made the mistake of scheduling a singing lesson just two days after arriving on a cross-atlantic flight.  I was still exhausted and jet-lagged, and I was completely useless in the lesson.  Know your limits and give yourself time to rest after a trip.  You'll need some time to be useless before you can be useful again.

DO bring a notebook.  Sometimes I get my best ideas when I'm travelling.  I zone out, look out the window at the scenery, and BOOM - I get a Eureka moment.  Maybe this is just me being an introvert, but I think the best thing about long trips is it can give you time to think.  So make sure you have somewhere to record your ideas and insights.

These are the most helpful tips I can think of now, although I'm sure that more will come to me the next time I'm travelling,  For now I'll leave you with one more tip: once you've booked the flight, printed the maps, and packed your bags - have fun!  After all, travelling is only worth all this stress if you get an adventure out of it.  So wherever you are in the world, take some time to enjoy the experience!

On being far away...

This year for Christmas, my boyfriend gave me a wallet.  Perhaps it doesn't sound to you like the most romantic gift in the world, but I love it.  Not just because it's made by a label called "Puccini".  And not just because it has lots of little compartments that help me organise my various foreign currencies and bank cards.  I love the wallet because I use it all the time, and every time I use it, I think of him.  I don't know about you but I think that's pretty romantic.

Every day I feel lucky to be where I am, to be following my dreams.  But every day I also deal with the fact that I am far away from the people I love.  Even now, when I am visiting my boyfriend in Sweden, I am far away from my family in Canada.  People often ask me if I miss Canada.  To be honest, I don't often miss Canada.  But I always miss my family.

I consider myself very lucky to have been born into such a large and loving family.  My family is full of character, curiosity, and passion.  Many of us are musical, and most of us are avid readers.  And although we don't always agree on everything, most of the time we get on very well.  We love to gather, usually over loads of food, and talk each other's ears off.  I love my family and I love spending time with them.  This is a part of my life that I miss very much now that I'm living abroad.

I also miss my boyfriend, who understands me in a way most people don't, and who always knows how to make me laugh.  When we were living in Glasgow I knew he was the right guy because I felt at home when I was with him.  Now that we live in different countries, he's still my home away from home - but he's no longer a 20 minute bus ride away.

Despite their absence, I have found many ways to surround myself with the people I love.  Of course, like anyone living abroad I stay in touch with my family over email and skype.  Obviously I can't stay in touch with everyone this way (there are a LOT of us), but I find that facebook is another great way to keep track of people.  I'm always grateful for the regular updaters in the family, who post pictures and videos and status updates, keeping me up to speed on my nieces and nephews' latest escapades, my cousins' latest projects, or my brothers' latest concerts.  But while the internet is a wonderful thing, the most beloved connections I keep with my family are the tangible ones.

I have a collection of keepsakes scattered around my flat.  There are the photos from my brother's wedding, and the homemade keychain and pencil case from my niece.  There are cards and letters from my boyfriend, and a photo of him which his mother framed for me.  There's a crystal hanging by my window which turns the sunlight into rainbows - a beautiful gift from my parents.  There are letters and postcards from friends and family, and countless trinkets and souvenirs from all the places I've been.

But my all-time favourite keepsake is a sign that says in colourful bubble letters "Welcome home Brynne".  It's from a difficult Christmas a couple of years ago, when I came home a complete mess.  I had just been dumped.  I had also been rejected several times in a run of unsuccessful auditions.  I had lost all my confidence and conviction.  And when I arrived home from the airport, feeling heartbroken and downtrodden, this cheerful sign was stuck on the door.  Waiting for me.  Welcoming me.  Letting me know that no matter what happened, my home and my family were always there.

I now put that sign up on my door -  that is, the door of wherever I'm living at the moment.  It's a reminder that I am home no matter where I am.  I am home because I am always surrounded by the unconditional love and support of my family.

This weekend was my grandma's memorial, an event that I was sadly unable to attend.  But while the prices of plane tickets kept me from crossing the Atlantic, I found other ways to be with my family at this time.  My mom has been sending me regular email updates these last few months, from the time Grandma went into the hospital, to when she went into palliative care, to her final hours.  So I had some time to prepare for her passing, and to think about how I could send my love in a tangible way.  I knew how much my keepsakes from the family meant to me, and I wanted to be able to send something similar to my family.

Naturally, if I was there, I would be singing at the memorial service.  I always sing at family weddings and funerals.  And it would mean a lot for my grandma because she was a singer too.  I decided that the best way to send my love was to record one of my grandma's favourite hymns and send it to my parents so it could be played in the service.

I wasn't able to be at my grandma's memorial, or at the big family gathering that surrounded it.  But I was able to read the text of my dad's eulogy, and to see pictures of my nephews emailed through my mom's BlackBerry.  I was able to skype with the family, getting passed around the sitting room on my brother's iphone.  I even "met" my new baby nephew for the first time (we had a fascinating conversation involving lots of squeals and flailing arms).  My uncle made a video of the service for myself and other absent family members, and I look forward to watching it and "being there" in my own way.

It's not the same as really being there, of course.  And I still get pangs of guilt about that sometimes.  But that's just the way it is right now.

The saddest part of going on an adventure is the people you leave behind.  Every birthday, every anniversary, every wedding and funeral that you miss - it stings.  But real love is more than a physical presence.  It's something that can cross borders and oceans, that can be felt from far away.  I feel the love and support from my family every day.  And I hope they feel it too.

These keepsakes I treasure so much, they aren't important in themselves.  They're important because they remind me of something that's already there.  Every day, no matter where I am and no matter what I am doing, I am surrounded by love.  And my boyfriend and my family are surrounded by it too.  We can't always be there for each other physically.  But we are always there for each other in spirit.

On staying strong...

Some singers I know have a certain hardness to them, a certain toughness.  They are extremely focused and ambitious and they don't seem to let anything get in their way.  If something bad happens, it doesn't phase them - they just keep going.  They are bulletproof.  Unstoppable.

I am not one of those singers.

I'm not hard or tough.  In fact, I'm really very soft.

I keep thinking that with time, with more rejections and challenges, I will grow a thicker skin.  But after years of hard falls and disappointment, the fact remains that I can cry at the drop of a hat.  And I often do.

"Oh my God!  That man - just - dropped his hat!"

Maybe it's something unchangeable about me, an intrinsic part of my nature.  Like my terrible sense of direction (despite all the travelling I've done, I still get lost ALL THE TIME).  I don't know.  But I really wish I was tougher than I am.  After all, the singing business is a school of hard knocks.  We have to face rejection and harsh criticism all the time.  Surely toughness is a quality you need in order to survive in the music world.

I was chatting about this recently with a visiting teacher at the studio, and lamenting my lack of toughness.  I mentioned certain successful singers I know who have this bulletproof quality to them, and expounded on how much I wished I had their hardness.  "But," he said quite reasonably, "you don't.  That's not who you are.  You need to embrace who you are and learn to work with it."

Sounds like pretty sensible advice, right?  But I wasn't so sure.  How can my softness be a good thing?  How can I "work with" the fact that I'm so easily reduced to tears by criticism and negative feedback?

How is it positive that I'm so easily wounded?  That instead of walking through life like this...

I'm essentially walking through life like this...?

It's been an emotional couple of weeks.  I've had an important audition, a recording, and a recital, and I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself to perform well in all three.  On top of this, my grandmother passed away recently and I'm probably the only person in the family who won't be able to attend the memorial.  And as luck would have it, I haven't been feeling well.  I tend to get pretty weepy when I'm not feeling well.

The first breaking point came when we did audition training with a visiting director.  I saw this audition training as a practice run for my audition the following week, and I was anxious to sing well.

I did not sing well.  And the director didn't pull any punches in his criticism.  He was very harsh.

Maybe he wasn't that harsh.  Maybe I was too sensitive, and I took it too personally.  In any case, I cried.  A lot.

Then there was the audition itself.  I was so anxious to do well in this audition that I think I may have made myself sick.  Stress, tension, and sleepless nights led to a bout of tonsilitis.  Which led to antibiotics.  Which made me sick to my stomach.  When I arrived at the audition I was exhausted and nauseous, and although I gave it all I had, I probably wasn't at my best.

After all that anxiety and preparation, I didn't get the callback.

I was heartbroken.  Of course I had tried not to get my hopes up too much.  But I had really wanted this, I had really thought I had a good chance.  The rejection was a huge disappointment and a major blow to my confidence.

Ouch.

I cried.  I drank beer.  I cried some more.  I talked to friends.  I cried some more.  Basically, I stayed up all night being sad.  It was not fun.

At times like this, when it really gets to me, I can't help but wonder if maybe I don't have what it takes.  If I'm not tough enough to roll with the punches.  Not cut out for this school of hard knocks.

But you know what?  In each of these instances, after I mourned the disappointment, I moved on.  After the audition training, I spent some time sniffling in the washroom.  But then I wiped away my tears, ate my lunch, and ended up having two very good coaching sessions.  After feeling heartbroken about the unsuccessful audition, I had a terrible beer-soaked sleepless night.  But the next morning I got on my computer and started looking for more auditions.

It is possible to be sensitive and resilient.  To keep going when you're hurt.  You can be soft and strong at the same time.

These qualities are not just for toilet roll.

Look, it sucks to be the one who cries all the time.  It's embarrassing.  I would love to be made of steel and never show emotion.  But that's not who I am.  I'm soft.  I'm vulnerable.  I feel things deeply.  Do I care too much?  Perhaps.  But perhaps that's not entirely a bad thing.

Singers are emotional creatures by nature.  We sing all the time about love and hate, hope and despair, misery and joy - the biggest, most powerful human emotions.  We need to feel things deeply so we can channel it into our singing.  We are all emotional people.  The difference lies in how we handle our emotions.

Personally, I wear my heart on my sleeve.  Sometimes it's a helpful quality to have.  It means that I'm sensitive and open, and people can see that I care deeply about things.  Other times it works against me, and I get overwhelmed by my feelings.  But I have learned that the best way to deal with this is not to repress or hide my feelings.  I need to feel them to their full extent, exorcise them if you will - and then move on.

Hopefully, when I exorcise my feelings, they don't look quite this bad.

Over the years I've found some good outlets for my feelings.  Sometimes I need to sing.  Sometimes I need to blow off some steam by going for a run.  Sometimes I need to calm down with some yoga or a hot bath.  Sometimes I need to have a drink and vent to a friend.  And sometimes I need to write in my blog.  These are all things that help me stay sane and work through my emotions in a constructive way.

It's not easy being sensitive, but beating myself up about it will only make matters worse.  It's better to accept that it's the way I work, and learn how to cope with it.  It might be embarrassing when people hear me blubbering in the next toilet stall.  It might seem that I'm "falling apart", or losing control.  But does it really matter how much I react?  Does it really matter, when in the end I'm still able to pick myself up and carry on?

There's more than one way to survive getting hit.  You can protect yourself by being hard and unyielding.  Or you can be a rubber ball.

Huh?

Rubber is soft.  When it hits a hard surface, it changes shape.  It absorbs the pressure.  But then it bounces back.

Right now, I am learning to be a rubber ball.  To work with my softness, and to let it help me bounce back.  I may be easily hurt.  But that doesn't mean I can't easily recover.

On running your own race...

I was in Sweden this week auditioning for a position in an opera chorus.  It was a rather intimidating experience, to say the least.  Walking into the giant opera house, navigating a labyrinth of stairways and floors, wandering past all the costumes and wigs from past productions, following the millions of signs to the warm-up rooms, and all the time feeling really stupid for not speaking Swedish.  As I warmed up and waited for my appointed audition time, I found myself checking out the other singers and hearing a very familiar internal monologue...

"Oh my God, her voice is so much bigger than mine!  What if my voice isn't big enough?"
"She seems to really know what she's doing - maybe I'm not experienced enough to apply for this."
"She has a nice dark sound - maybe that's more what they're looking for."
"Oh God, she already knows everyone in the company, they're like BEST FRIENDS.  I don't stand a chance."

Then suddenly, I heard my Scottish teacher's wise words in my head: "Stop looking sideways.  Put on your blinkers and run your own race!"

This horse ain't getting distracted by his competition!

And I knew she was right.  Here I was, about to sing an audition for a major opera company.  I needed all the focus, energy and confidence I could muster.  So what on earth was I doing thinking about the other singers??

Unfortunately, this is something we singers do all the time.  It's hard not to pay attention to the competition - especially when you are in an inherently competitive field.  The fact is, these are the people you're up against.  For jobs, for roles, for concerts, for places in courses and opera studios, for scholarships, and for competition prizes.  It's only natural to be curious about other singers.  And so we size them up.  And we play the Comparison Game.

"She's got such better high notes than me."
"He's younger than me and he's so much further ahead."
"How come everyone else in my year is doing better?"

And if you don't watch out, the Comparison Game gets bitter and ugly.

"Why does she get all the roles when I work so much harder?"
"This is so unfair.  I deserve that job more than him."

What does it lead to in the end?  At best, you'll waste a lot of energy that's better used in your singing.  At worst, you'll totally psych yourself out and ruin all chances of success.

The Comparison Game: like the Hunger Games, only deadlier.

Why do we do this to ourselves?  Why do we obsess over other singers and let ourselves succumb to fear, jealousy, and feelings of inferiority?

Most of the time, I think, it stems from insecurity.  We worry that we're not good enough, so we look for confirmation around us.  Or we're so desperate to be "the best" that we don't think anyone else should succeed.  Wanting to succeed is great.  But not wanting others to succeed?  That's just stupid, not to mention needlessly cruel.  What does someone else's success have to do with you, anyway?  It's their success.

If you think about it, what does comparing yourself to others actually achieve?  Does it make them any worse?  Of course not!  Does it make you any better?  Don't be ridiculous!

If you "go compare", strangely enough, you won't magically become a better singer.

In the end you are just different singers, on different paths.

Notice that I said "different", not "better" or "worse".  We are brought up in a world that loves using words like "better" and "worse".  But these words are hardly accurate, or helpful, when it comes to singing.

My friend once told me that she feels optimistic about her career because nobody else has her voice.  She knows she has something unique to offer, and someone out there is going to really like it.  I had never really thought about it that way.  But once I did think about it that way, I felt a lot better about the idea of competition.  Don't you?  I mean, every singer is a completely unique individual, with a unique voice and personality.  And every director, conductor, and agent out there has their own unique taste.  When it comes down to it, it's not so much a matter of being a better or worse singer.  It's a matter of who you are and what that person likes.

If you spend all your time comparing yourself to other singers, trying to emulate what they do well, or getting discouraged when they succeed and you don't, you stop cultivating your own unique talent.  You stop focusing on your own journey.  You start trying to fit into a cookie-cutter idea of what a "good singer" is.  And that is exactly what every director, conductor, and agent hates.  They don't want a cheap imitation of another singer.  They don't want a pretty porcelain doll who sings with perfect technique (unless they are casting Olympia for the Tales of Hoffmann).  They want YOU.  They want to hear what makes you special.

Here's another thing about "running your own race": your race is completely different from everyone else's.  You have your own unique path to follow, with its own bends and dips.  So maybe the singer next to you is at a peak right now, and you're not.  So what?  That doesn't mean you won't reach your own peak at a different time.  Everyone progresses at different rates.  Everyone experiences highs and lows at different times.  And maybe the job that someone else won just isn't part of your path.  You have other jobs ahead of you.  Different jobs.  Not better or worse, just different.

There's no point in focusing on what someone else is doing.  They're doing what's right for them, and you're doing what's right for you.  If you tried to follow their path it would be like forcing a square peg into a round hole.  And that's just uncomfortable for everyone.

It's so easy to get caught up in what others are doing, in wondering how you measure up.  But imagine if you took all that energy you spend thinking about others' paths and focused on your own?  Surely you would achieve so much more.  And in the immortal words of Frank Sinatra, much more than this, you would do it your way.

We don't need more jealousy and insecurity in this profession.  We need individuals.  Individuals who can bring their own unique experience, talent, and personality to the table.  Every moment you spend thinking about other singers is a moment you don't spend focusing on your own progress.  Your own path.  So let's all try to stop playing the Comparison Game.  Let's put on our blinkers and run our own race.

On the Dream Team...

My singing life in Glasgow was pretty simple.  I had lessons every week with the same teacher, and I trusted her with everything.  Whatever I was working on, whatever I had trouble with, I would bring it to her.  As far as I was concerned, her word was gospel.  I didn't quite go so far as making a bracelet that said "What Would Kath Do" - but trust me, I came pretty close.

It was nice, having that consistency.  One teacher, once a week, for everything.  But here in Ghent things are more complicated.  First of all, we are not assigned private singing teachers at the opera studio.  If we feel we need private lessons, we're expected to arrange them for ourselves independently.  Secondly, this is almost impossible to do!  The nature of our irregular and ever-shifting schedule makes it quite difficult to fit in regular lessons with one person. 

Nonetheless, I have found a couple of good teachers here, and between the private lessons I arrange with them, and my various lessons and coachings at the studio, I get a rich and varied education from an assortment of teachers.  Unlike Glasgow, where I relied on one teacher for everything, in Ghent I'm learning to consult with different people depending on what I need. 

Here is a brief catalogue of my Dream Team - all the various teachers I work with.  Some of these are specific teachers, and some are more like a category of teacher.  They each play their own role and have their unique teaching style.  You may recognise a few of them yourself...
 

The Technician

This is the person I trust to work with me on the fundamentals - the nuts and bolts of singing.  She teaches me how to use my instrument.  In her words, she shows me when to change gears, so that the next time I'm driving through traffic, I can look straight ahead with confidence instead of constantly looking down trying to figure out what I'm doing.  Our work is very physical, and also very analytical.  I sing a lot, and I think a lot about how I'm singing.  There is much drawing of diagrams.  I try to see The Technician regularly to work on my overall technique.  I also might go to her for help with vocally challenging repertoire, or when I need to solve a specific technical problem.

The Psychologist

This teacher deals with the psychology of singing, rather than the physical reality of it.  The philosophical rather than the practical.  She is very wise, and loves to say deep things like "there are no intervals - there are only pitches and breath".  The Psychologist wants me to stop listening to myself, stop analysing every note I sing.  She trains me to trust that my voice will work for me.  I used to think The Psychologist was the polar opposite of The Technician, and I had to choose either one approach or the other.  But then I realised that this is just the next step - the one I can take once I've done the necessary work with The Technician.  The Psychologist helps me progress from practice to performance, start trusting my technique, stop micromanaging, and let go.



The Musician

In other words, my coach.  Every singer works with at least one of these.  I work with quite a few coaches at the opera studio, but there is one in particular who I see regularly and who I would trust beyond anything.  He is my second pair of ears, and he helps me to realise what I want to do musically.  He isn't really concerned with how I produce my sound - he just wants to see what I do with that sound to make music. The Musician is a musical encyclopedia, full of knowledge about the history and background of the repertoire.  He uses this knowledge and his excellent musical taste to advise me on how to sing expressively and stylishly.



The GP

The opera studio calls this woman "the vocal consultant", and she sees us every once in a while for sort of a "check-up" session.  She has a more gentle and holistic approach to teaching: she's not there as a surgeon to pick apart the details of our technique - she's just the friendly family doctor who wants to make sure everything's ok.  Since most of us have our own individual teachers, she doesn't want to interfere too much with the specific technique we're learning with them.  Rather, she listens to what we're doing and makes small adjustments and suggestions here and there.  She points out bad habits, things we don't realise we're doing.  She makes sure we're singing healthily, and diagnoses any problems we might want to address.

The Dramatist

This one's pretty obvious.  Because it's one thing to sing musically and confidently with good technique, but you have to say something with all that beautiful singing.  The Dramatist works with me on my dramatic interpretation.  Just like The Musician is my second pair of ears, The Dramatist is my second pair of eyes.  He makes sure I'm actually being as expressive as I think I am.  And if I'm not, he jumps around like a caffeinated ferret until I am.  I've had a few different people fill this role - some are directors, some are teachers, some are both.  Since acting is not my biggest strength, there's often a lot of jumping around like a caffeinated ferret.





The Visiting Master



Like Yoda, this is a master of the craft who comes into your life for a short duration to impart their wisdom to you.  Unlike Yoda, they don't die after imparting their wisdom - they just move on to impart their wisdom elsewhere.  At the opera studio we are lucky enough to have masterclasses with various singers, conductors and repetiteurs who are working at the top of their field.  Although these teachers won't work with us regularly, in a very short time they can make an enormous impact.  A good masterclass can be an amazing, mind-blowing, heart-stopping, and inspiring experience.  Imagine working on your aria with someone who has sung it at the Metropolitan Opera or at Covent Garden.  They have seen it all, they have done it all, and they know their stuff like nobody else does.  If these masters are as articulate, energetic and passionate as they are talented (and most of them are) they can change your life with their teachings.



The Peer

Of course I cannot neglect to mention a very important teacher for all singers: other singers.  Whether through classes, rehearsals, performances, or discussions over lunch and coffee, we are constantly learning from each other.  Everyone has their unique strengths and weaknesses.  If you're struggling with something and you see someone who does it well, pay attention.  Chances are they're learning something from you too.  It's a shame that the opera industry so often turns singers against each other.  We start to see each other only as The Competition, rather than as friends and colleagues.  The truth is we can achieve more if we work together.  Learning from your peers is invaluable.

The Teacher-in-Disguise

Ok, this might sound a bit corny.  You know that person who's really annoying you?  The one you don't really like, who always seems to disagree with you?  Well they're a teacher too.  The fact that they're bringing up such strong feelings is probably an indication that there's something to be learned from them.  Perhaps they irk you because they're actually reflecting a part of you that you don't like.  Or perhaps they're confronting you with some truths that are really hard to swallow.  Or perhaps this is just an opportunity to learn more patience, kindness and understanding.  In any case, pay attention to this person.  Like everyone else in your life, they have something to teach you.  I've encountered more than a few Teachers-In-Disguise, and I'm sure there are plenty still to come.

So there it is, a brief overview of my Dream Team.  Not exactly simple, is it?  But I'm starting to get the hang of it.  The trick is to know who I need when.  Sometimes I need an intense session with The Technician, and sometimes I need The Psychologist to get my mind in the game.  I might want to polish something with The Musician, or I might want The Dramatist to help me bring life to an aria.  Maybe the GP will flag up something I'm doing poorly, or the Visiting Master will give some much-needed inspiration.  Or perhaps I'll get a powerful lesson from a Peer or a Teacher-In-Disguise.  Whatever the case, I'm extremely lucky to have such a team of teachers and advisors helping me out.  With them on my side, I feel like I can conquer anything.



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.