I can’t sing to save my life. I’ve played the flute for almost nine years, yet when it comes to vocals, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. You probably wouldn’t catch me composed and unafraid on a stage of any sort anyway, but it’s still safe to say I myself do not have a future in show business.

But that won’t stop me from belting a track with a car full of friends, from shouting lyrics with a stadium of strangers at a concert, from humming when I’m alone in my house or from blasting my favorites while I’m driving.

On Thanksgiving Eve 2013, one of my best friends had forgotten her phone at the movie theater we'd just left, so we turned around to go on a rescue mission. As we cruised through the late-night dark and cold, the radio played quietly in the background as we chided our friend. When a familiar drum beat bellowed out from it, the driver turned the music up and suddenly, and quite theatrically I’ll admit, we were all singing “It’s Time” by Imagine Dragons. The digital clock rolled to midnight, and suddenly we were all together, singing unharmoniously, but still together on Thanksgiving. I could pick out my own glass-shattering voice here and there but no one seemed to care or mind. We were all just having fun. And as we sped down the highway performing our own impromptu concert, I felt a surge of immense gratitude for my friends, especially given the day it was.

Recently, I attended a concert with both my parents. While my mother is a fantastic singer, my father is more of my ilk in that category. Still with every song he knew, he would yell the lyrics, and I would join in, while my mother looked with a small smile as if to say “I love you, but let’s pretend I’ve never seen you before.” But there were thousands of other people singing along in the audience. We were all strangers, and yet there we were, in the pouring rain, each singing for our own reasons, together.

It's moments like this where the air pulsates with joy and power. It reverberates in your chest and happiness comes peeling out like chimes from a bell. In moments like this, no one cares if you’re tone-deaf or the next big thing, for it is a moment where you can let go, release self-consciousness or troubles or whatever weighs you down and simply live your fullest life.

I feel happy in moments like these. For a minute I can forget my worries and take comfort in the people around me, for while we all take away our own memories, we share the experience. And if I’m alone, singing my little guts out, I’ll feel empowered by that release of inhibitions, I’ll feel independent and gleeful and through it all, I can laugh at myself.

Who cares that I suck? I’m enjoying myself, plus life isn’t going to be nearly as fun if you take yourself too seriously with every little thing. And so I’ve learned to try to be bold and free with all I do, for the memory is going to be much more memorable than if I sit silently to the side out of fear of embarrassment or not being good enough, both of which I’ve felt the full brunt of.

So open your mouth and own whatever sound comes out. Feel the energy of the moment and run with it. For the joy of singing way off-key lies in singing with everything you’ve got and knowing you are not alone.