Throughout both middle and high school, I was always in choir, whether it was in school, in church, or a separate ensemble altogether. However, I never fully considered myself one of the "choir kids"--probably because I didn't really understand what that meant. When I showed up to start college, having chosen to pursue a music minor in applied voice, that required that I enroll in University Choir. At first I hadn't really been looking forward to it, quite honestly. I figured it would take up too much of my time that could be spent more usefully.
And yet, here I am, two years later, writing a testimony as to why college choir has the potential to change you entirely as a person--for the better.
My first semester as a freshman, I treated choir as I would a core class that I found little to no interest in. I didn't feel that I fit in with the music majors who raised their hands and always said the most pertinent things. I felt that I didn't really have anything in common with the people within my section. I remember the nervous pangs of anxiety I had walking to the class when I knew I'd just be silently watching the clock, wishing the time could magically pass faster.
As the semester progressed, I felt an emptiness I hadn't felt in a long time. I began to miss high school choir a whole lot, and I longed for the connections I made through musical theater and through music in general. However, I argued with myself internally, telling myself that my suggestions wouldn't be relevant to the group and that my opinion didn't matter as a freshman music minor. If I broke my established, shy silence, people would probably think I was weird for suddenly coming out and speaking. Everyone already established friendships, so why try now?
Regardless of those fears, when we came back from winter break, I made myself break out of the shell I developed first semester. I began making jokes in my section and raising my hand when a tied note wasn't being counted right. Slowly but surely, as time passed, letting myself leave my inhibitions behind, I found a home in University Choir. I look forward to 3 pm most Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
We are a family. We get frustrated when our pitch sags and one section can't seem to count three quarter notes consecutively. But when suddenly at the concert, there's chill-inducing dynamics that we never even rehearsed, we become one. Nothing else matters in those 4 minutes of a song. You don't forget the way you felt performing in St. John the Divine in New York City. And I know I'll never forget the tears I saw on our choir director's face as we sang Eric Whitacre's "Sleep" in the Millersburg church on choir tour.
Choir has taught me discipline. It has taught me to work and work and work at something until you get it. It forced me to meet new people and face my fears I used to have of not being accepted. It taught me what it means to be a "choir kid." It means raising your hand and voicing your concerns for what you hear within your own section to help improve our overall sound. It means listening to choral music as you study and bursting into obnoxious renditions of pieces you're working on while walking across campus with your choir friends, one of whom might become your maid of honor at your wedding, or, in some instances, the one you marry. It means taking pride in and finding a passion for creating beautiful music in a way that you cannot do alone.
Yes, I am a choir kid. No, I wouldn't change it for the world.
If you have some time, check out this recording of Ashland University Choir performing Eric Whitacre's ethereal "Sleep" in Spring of 2015:
