I came across a video of a singer from Kazakhstan, Dimash Kudaibergen, who has a five-octave range: an ability to sing baritone and soprano but also in the whistle register, the register beyond falsetto.  Later I listened to a vocal coach describing Kudaibergen as exceptionally good at keeping “everything light"– the key, he said, to accessing those remarkably high notes.  Listening to Kudaibergen, it did seem as though he had made his voice like a feather, carried and guided, rather than trying to make something happen.  It seemed his job was to make himself light enough to be moved. 

I started considering this idea in regard to achieving anything we might want (high notes of all kinds). Usually when I think of reaching goals, I think of hard work – a certain amount of seriousness and intensity.  Though I’ve known gravitas as an agent of oppression – making projects intimidating or even choking the life out of them – it still remains a sometimes habit of mine. But without enough lightness, our ability to find the good fades and we are slowed or even completely stymied in our pursuits.

I had another test dream the other night. These kinds of dreams involve me trying to get somewhere in time to take a test for which I am unprepared. So, there is both stress regarding time andanticipated failure.  In this particular iteration I hurry to get to my old elementary school to take a science test, for which it now seems I am already late.

In an atypical moment of limited lucidity, while driving to my destination, I reflect upon what I am about to do.  Maybeit doesn’t really make sense.  After all, I haven’t attended any of the classes so the teacher won’t even know who I am.  And wouldn’t it be odd for an adult to come into a classroom, sit down with children, and take their test?  Brick by brick, my cognitive and analytical skills came to life and, after a while, Dream Me concluded it might make more sense to offer to help out and play with the kids rather than take their test.  This thought unleashed a surge of enthusiasm.  I am joyful! I no longer had to take the test – there was something better for me to do, something I actually wanted to do, and something I knew I coulddo.  I awoke victorious.  My dream self had cleverly changed the assignment.  No longer did I have to be evaluated; now I could just participate and enjoy.  

Last night when I was lying in bed wanting to sleep, I had a headache.  It had started earlier in the day, later seemed to be abating, then returned with renewed verve.  As I lay there I considered when the headache, in its trajectory, had circled back. I realized it was soon after I had started picking on myself. In the course of the evening, I had come up with a laundry list of self-criticisms, and was still feeling their effects when I crawled into bed.

I took note of the on going self-attack and mentally told myself to “Stop.”  The response I heard was crystal clear: “But I don’t know how!” And for a moment, I (the other me?) agreed: “Yes, I understand.”  But then, it hit me: of course I know how to stop insulting and denigrating myself. I know how to stop throwing a ball no matter how many times I’ve thrown it before. I just don’t throw it.  But I do have to be willing to stop.  And that willingness depends upon what I believe matters.

Many years ago, in my college days, I dreamt of a woman dressed superhero-style in red from head to toe with a big flowing cape.  She burst up from the ocean in one awe-inspiring moment, a symbol of power and strength.  At the time I did not relate much to power and strength – I saw myself as a small but good and intelligent entity with varying capabilities, positive and not so positive qualities.  I certainly didn’t see myself backed and uplifted by an erupting force of energy.  To me I was occasionally wobbly, and generally less confident in the world than I wanted to be.  When I first arrived at college, I developed some agoraphobic inclinations and worked through a great deal of that fear-of-getting-out-therestuff, though remnants of that frame of mind could still get stirred up.

At that time I didn’t own a car and was sometimes dependent on Greyhound to transport me home for the holidays.  The Greyhoundbus station however was not just worn, neglected, and mostly unclean; in my eyes it seemed seedy and potentially unsafe. So I didn’t want to go there alone.  But eventually life provided circumstances in which I pretty much had to. I was in a bind: my desire was to make the trip, but I didn’t want to feel so frightened along the way. 

 I’ve been in a funk lately. I entered it unwittingly and have had trouble finding the exit, and when I do, difficulty remembering where it is.  I don’t like to use the word depression, which makes me feel blanketed – as though it’s wall-to-wall sorrow.  There are always corners and areas where all is clear. 

 I’ve been in a funk lately. I entered it unwittingly and have had trouble finding the exit, and when I do, difficulty remembering where it is.  I don’t like to use the word depression, which makes me feel blanketed – as though it’s wall-to-wall sorrow.  There are always corners and areas where all is clear. 

The other day, I was rooting around my work area and opened a drawer mostly forgotten.  Inside was a large envelope filled with letters from about three decades ago. They were from friends – some with whom I’m no longer in touch, some with whom I still have contact, some with whom I remain close.  As I read, the letters helped me spot those clear areas in me.  The letters, at least for that moment, helped me remember.

We often focus on remembering.  We like to remember the good: special occasions, landmarks, graduations, birthdays, vacations; and we also choose to ruminate on what feels bad, what we consider failures, betrayals, scary things, and pain.  We tag these groups with either like (good) or dislike (bad).