back from camp
Balkan Camp, that is. One week in the woods away from phones, computers, any electronic toys, and just with music, Balkan music, and about 200 other people who are just as crazy about it as I am.
This is always the best week of the whole year. And coming home is always so -- bittersweet. I'm happy to be home. I'm happy to have a soft bed and a shower close by and all the other amenities of modern civilization. I'm happy to be in cell phone range again, and on e-mail, in touch with friends and family.
But but but. At camp it's all about music. Incredible musicians, night and day. Unbelievable performances. And connecting with "our kind." Finally, a whole week of not having to explain what the heck I'm so into. We all get each other there.
And within one or two days the same thing becomes obvious to me again: I love to sing.
I love it so much. It's all I want to do. It's all I've ever wanted to do. And of course that scares the shit out of me. Being a professional singer was always the dream, and I never took it seriously. That would be irresponsible. I'd never make a decent living. It's best as just a hobby. But here I end up miserable in job after job after job, wondering what I'm supposed to do when I grow up. And the answer is always the same, just sitting there patiently, to hit me again and again: sing, goddamn it. Just sing.
...
That's all I've got. I don't know what to do with it. Except to still get a job, harrumph, so I can support my habits. I really want to go to Bulgaria for a few months, learn the language, study singing, finally get a full sense of the country and culture.
This is always the best week of the whole year. And coming home is always so -- bittersweet. I'm happy to be home. I'm happy to have a soft bed and a shower close by and all the other amenities of modern civilization. I'm happy to be in cell phone range again, and on e-mail, in touch with friends and family.
But but but. At camp it's all about music. Incredible musicians, night and day. Unbelievable performances. And connecting with "our kind." Finally, a whole week of not having to explain what the heck I'm so into. We all get each other there.
And within one or two days the same thing becomes obvious to me again: I love to sing.
I love it so much. It's all I want to do. It's all I've ever wanted to do. And of course that scares the shit out of me. Being a professional singer was always the dream, and I never took it seriously. That would be irresponsible. I'd never make a decent living. It's best as just a hobby. But here I end up miserable in job after job after job, wondering what I'm supposed to do when I grow up. And the answer is always the same, just sitting there patiently, to hit me again and again: sing, goddamn it. Just sing.
...
That's all I've got. I don't know what to do with it. Except to still get a job, harrumph, so I can support my habits. I really want to go to Bulgaria for a few months, learn the language, study singing, finally get a full sense of the country and culture.