If you asked me why I stopped singing I might give you one of these answers.
- I was in it for the wrong reasons, and because of that, grew impatient.
- My voice deteriorated, singing became difficult and disappointing, so I lost interest. It would take a lot of work to be able to perform the amount I used to at the same quality.
- With all the distractions, I couldn't get serious about it in my first year of college.
I think it's a mixture of these things and maybe a couple more. So when those memories pop up, I bury them in some new hole, covered by a fresh layer of newly manufactured excuses.
I don't know how to identify with the mistakes I've made in this area of my life, or how to categorize all the foregone opportunities. I don't want to call it failure, because I know I'm too young to have actually failed at anything. Only death throws the gavel down. Who's to say that my every wrong won't be made right before I leave this world.
Even if I'm given just 10 years more on this Earth, I hope I'll have already circled back to jazz and cried into the microphone some more, being broadcast from some antenna somewhere, or before an audience who claps not because it's customary but because my performance has caused their hands to spontaneously collide.
Maybe you'll hear my ridiculous, clumsy guitar playing again. My voice'll come out with a limp, and fall flat on the ground instead of making every molecule within range vibrate in agreement the way it used to. This is just the sound of my life malfunctioning a little, with a past too big to throw away, and yet too much a part of me to ignore.