Someday I will sing out loud ...

Someday I will sing out loud like no one is listening, even when they are.  And when I do, I will remember the young man at Michael's craft store who taught me my first awkward notes.

Trying to tack a quick shopping trip unto the end of a long day, I was already busy thinking about what awaited me at home, trapped in that internal frantic making of "to-do" lists.    As I rounded a corner at full tilt, I could hear someone singing very loudly and very off key.  Annoyed, I looked up to see a grown man-child staring off into some other world, a blissful smile on his face as he crooned some unrecognizable tune.  Next to him, a calm, motherly woman stood, ignoring the sounds and quietly shopping.

 Cute, I thought, through my throttled annoyance.  I had my list and the clock was ticking, so I murmured some quick pleasantry to his mom and moved on, face tight and focused.

 But it seems I could not get away from that song.  I could not see the young man, but his voice filtered back to the picture frames and curled around the DIY projects and resounded through the clearance aisles. And, as luck would have it, his voice was right behind me, singly loudly and off key, in the line that snaked far too long past the lone checker available to us all.  This was going to be a long, loud wait.

 Patience is not my gift, but in an attempt at self-improvement, I made myself turn around to engage with his mom.  As he roared into song again, something in me wanted to help her know that this singing was a beautiful thing, even if I was having a difficult time feeling that way today.

 So I joined him.  I just followed his meandering voice and for a few moments sang as loudly and as off key as I could with him.

 He stopped perplexed.  In an inarticulate voice I heard him as he turned to his mom.

 "What is she doing?" he asked,  a small look of panic in his eyes.

 "She's singing WITH you," mom said as she smiled at him.

 He looked at me, his eyes a little vacant and turned away, and I finished my transaction and turned again to the young man.

 "Thank you for sharing your song."

 He looked at his mom puzzled. She gazed back into his face and lovingly said, "She liked your song."

 This man-child looked right into my eyes with unexpected clarity and maturity.  His voice clear and focused, without a trace of impediment, he held my gaze.

 "Thank you."  

Just that...and then he smiled, and his face fell back into that vague dreaminess.  But in those two words, here is what I heard:  

 Thank you for noticing me...for hearing my song.

 And here is what I hope my heart spoke back to him:  

 It is okay to sing out loud for no reason.  It is okay to let go of the rush of life and participate in small moments of joy.  It is okay to lift your voice simply because you can, because you are alive, and this breathing moment is the only one we are guaranteed.

 Someday, my breathing moments will be gone, as they will for all of us.  For the ones I have left, I hope to let go of the tyranny of worry and rush and remember this:  Dance, as the poster says, as if no one is watching.   Sing out loud as if no one is listening.  And in your impatient, I-don’t–have–time-for-this moments, push pause...look deeply...and simply say,

Thank you.