I Like to Sing, and I'm Not Good at It

Or how to enjoy things you suck at

Photo by Felix Koutchinski on Unsplash

“You like to sing, don’t you?”

Jason said this to me, early in our relationship, as we sped down the road in my car, and I sang along to the radio. He said it as an observation and with a smile in his voice.

“Yes! Yes, I do.”

I remember this moment because it’s sweet and endearing when someone notices some simple thing you like to do, something you were doing without even thinking about it, completely unselfconscious for one rare adult moment. Someone appreciating that, irrespective of your talent level, you like to do this thing.

My whole life, I’ve been told I can’t sing.

My mom sings well, and she was often the one telling me this. Her intent was along the lines of, “You don’t have to be good at EVERYTHING.” This is wisdom that sometimes served me well. As a kid who excelled academically if I put in just a little effort, I remember feeling consternation at not being able to score better in handwriting, despite my best efforts. When Mom shrugged at my grade and asked, “Can the teacher read your writing? Yes? Well, then that’s good enough, isn’t it?” it released me from obsessing over perfect cursive “s’s” in a way that was freeing. By high school, I had developed my own brand of mixed print and cursive and did not concern myself with handwriting grades. But as the years went on, as she harped on the fact that I did not sing well….

That’s what I focused on. I considered it something of a tragedy that I naturally internalized every lyric I heard on the radio but could not carry a tune well enough to belt out a convincing cover of Total Eclipse of the Heart.

As an adult, I began to suspect I actually did not sing that badly.

I wasn’t American Idol material, but if I sang a few bars of Invisible Touch, people at least knew what it was. High school band had fine-tuned my ear for music enough to be practical.

But when Jason said, “You like to sing,” my whole perspective on my musical vocalizations shifted. I DO like to sing. And it doesn’t matter whether or not I do it well. I like to sing along to the radio in the car. I hum under my breath while I cook dinner. It feels good, soothing, uplifting, the way escaping the sweltering heat by diving into the coolness of a pool and swimming underwater does.

Culturally, we spend a lot of time focusing on “excellence.”

We value ability — athletic, academic, economic. But what about just enjoying something for its own sake? My fun has sometimes been hampered by knowing I wasn’t particularly good at a thing I was trying to enjoy.

I played softball when I was younger, and I was mediocre at best, but I loved being up to bat — the sound of the ball hitting the bat, running the bases gave me delicious chills. But when Javier (my ex-husband) asked me to let the guy next to me in center field catch the fly balls, I was annoyed, hurt and angry. It took something away from my enjoyment of the game. It was casual intramural ball, and I wanted to PLAY, not just stand there being a requisite statue girl so we could call it co-ed. He wasn’t wrong about my ability; I caught a fly ball maybe half the time, but he was wrong to ask me not to try.

The next time you’re doing something just for good vibes, notice if you pay more attention to your ability, or lack thereof, than the sheer, childlike fun of it. How does that affect your enjoyment?

Often, I’ve heard people issue caveats about things they like to do: “Yes, I paint, sort of. I mean, I’m not any good at it, but…” When perhaps the point is, “Yes, I really like to paint. It relaxes me, relieves my stress.”

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Let’s focus more on fun.

Perhaps this is something we can pass on to our children. We can notice when they enjoy something and express that fun as value, separate from how adept they are at it. Ability and enjoyment do often go hand-in-hand, and sometimes enjoyment leads to increased ability, but not everything needs to be about “getting better.”

Several years ago, I noticed our oldest child would go out on the driveway and shoot hoops after school every day. Toward the end of the school year, I asked him if he’d like me to sign him up for a basketball camp over the summer.

“No, Mom. I just like shooting baskets in the driveway.”

It was a stress reliever for him — a way to process his school day and transition to being at home. I imagine the rhythm of dribbling and the sound of basketball bouncing on the concrete driveway were calming. He did not want or need to take classes or improve his skills; he simply wanted to enjoy them.

Fun and skill often do go hand-in-hand.

There are lots of things I do well that I also enjoy — writing, gardening, organizing closets. But there are also things I love to do for other reasons — swimming laps at the neighborhood pool, sewing and singing in the car. These are not things I care about being particularly good at, and it’s nice not to let fear of looking inept ruin my enjoyment.

I am a slow swimmer, but I love the way my body feels moving through the water. I am an uncreative sewer, but I feel satisfied when I mend some piece of family clothing — a favorite pair of jeans or a well-loved shirt rescued from turning into scraps. And singing, well, I just love it. I do it naturally. It’s hard NOT to sing along to a song when I know the lyrics, and I know the lyrics to most of them. There’s something primal about it, the feeling of singing, especially with others — like when a whole yoga class full of varied high and low voices chant “Om.”

So be free, enjoy singing off-key, painting something no one is going to want to buy, playing a sport for the sheer enjoyment of the way your body feels doing it. It is rejuvenating not to always be focused on improvement goals. Give it a try.