The delightfully crisp evening air whispers and tickles as I laugh into a cloudless sky. A pleasant breeze blows away the chafing grit of chronic stress and fatigue. The angst of impending deadlines and the weight of daily misfortunes momentarily vanish. Instantly, my mind becomes blank as the sidewalk under my skipping feet.

“Gah! I feel so good!” My wide range of vocabulary fails me as the indescribable simplicity of life sings a wordless chorus of emancipation. Pure ecstasy swirls and swells within me; waves of bliss surge beyond my control. A horrendous, drawn-out “Woooaoaoaohh—” erupts from the depths of my lungs and my jolly friends join me in gleefully belting an inharmonious rendition of our favorite mediocre pop song.
Singing provides an outlet for pent-up emotions. By expelling burdensome negative emotions of discouragement and defeatism, one becomes rejuvenated with a revitalizing force.

During grueling orchestra rehearsals full of mind-taxing tasks, I often find myself encumbered with a slew of wimpy, whiny thoughts. The violin has bored a hole into my neck and the whole of my body aches from slouching in my uncomfortable plastic chair. Nonetheless, my internal petty protestations are abruptly interrupted by the conductor. The baton is up, the downbeat given. As the fanfare of brass rings out of polished bells, an invisible invigorating force straightens my spine and focuses my mind. Lifting the wooden instrument, my violin feels weightless. Throwing my fingers along the neck of my violin, my shifts feel effortless. My violin is an extension of my inner voice, singing so easily, so beautifully.

However, music does not always project happiness and beauty; it encompasses pain and grief as well. Singing allows one to convey such potent emotions with immense, stirring depth.

Staring into the crowd, I feel the familiar isolation. I am scared, lonely and terribly burdened. A million thoughts plague my pitiable brain while the audience waits and stares. What if it’s all out of tune? What if my memory slips? My entire concentration fixes on my ice-cold fingers and sweaty palms. Making eye-contact with the pianist, I give him a nervous nod.

Suddenly, the solemn strike of the piano transports me. As I inhale and pull the melancholy resonance from my instrument, I am not thinking about which finger goes where on what string; I am not thinking. From my violin soar the cries against the injustices of oppression. My own voice sings, mourning the loss of virtue, staggering against the corruption of humanity, and I have become an artist, a creator of something from nothing.

Now, though the performance has ended, the music within me has not. Stepping outside, I feel the night air tugging at the corners of my mouth, my happiness exponentially gaining momentum. I inhale deeply and the catharsis begins. Singing possesses the ability not only to release irrepressible feelings, but also to revive a weary individual into someone who embraces life with passionate vivacity.