"Am I doing it wrong?"

Midway through belting out the lyrics, ‘My thooooughts, words, and ah-ah-ctions are a mirror for my souuuullllll,’ I noticed the woman next to me had her head cocked in my direction.

(For those new here, I’ve joined an adult singing circle that utilises positive psychology to rewire our brains. How was your Tuesday evening?).

As the song warbled on, she became more animated; her presence infused with drama. Desperate to avoid eye contact — especially on the brink of the next line, ‘Own it, make it, reeee-create it, my purpose is to growwwwww’ — I kept my gaze ahead and soildered through the song. But the energy of her gleam was undeniable. She was basically serenading me.

Eventually, I gave in and turned to look at her. We locked eyes just in time for the second-to-last line, and in perfect sync, bellowed, ‘Together we will… Spread our wings. To the sky. Rise up. Lift each otherrrrr high!’

Suddenly, it dawned on me. Since our smaller group had been assigned harmonies, her effervescent performance was probably a tactic to coax me back on to the correct pitch. My heart sank.

During the next lyrical gap in our anthem, I whispered, “Am I singing it wrong?”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “No.”

“Not at all. I was just trying to encourage you to sing louder.”

This moment reminded me how vastly different – opposing, even – the stories of the mind can be to the objective reality of a situation. Kelly (or was it Kerry?) wasn’t trying to soften the blow that my singing was out of tune, she was just trying to connect with me – in her own way.

It made me think: In how many instances have I believed that I was being judged, criticised, or attacked when really the people around me were, in fact, just trying to help? Or, more likely, minding their own business? How many false assumptions have I made at the expense of exploring my own creativity?

When I zoom out of my own personal responsibility, it’s the plight of the lineage of women I come from; always afraid the world is out to get them. Their inner voices so harsh and loud, they have attributed them to the outside world. Ironically, the energy of being so terrified has made these women difficult to be around and so, in some ways, the world has abandoned them.

But this is not exclusive to my family. This is a trait that has been reflected back to me in many of the women I’ve crossed paths with. Their brilliance buried beneath layers of self-protection. Their weapons always ready to defend. Their minds perpetually conditioned to expect disapproval. I can detect it with razor-sharp accuracy… because I have it, too.

Sometimes I wonder if there’s enough time in a single life to reprogram all the negativity of the mind. But then I remember that the mind is complex, beautiful, messy, unpredictable – and often – negative, but it’s all part of the conscious experience.

In fact, depending on what your theory of what consciousness is, the dynamic nature of the individual mind may just reflect the chaos of the multifaceted, collective human experience. It’s compelling that in Byron Bay, on a Tuesday evening, a group of eccentric nerds listen for the harmonies on songs about lifting each other up, while 12,500 km away in Tehran, families listen for the sound of drones and explosions.

Darkness is inescapable.

I’ve come to realise one important thing as a creative: completely cleansing the mind of fear is impossible, but observing it with curiosity – and choosing (because you have the privilege) to move forward despite it – is not only achievable, but imperative. My insecurities are welcome to drift down the river of my awareness, and then return to the ocean of the collective psyche, where they no longer belong to me. Thanks very much.

For a second I stood there, eyeballing Kelly (or Kerry), suspended between relief and embarrassment. But the music pressed on, our gaze was broken and the feeling of a phew rippled through me.

The lyrics ensured. This time, I sang like I meant it.

‘Rise up. Find strength. In who weeeee are. Together, we’ll go farrrrrr!’

Until next week, my loves,

Paige xo.

P.S. If you think there is someone who might relate to my stories, send ‘em this link to subscribe 💟 https://paigeleacey.beehiiv.com/subscribe

P.P.S. Piano banger from this week: Berceuse to Felix Rösch
https://open.spotify.com/track/4W11ykVxHguZTyd30ckgLh?si=20bbb359cce44edf