The parable of the singing competition
Sometimes, inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places. Of all things, a Taiwanese singing competition on cable TV has led me into a season of reflection.
Week after week, the contestants came under harsh media scrutiny, and were subjected to the exacting standards of the panel of judges. Nothing seemed to escape the judges’ attention, from the choice of song, to the dance moves, to the execution of each note. At stake were a cash prize and a recording contract. Some contestants cracked under the high pressure. Weak singers were eliminated. Many tears were shed. The favourites were also kicked out, only to return to the competition through a revival round.
Time and again, the judges, who were themselves veteran musicians, challenged the young contestants. Sing like you mean it, from the heart. Every chance to perform on stage is a privilege. Break out of old and stale boundaries. Aim for technical perfection. But beyond that, let the song express the soul within the artist.
And in some way, I could see the contestants trying so very hard to excel at their craft. They were young people in their early twenties. Now that I have crossed into the thirties, I felt like a big sister as I watched them perform. I felt strangely impressed.
I wondered why. Slowly it dawned on me. I felt drawn to the show because I was seeing something very precious unraveling – perhaps something that may be missing from my life.
It takes a lot of guts to declare your vocation in front of a global audience, and be held accountable to high standards continually. There is no face saving exit, no plan B, no two ways about it. You have declared your intentions and staked everything on a course of action. You may win and be adored, or lose it all. What does it take to do something like that?
Pure, unbridled, raw passion. Total, singleminded devotion. A steadfastness of purpose. A public commitment to honour and develop one’s gifts.
And the opposite of the above?
Being deliberately ambiguous about one’s purposes and goals to keep embarrassment at bay. I never said I wanted to be or do anything significant, so you can’t say I failed.
Being half-hearted about pursuing a course of action. If I don’t make it, it’s because I never was really serious or sure anyway.
Neglecting to truly develop one’s unique gifts, sometimes out of false humility, or to cushion one from the humiliation of possible failure. Ditto.
Maybe the maturing and mellowing that comes with age is a terrible, terrible two-edged sword. So-called life experiences become excuses for not living life with passion and abandonment. Older people have fought more battles, and often experienced more defeat. They have a longer list of what not to do, and what doesn’t work. Soon, such experiences become a worldview, a dogma, a fixed pattern of deliberation and evaluation. There is no more room for passion. It is like dying a slow death without even knowing it.
The past one and a half years of being here has aged me considerably. So many things have not worked despite the best of intentions and the sowing of great effort, that I daily pace that thin line between passion and “experience”.
If I had to declare what my life passion is, honestly, clearly, specifically, without considering the possibility of failure, what would I say?
Is it a good or bad thing that I find this question hard to answer?
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