Leipzig, Dec. 26, 2005
Last week, a prospective Fulbright Fellow came to Leipzig as one stop on a tour of Germany. She had traveled here with a friend to look at a number of schools and teachers, mine included, to determine where she would choose, if selected for the grant. My teacher wanted to know if I would meet with her, to talk about my experiences. I was looking forward to discussing what it was like to live in Germany and attend the Hochschule.
The pair had gotten lost coming to the school, and were a bit behind schedule. Instead of talking to the Fulbright applicant, I ended up conversing more with her friend. Looking to just pass the time, I asked her about what she was doing in the United States, and she replied that she was a graduate voice student at a rather prominent school of music known especially for its vocal program. My curiosity was piqued. Even though I hadn’t applied there, I had always wondered what it must be like. She said that she’d really enjoyed it, but was scared.
Faced with graduating in May, she felt like she wasn’t as far along as she should be. She hadn’t sung any major roles at the school, something that weighed heavily on her. She thought that maybe she’d missed her opportunity to have a career, and was too old to get started. I asked her how old she was, and I had to hide my astonishment when she told me.
How could she be too old at 24? What did that make me, at the age of 27?
I’d only started to tell her that she was still quite young when my teacher came out with the Fulbright applicant. We talked for a while, I wished her best of luck with the process, and then the two of them left.
Meeting with the applicant made me pause and think about my life now, over here, as a Fulbrighter—but it was the conversation with her friend that has stuck with me.
When I announced to my extended family that I had been awarded a Fulbright and would be heading to Germany to study for a year, one of my uncles looked at me, and with a very serious look on his face, said, “When are you going to be done studying and actually start singing?” I was so taken aback that I couldn’t even reply. I just walked away. I was too ashamed and embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t have agreed with him more: When was I going to be ready?
For so long, the point of me being a singer was to go out and be a star. I wanted to be the best opera singer ever to come from Iowa. (Laugh if you want, but there are a number of them!) I hurried through my bachelor’s and master’s, trying to get to some specific place that meant I’d made it. But when I finally graduated, I realized that I didn’t actually know that much about singing. Despite having had nothing but good teachers, I didn’t have much of a clue about technique.
It sounds incredibly cheesy and clichéd, but the truth is, it’s only now, in my late 20s, that I feel I’m starting to figure out who I am, and what I want from life. I’m discovering how my body works and why it works that way. And because a singer’s voice is inextricably tied to her body, it wasn’t until now that I’ve been able to actually learn what my teachers have been trying to teach me.
I’ve always been a late bloomer, but I don’t think I’m so far behind in this respect. Sure, I have a few friends who have achieved some measure of success by 27, but I have far more who are still trying to get their voices and bodies to line up.
A dear friend of mine is nearing the age of 30, and she’s still waiting for her big break. Her problem is that her voice—a rather massive, dramatic soprano—belongs to someone older. She’s auditioned time and again, and she always hears the same thing: great voice, great musician, great look. But she never gets the role. She’s still too young. In a short while, she will finally catch up to her voice, and then she’ll be unstoppable. She only needs time.
Taking time. I feel like I might be incriminating my alma mater when I write this, but it’s not that: It’s something that I think they understand over here. Being where I am in my studies at the age of 27 is pretty common in Germany. And I don’t feel the need to hurry up and learn as quickly as I can, to get my degree in a set amount of time because I feel pressured to be an international opera star by 30.
Now that I’m not so worried about hurrying up, I’m actually learning how to sing—and in the end, really, isn’t that the goal? I can’t deny that being Iowa’s most famous opera star would be cool, but it would only be icing on the cake.
