My Instrument

Choir was a required class where I went to school—a tiny, seriously tiny private Catholic school in Wheat Ridge, Colorado. My graduating class had eight students… or nine… that’s damn small. Colorado Catholic Academy (CCA) also had the gift of a parent, Mrs. Murray, who was a former opera singer with skills for dealing with rambunctious children and an ear for beautiful harmonies. I am so grateful to have had such intense, professional-level vocal training as a youngster. Yet another huge advantage of my private school education—and one I didn’t fully appreciate until much later.

I can still hear the echoing harmonies of “Hark How the Bells”—ding dong, ding dong indeed. Of course, we sang the Latin Mass frequently, and in my senior year we were gifted the training and ability to compete in statewide vocal competitions. Our duets, trios, and quartets—even my solo—won recognition and first-place medals. Our spring program in 1983 was a veritable treasure of vocal bliss (yes, I hear myself… very earnest, very choir-kid). After that concert, I received huge praise for my solo—apparently my voice blended so well in the harmony pieces that no one knew I had a lovely voice of my own. I was a soprano. Period. My ear is glued to the melody, and harmonizing? Nope. I lose my line every single time. Translation: I suck at ad-libbing harmony. And you know what? That’s fine. I’m a soloist. Always have been. Which tracks nicely with my introversion, honestly.

When I was driving all over the place for my senior move management business, I carried a mash-up book of lyrics to my favorite songs—typed, scribbled, printed, whatever worked. My eyes never left the road for texting, but glancing at lyrics and belting them out was another matter entirely. Distracted driving? Perhaps. Deeply therapeutic singing at full volume? Absolutely. And I loved every minute of it. My instrument has matured now… I’m more of a tenor? I have a wild range and a big breath (which also comes in handy for swimming underwater from one end of the pool to the other—useful life skill, highly underrated).

When we moved to our forever home, I was blown away by the acoustics in the great room and instantly discovered the Ultimate Guitar Tabs app, which allowed me to adjust the key of any song I like and pull up chords for whatever I felt like singing. Disclaimer: my barre chords still suck. My fingers get raw quickly, even with daily practice, and guitar playing was never the joy that singing is to me. Full disclosure: I took guitar as a kid and excelled—but didn’t stick with it. The story of my young life. I can add speech competitions, cycling, climbing (yes, onto the roof for a quick puff—wink), horses, tennis, swimming, and karate to the long and noble list of short-lived pastimes I explored with enthusiasm and then quietly abandoned.

Thank God for Mrs. Murray… she pretty much forced me over the hump from rote practice to appreciation to joyful play with my vocal instrument. Guitar and harmonizing never quite made it there. And here’s the thing I finally noticed: I’ve been treating guitar like a prerequisite. Like I’m not allowed to sing unless I can also play. Who made that rule? Not me. Apparently, people-pleasing perfectionism did. So I gave myself permission to sing without the guitar. Radical concept. I love a cappella singing. I can do that.

I was driving from somewhere to somewhere else the other day—because of course I was—enjoying the scenery, when it hit me: I can let go of the guitar and keep the singing. That’s the win. My word for 2026 is Confidence, and this time it isn’t aspirational or decorative—it’s directional. Confidence clarified my intention and crystallized a desire I’ve been circling for years: to express freely, to use the incredible instrument nature gave me, and to enjoy whatever unfolds from that honesty. With that clarity, I called my vocal teacher, Francesca, and set up weekly lessons, again. Francesca and I have gone on and off, in fits and starts, for years. I totally own this, BTW. This time I know exactly why I’m showing up—to build my confidence and wallow in the joy of singing balls out, with perfect pitch, of course! (NOT!)

The vibrations in the body achieved by singing are fabulous. Addictive? Possibly. Jury’s still out. Music has been missing from my repertoire of routines and practices, and letting go of guitar makes the vocal doable. Is that weird? Why yes, Laurie, you’re definitely a little crazy. And also: onto something.

So while people-pleasing perfectionism gets to sit this one out—and whatever vague expectation of being that woman who can play guitar, sing, and harmonize while entertaining coworkers, friends, or campground Field Guide travellers—I’m opting out. I can’t be Hope or Bob or Bob Hope (my once-upon-a-time SNAP coworkers will get that reference; the rest of you… consider it an Easter egg). I can, however, be me.

I can enjoy the acoustics in my own great room, my car, the shower, or the great outdoors. Funny how comparing followed me everywhere too—and just as funny how the freedom of not comparing does the same. Both are portable. Both show up wherever I do. The difference is which one I choose to acknowledge.

Let go to gain. Focus on the joy—and notice what I’ve installed to short-circuit or postpone it. Notice what feels good. Notice what gets in the way of more of that. That’s the work. Not fixing. Not proving. Just paying attention, and choosing accordingly.  My instrument wasn’t hiding. It was waiting for me to drop the clipboard. ​ Sing, silly girl, just sing!

Field Guide Rule #23: Awareness is where the thieves of joy come to die. 

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