November often strikes me as a bittersweet month. Another year almost finished, with the promise of a new one rearing up to start. But the start of the new year comes with the knowledge that I will have another birthday half-way through – and be a year older. With only two months left in 2024, did I accomplish anything? Did I live fully? Did I appreciate what’s most important?

I wrote recently about the summer vocal workshops that I attend. This past October I attended another vocal workshop – one totally different from the summer gatherings. This one is held in Woodstock, New York – in a studio nestled in the woods in the mountains. We were a group of nine – attendance is capped at ten. Three of us were repeat attendees – this being my fourth experience – so it was a reunion of sorts. It wasn’t long, though, before the other six became fast friends with the three of us as we quickly got to know each other.

This workshop is based on “finding one’s voice”, which can mean many, many different things besides singing. It’s run by Claude Stein, the founder of “The Natural Singer Workshops”. The day starts with vocal warmups and then with singing together. No written music – just lyrics are provided. Music of all kinds – old chestnuts, popular tunes from every decade, folk songs, spirituals – with everyone harmonizing however one chooses. No rules – no judgment – anything goes – just the melding of our voices as Claude accompanies on piano.

As the day progresses everyone is required to stand up and sing a song – a solo of one’s choice. The levels of courage and bravery vary – with some people confidently belting out a rock song and others timidly singing a ballad so softly that we’d all have to strain to hear. So many lessons here. Some of us were dealing with “old tapes” running through our heads from childhood where we were afraid to be seen and heard. Others remembered being told to “just mouth the words” in their school musical performances and still carried feelings of deep shame and hadn’t sung a note since. Others were convinced they were tone deaf. And others were simply afraid of being criticized and judged.

After each song, Claude worked his magic. With his unique combination of musicality and innate intuition, he was able to tease out what each singer needed. The rock singer was instructed to sing it again – this time as a lullaby to a baby. It was beautiful to see the soft, tender side of this singer – and the tears streaming down her face as she realized that she no longer needed to hide or protect her softer side had us all reaching for the Kleenex.

The timid singers were asked to repeat their songs imagining that they were rock stars or truck drivers or care-free little children, or to dance or march around the room while singing – anything to get them to laugh and put aside their fears. Claude has all kinds of tricks up his sleeve to help us “get over ourselves”.

I’ve had to hold Home Depot buckets full of water up on stage during my solos in years past, the heavy weight helping me to stay grounded and present and to remind me to use my whole body and not just my vocal cords when I sing. This year he invited me to play with the timing and to sing out-of-rhythm on my songs – to free me from always trying to “cross my T’s and dot my I’s” as he put it. To think less and feel more. To help me find the freedom to allow my authentic voice out into the world.

After each singer finished we went around the room and the rest of us commented with a positive and honest affirmation – truthful words as we witnessed each person’s shining moment – the transformation – the self-realization – the beauty and the wonder. Lots of laughter, lots of tears, lots of love – celebrating everyone’s successes.

We each presented five solos – one a day – and each day was a new beginning with new chances to explore and grow. I sang three original songs – one about a childhood memory called “If Only”, and two others called “Sanctuary” and “Journey” – songs in which I tried to convey messages of hope and comfort. I wrote the lyrics and Claude wrote the music – all done through previous voice lessons with him on Zoom.

There were lighter moments, too – Claude on the piano as each of us composed a lyric – tagging onto the line created by the previous person – until we had a crazy, humorous, fully-formed jazz song that we collectively improvised.

We sang outside at times, under the vast blue sky with leaves drifting down and gently surrounding us in a kaleidoscope of colors. We spent time drumming outside, too, using drums of all shapes and sizes, rattles, and percussion sticks – again against the mountain backdrop of autumn’s splendor. I could almost see Native American shamans slowly appearing out of the woods – called by our collective heartbeat-like rhythms. At one point I looked up and saw an eagle silently soaring above us – was he called to join us, too?

One of the major milestones for me was Open Mic night at “The Colony” – a bar in Woodstock. We’ve attended every year and some of my friends have participated in the past. I’ve always been happy to be a spectator cheering my support from the audience. But this year, three of us got up and sang “The Rose”. We sang together on some lines, but each of us also sang parts of it alone – taking turns soloing. Me – lit up on stage in this old dark and dusky barn-like structure filled with people – very “Woodstock-like” and reminiscent of the hippie days of the 1960s. It was a momentous event that I never imagined myself doing in a million years. There was a woman sitting in the front row, her hands on her heart with tears streaming down her face. Perhaps she felt that we were giving her a gift, but her appreciation and expression of being deeply touched was a gift to me – one that eased my nerves and made my heart sing, too.

We spent our final day singing and laughing, vowing to stay connected, and with plans to reunite again “same time next year” in the cocoon of the mountains of Woodstock.

November – a time for reflection and gratitude. We’re never too old to try new things, to expand, to grow, and to learn. I’m grateful for my family, my friends, my home, and especially for good health. And for all things – autumn leaves, an eagle in flight, singing with friends, giving the gift of a song, and for chances to spread my wings still. And for opportunities to remember to appreciate and to live fully in all ways.