There is no rehearsal for living; It's one big improvisation. We wake up inside a symphony that we didn't write, choose, or ever hear before; The chaotic, astounding beauty and breathe-taking ache of life. Fear says, "Sit still." Paralysis by not-knowingness. "What will THEY think," it wonders, "Of our dissonance?"
"Sing. Sing anyway!" Hope retorts. "Sing out of rhythm, out of tune, a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants melody. Listen, learn. Listen to your own voice, listen to the sweetness of the violins, and the lament of badly tuned guitars; listen to the shouts and the cries, and the magic of an unexpected harmony. And then, whatever you can offer, sing. Sing the best version of you. That's all you can do."
"Sing. Sing anyway!" Hope retorts. "Sing out of rhythm, out of tune, a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants melody. Listen, learn. Listen to your own voice, listen to the sweetness of the violins, and the lament of badly tuned guitars; listen to the shouts and the cries, and the magic of an unexpected harmony. And then, whatever you can offer, sing. Sing the best version of you. That's all you can do."
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