I was surprised at how quickly my mood changed after I started singing--even though, as always, most of the people at Dundas were non-reactive yesterday.
One kind man who stopped and chatted with me reflected on how reserved people are in Toronto. He pointed out that in European cities--and in Montreal and parts of the Maritimes--singers like me would attract a crowd. We laughed when we noticed that when he stopped, thus creating a crowd, the people walking by were suddenly more interested. (When he left, they ignored me again. That's okay...I'm used to it.)
Even so, making positive and genuine connections with even a few people was enough to change my mood.
In any crowd, the number of people who connect with me is always a small fraction of the whole. Because the show must go on, no matter how little money is coming in, subway performance is essentially a form of public service. In my experience, there's no better way to get out of a self-centred and self-defeating thought pattern than by giving something away.
Singing in the subway forces me to focus on giving instead of receiving. (It's not that I don't want to receive...it's just that I always give at least as much as I get.) It also forces me to live in the present.
When I'm singing on any stage, no matter how humble, I'm not worrying about success or status. I'm not comparing myself to others. I'm not worrying about the future or negatively evaluating the choices I've made in the past. In the immediacy of the song, I am never dissatisfied.
I am fully in the Now, and it is enough.
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When I am not out singing, I observe that a new worry has just been added to my "fret list":
Auditioning for next year.
In just a few weeks, the TTC will be accepting applications for the 2005-2006 Subway Musicians program.
I find myself, simultaneously, worrying that I might not get in again and wondering if it's something I want to continue.
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