I'm a little bit whimsy. I'm a little bit doom & gloom.

Bonus points if you can guess the song without googling the lyrics.

I get it. My writing has been lagging lately. My posts have been bleak.

The honest truth is that the doom & gloom essays are the ones I’m most hesitant to post. They’re the least fun to write.

Trouble is, the state of the world is all-consuming. Every time I take my eyes off it, I'm ambushed. By this logic, if I stay locked in, I won't be surprised.

I'll admit, I often fall prey to the overwhelm of the daily news cycle. According to historian Timothy Snyder, the dysregulation is the point so that citizens resign into a "stunned apathy."

“Get your nose out of the news,” you might say.

Darlin, I wish I could.

As I mentioned in my last post, I feel a sort of propensity toward many things I can’t control. It’s the plight of an empathic observer.

Alas, there’s hope for me yet. In the little things. For those of you who think my melancholy and righteous indignation are my whole personality…think again!

There is more to me.

I’m going to share something quite vulnerable with you, dear reader. The other day, I imagined myself talking to an older version of myself: the wise old crone who knows exactly the kind of advice I need.

Feeling despondent by my lackluster regard for creative writing of late, I asked her, “What is my purpose in this moment?”

She answered, “You will write when inspiration strikes. You’ll be gentle with the soft heart you’ve been blessed with. It is a most beautiful gift. You know what makes you happy; do more of that.”

And it resonated with the present me.

I discovered that I love singing.

It all started at Bob’s work Christmas party. The two ladies who planned the event know who they are. They’re to blame for making me this way. (Ahem, Alyson and Becca).

They insisted that karaoke be added to the festivities. Knowing this ahead of time, I practiced a song on the off-chance I'd be feeling brave that night. In fact, I didn't tell Bob of my plans.

My whole life, I’ve sung in choirs and small groups. Solos? Not so much. For quite some time, my mind had been stuck on a moment when I had a solo part in a church performance. My turn came. I opened my mouth to sing. Nothing came out.

I was as confused as anyone.

So I did what any embarrassed teen might do: pretend to be overtaken by emotion and lower my head.

Fast forward through years of people-pleasing nonsense, and I've decided that there's literally nothing to lose. If no sound comes out, I’ll keep singing until it does.

“Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing.” -The Carpenters

Karaoke is exactly the unserious, whimsical hobby to find me in this moment.

The night of the Christmas party, I gathered my courage and sang, “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” dedicated to Bob, my sweetheart of 25 years, in front of his bosses and co-workers. (It's a sad, longing song--shhh, the title still works.)

The great thing is, the music is so loud, the liquor is flowing, and nobody expects anyone to be any good, so there really is no reason not to sing.

Now I sing every day. I practice at home with the karaoke machine purchased by one of my enablers. For real, Alyson, thank you!

A few bars in town have karaoke nights. After hopping around, I found the perfect one. Bob and I go every Monday night, and I look forward to it like it’s a new pair of shoes.

(Speaking of new shoes, I got these Mary Janes and I'm obsessed.)

Bob sings with me now, too. His musically proficient family gave him the gift that keeps on giving, and now this is something we enjoy together.

What whimsical activity that serves no other purpose than to bring you joy have you been wanting to indulge in?

What are you waiting for?

“You know what makes you happy. Do more of that.”

P.S. And if it’s karaoke, drop me a line and I'll see you there.