I recently fell in love with a song and decided to buy the performance track.

Waiting for it to arrive, I sang to the original recording over and over. I tried to make it my own with little vocal inflections here and holding the note out longer, there.

In an effort of full disclosure, I must tell you that due to a little bit of modesty, my husband has never really heard my *performance* voice. You know, the voice you bust out in the car, or while you’re vacuuming. The voice that you know would get you a recording contract if that was really something you wanted. But since you don’t want your life uprooted, you hold that voice in. You save it, tucked away. A little secret that reminds you of the sacrifice you are making for the chosen normalcy of your life with family and friends. I made that personal choice long ago. But this song was too good. And with the purchase of the performance track, I was finally ready to let my husband know what I gave up for a life with him and the kids.

I practiced the song in private. That way, I could surprise my husband with a special performance… a debut of this hidden talent. I wanted the roll out to be spectacular!

I don’t know about you, but I found that my voice performs best in the shower. It could be the steam lubricating my vocal cords or the slight echo to both the higher and lower registers created from the tile walls. Whatever it is, after a week of practice, I was more than ready to *KILL* the song when the performance track was finally delivered.

The anticipation ended today with the “ding-dong” of our doorbell. The performance track was here, and the excitement was almost too much to handle. I could hardly feel my legs beneath my body as I ran to take the box from the delivery man. He could see the expectancy on my face when I grabbed the treasure from his hands. I had to stop myself from inviting him in to share in the big reveal.

Staring down at the track, questions were reeling inside of my head. Do I want to change my clothes first? Should I wait until tonight? No, I can’t hold it in any longer. This has to happen now. So, I put the CD into the player to queue up the track and I pressed play.

As the intro began, I thought, maybe I should run through it just one time as a “warm-up”. The first verse chords played and I opened my mouth to unleash the stifled genius.

I started to sing, making mental notes of minor adjustments I’d need to make in order to really secure the sound I wanted to share. The second verse was even better. “Yes!” I thought. This is going to be everything I dreamed it would be. My husband is going to love it, and love me. He’s going to say that he needs to quit his job and become my producer. He’ll want to support my gift and sacrifice everything for it.

I’ll tell him, “That’s not necessary, my love.” Because I don’t want that life. I want to be a homemaker. I’m not looking for any glitz and glamour. He will look at me with eyes of admiration at my most honorable decision.

I finished the song with a killer high note, and then walked downstairs to get my husband.

Our eyes met and I said, “Honey, I want you to come upstairs and hear something.”

“I already heard it,” he said. “What was that?! Were you watching a youtube video of ‘American Idol Rejects’ or something? Send me that link… I was rollin’ down here.”