I've just returned from the most extraordinary musical adventure in Berlin, and I'm still buzzing from the experience!
Over the October half-term, I had the wonderful opportunity to join the World Choir, bringing together around 230 singers from 20 countries to rehearse and perform an incredible programme of music at the magnificent Konzerthaus Berlin, accompanied by Kammersymphonie Berlin and professional soloists.
It was quite unlike anything I've experienced before. The music, the people, the atmosphere and the sheer scale of it all were extraordinary. There were moments of laughter, moments of awe and more than a few moments when I found myself moved to tears. As I've been reflecting on my time there, I've realised that this adventure was meaningful to me on several levels. Beyond the wonderful experience of making music together, it also gave me an opportunity to recognise how much I've grown in confidence, and just how comfortable I've become in my own skin.
Finding my place among 230 voices
Before signing up, the prospect of joining a large group of people, none of whom I knew, was rather daunting. Although I've been singing with my local choir for ten years, this was something quite different. I'd be attending rehearsals on my own, surrounded by hundreds of singers from all over the world, and joining such a large group of strangers isn't ordinarily something I would feel inclined to do. Yet the more I looked at the repertoire and imagined being part of it, the more I knew it was something I wanted to experience
But one of the things that struck me during my time in Berlin was how comfortable I felt being there by myself. There were naturally groups of people who already knew each other, whether from previous World Choir events or through the online community. During breaks, people gathered in little groups, chatting and catching up. In the past, I think I might have felt quite self-conscious in that environment. I would have worried about appearing to be the loner, the person who didn't have anyone to sit with. I might have felt some pressure to make myself more sociable, to find a group to join, simply because I thought that was what I ought to do.
This time, I was perfectly happy to find myself a quiet corner at lunchtime and enjoy a little space away from the bustle of so many people. It wasn't that I didn't want to connect with others. I simply didn't feel the need to force it. I was comfortable being on the periphery, allowing conversations and connections to happen naturally.
And they did! I found myself chatting with people sitting nearby, some of whom had also travelled independently to take part. During rehearsals, I got to know the singers sitting around me. When we moved into our positions on stage, there were more opportunities to connect. I even befriended a lovely young man from the bass section who happened to be sitting next to me, and we've since connected on Facebook. These little interactions added so much to the experience.
It also made me reflect on how I've come to understand myself. I've often described myself as shy and something of a hermit, perhaps even a recluse at times. I genuinely enjoy my own company and need periods of quiet to recharge. But I also enjoy connecting with people. I can be sociable and outgoing, and I love discovering shared interests and experiences.
I think we sometimes have a tendency to define ourselves in rather fixed ways. We're either introverted or extroverted, sociable or solitary. Yet we're rarely quite so straightforward. We can enjoy our own company and still welcome connection. We can be quiet observers in one moment and enthusiastic participants in another. And perhaps that's one of the things I've come to appreciate about myself. I don't have to be one or the other. I can simply be myself, allowing different aspects of who I am to emerge naturally.
Learning to trust the process
Of course, there was also the small matter of actually singing!
We'd been given the music to learn in advance, and I'd spent time preparing for the event. I knew I'd put in the work, but there was still that little uncertainty about whether I'd know the music well enough or be able to keep up with everyone else.
And then came our first rehearsal. I don't think I'll ever forget hearing all those voices singing together for the first time. The standard was extraordinary. The richness of the harmonies, the power of the sound and the enthusiasm of everyone involved were quite overwhelming. I found myself getting emotional almost immediately, but alongside that emotion came a growing sense of reassurance that we were going to be okay.
Someone made an interesting observation during the event. Everyone there had chosen to participate. We'd paid to attend, travelled to Berlin and dedicated time to learning the music because we loved singing. We all wanted to make the most of the opportunity and do the best we could. And I was one of those people too.
I'd prepared my music. I knew my part, or at least enough to contribute and continue learning. Where I wasn't quite sure, I could listen, make adjustments and try again. I didn't have to get everything right immediately. I could make mistakes, learn from the sectional leads, follow the musical directors and trust that they knew how to bring everything together.
What I found particularly interesting was how naturally I began to surrender to that process. In the past, I've often felt the need to be in control, to take responsibility for making sure everything was okay. For a long time, I carried a belief that I had to hold everything together, and learning to loosen my grip on that responsibility has been an important part of my own personal journey.
Yet here I was, participating in something involving hundreds of people, and I wasn't responsible for holding it all together. I was responsible for learning my music, listening, following directions and making my own contribution. The other singers were responsible for theirs, while the musical directors guided us through the process. And I could trust them to do that.
There was something wonderfully freeing about recognising that I could take responsibility for my own part without taking responsibility for everyone else's.
Interestingly, the sheer size of the choir also made me feel much more supported as a singer. In my usual choir, there are around twelve of us in the alto section. In Berlin, there were more than ninety! With so many voices singing the same part, there was a wonderful sense of being held by the sound around me. My individual voice felt much less exposed, and that took away a great deal of pressure.
When we moved onto the stage, I found myself positioned almost in the centre, with singers behind me, others above us on the balcony, and a bass singer immediately beside me. It was an interesting contrast. I was surrounded and supported by all these voices, yet also quite visible to the audience because of where I was standing. But I knew I had a place in that choir, and I could enjoy being part of something much bigger than myself.
The extraordinary power of music
And then there was the music itself. Oh, the music!
I've always loved singing, but this experience took that love to another level. There's something extraordinary about music and the way it can move us. The melodies, harmonies, rhythms and changes in dynamics can evoke such powerful emotions, sometimes without us even understanding why.
For me, three works in particular stood out: Illuminare by Elaine Hagenberg, of which we performed four movements, Waloyo Yamoni by Christopher Tin and Indodana. Each has its own character and emotional quality, and all moved me deeply. There's something about the way these composers bring the music to life, building layers of sound, introducing changes in harmony and creating these wonderful moments when the music seems to swell around you.
When you allow yourself to become immersed in it, to really listen and feel the music, it can be quite overwhelming. Understanding the words and their meaning adds another layer, of course, but I think music has an incredible ability to communicate beyond language. Even without knowing what is being sung, we can experience its emotional quality through the sound itself.
Now imagine experiencing that while being surrounded by hundreds of voices, singing in harmony. It was simply magnificent. There were moments during rehearsals when I struggled to hold back the tears, and even now, recalling the experience brings back those emotions.
And then there was the Konzerthaus itself. What a magnificent building! Walking into that concert hall for our final rehearsal, seeing the stage and imagining what it would be like to perform there was quite something. After our final rehearsal, we even gathered outside and sang together on the steps of the Konzerthaus. It was one of those spontaneous moments that made the whole adventure feel even more special.
Finally, on Sunday 1st November, came the concert we'd all been working towards. To stand on that stage, surrounded by so many wonderful singers, accompanied by the orchestra and soloists, performing music that had already moved me so deeply during rehearsals, was an experience I will treasure.
Ten years of singing, and still discovering
This year also marks ten years since I first joined The Castle Choir. I still remember how nervous I felt before my very first performance, in a relatively small local venue, singing to an audience made up largely of family and friends. I couldn't possibly have imagined then that ten years later I'd be singing alongside hundreds of people from around the world, performing with an orchestra in Berlin. And yet, here I am!
Looking back, I realise that my confidence has grown in ways that go well beyond singing. In my previous blog, I've Softened, I reflected on how much my relationship with myself has changed over the years. I've learned to become less demanding of myself, more accepting of my needs and more willing to let go of expectations and responsibilities that aren't necessarily mine to carry.
Berlin gave me a wonderful opportunity to experience those changes in practice. I was willing to try something unfamiliar because it was something I genuinely wanted to do. I trusted the preparation I'd done while remaining open to learning. I was comfortable being on my own, but equally happy to connect with others. And I was able to enjoy being part of something much bigger than myself without feeling responsible for holding it all together.
Perhaps what I've come to appreciate is that confidence doesn't necessarily mean being the loudest person in the room, knowing all the answers or feeling certain about everything we do. For me, it's increasingly about feeling comfortable in my own skin, trusting myself and being willing to embrace new experiences without placing unnecessary pressure on myself.
But above all, Berlin was an adventure. One filled with beautiful music, wonderful people, new friendships, laughter, tears and memories that I will carry with me for a very long time. I went because I love singing, and I wanted to experience something special. What I gained was so much more than I could have anticipated.
And the best part? I've already heard that next year's World Choir course may be taking place in Prague, and I'm rather excited by the prospect of doing it all again! Who knows where my love of singing might take me next?
