Weekly Voice Insights #73 -Master More.        Speak Less.

Breath, listening, and working inside an unfinished process

Me as Samuel Ireland — keeper of relics, believer in words, and father caught in a very human story.

I’m in rehearsals this week for a new musical workshop, The Willing, a piece inspired by the historical episode surrounding the Shakespeare forgeries attributed to William Henry Ireland and the role his father, Samuel Ireland, played in that story. I’m portraying Samuel, which is one of the reasons I was drawn to the project. There’s something compelling about stepping into a real historical figure, especially one caught between belief, reputation, and the desire for something to be true.

The work itself is still forming. The music is changing. Text is being adjusted. Decisions are happening in real time, often while we’re on our feet.

That kind of process is genuinely exciting. It’s also very different from most of my professional life in opera, where the music has been settled for centuries. In those rooms, the ground is already solid when you arrive. Your task is interpretation, not construction.

Here, adaptability matters just as much as preparation. The question that keeps circling for me is how to stay steady while things are still changing, and how not to let that sense of unfinishedness take over the body.

That question keeps bringing me back to breath.

In everyday speech, most of us take enough air to get through what we need to say. But when the situation asks for more clarity, more projection, or more weight, the breath we rely on often reflects something else entirely. It reflects whatever intention is present just before we speak, whether we’re aware of it or not.

If the unspoken thought before an entrance is something like, “I’m not quite sure what’s coming next,” the breath often mirrors that uncertainty. It narrows. It arrives cautiously. It carries exactly the amount of energy that intention has already supplied.

This is where Stoic practice and voice work begin to overlap for me.

I recently came across a Stoic sequence summarized by the acronym STOIC, and I’ve found myself thinking about it during this rehearsal process, especially because of how early breath appears in the sequence:

S — Stop. Pause the impulse.
T — Take three breaths.
O — Observe what’s happening without judging it.
I — Interpret the story you may be telling yourself.
C — Choose how to respond.

What interests me here is the placement of breath. It appears before explanation, before correction, and before action. It’s the point where restraint becomes something physical rather than theoretical.

In my own work, this same logic lives inside what I call Developing Your Authentic Voice, which follows a simple path: Intention, Breath, Tone, and Connection. I use these as practical tools for understanding how sound becomes individualized, through physical, observable choices that one person makes differently from another.

Working in a room where the material is still evolving has made that sequence feel especially relevant. When the music isn’t settled yet, it’s easy to feel pulled outward, to narrate what’s happening, or to comment on what might need to change. What has been more useful for me is returning to something quieter and more disciplined.

I’ve been reminding myself of a short phrase I use as a self check-in, especially when I feel the urge to verbalize every thought that comes into my head:

Master more. Speak less.

For me, that isn’t about withholding sound or participation. It’s a reminder to stay with what I’ve been given to do, to focus on mastering the task at hand, and to listen. “Speak less” already carries that implication. Listening is part of the discipline.

Not every reaction needs commentary. Not every thought needs to be voiced. In a room where work is still forming, there’s value in letting the work speak first.

I see a related pattern often in voice work. It’s easy to demonstrate a supported sound and have someone reproduce it successfully in the moment. They can imitate the volume, the energy, even the shape of the sound. But unless they become aware of what shifted in their body—how the breath behaved, where effort released—that sound doesn’t become dependable. It remains something borrowed.

The same thing happens in rehearsal and in speaking situations. If the physical act of delivery hasn’t been practiced without emotional charge, then whatever emotion is present in the moment will take the lead. Sometimes that emotion is excitement. Sometimes it’s uncertainty. Either way, the breath reflects it long before the voice does.

What’s been most helpful for me this week is returning again and again to the sequence itself. Intention first. Breath next. Tone follows. Connection comes last. When that order is respected, even briefly, the ground feels steadier, regardless of how much around me is still taking shape.

Working on a piece that’s still forming has clarified that for me. The music may not be settled yet, but the body can be. The breath can be. That steadiness doesn’t come from reassurance or external confirmation. It comes from familiarity with the physical act of delivery before emotion rushes in to fill the gaps.

This week’s rehearsals lead directly into public readings of The Willing, happening over coming weekend. The piece will be presented as a workshop reading, with the material still in motion and the audience invited into that process.

Reading dates:
Saturday, January 10 at 7:00 PM
Sunday, January 11 at 2:00 PM
Monday, January 12 at 7:00 PM

Location:
Depot Theater
506 W. Michigan Street

The readings are pay what you will, and open to anyone curious about new work being built in real time.

I’ve included the flyer below for details on how to reserve seats.

Weekly Voice Insights #72 – An Intention, Lived and Practiced

A year after naming the intention

                                                                            Still here.

Last year’s New Year post focused on intention and breath. I wrote about watching Maria Callas prepare for the Habanera and paying attention to what she did before a single sound came out—how deliberately she arrived in the moment, and how much was already decided before the voice was ever heard (Weekly Voice Insight #20 – Breathing with Intention). The preparation, the breath, and the clarity behind the sound were doing real work.

Those observations never depended on singing a famous aria. The same elements are available in any situation where the voice carries weight—teaching, leading, responding, or choosing how to enter a conversation.

This year feels different. It’s good to be able to say that I stayed with that intention across the year.

For me, that intention took the form of the Epictetus reflection journal. Not as a loose idea, but as a commitment to build something carefully and see it through. Staying with it asked for steadiness and attention to how small decisions accumulate over time.

The work began with curating fifty-two quotes. Epictetus offers no shortage of strong material, but not every passage works for weekly reflection. Some quotes overlapped too much. Others were compelling but didn’t invite daily use. Choosing one quote per week meant setting many good ones aside and trusting the structure that emerged.

From the beginning, it mattered to me that the reader could see the source material clearly. I wanted these quotes presented as close to their original form as possible, not adapted to fit a modern lens. Even on their own, they carry weight. I return to them often, sometimes realizing only afterward how directly a line applies to something I’m dealing with that day.

That’s also why each entry includes a Greek glossary. This wasn’t about being academic. It was about showing what words Epictetus actually used and how much meaning lives inside them. Translation choices influence understanding, and I wanted that depth to be visible on the page.

Each quote then opens into an ancient insight, placing the passage back into its Stoic context. That section helps clarify what the text is addressing without turning it into instruction.

The Voice in Practice section is where the material moves through my own lens. This is where intention, breath, tone, and connection show up as things you can notice and work with in real time. These are observable behaviors and vocal choices, not abstractions.

The reflection prompts are there to make the work individual. They invite the reader to notice how these ideas show up in their own experience, however they use their voice. Singing and performing are part of that world, but so are teaching, leadership, interviews, and everyday conversations. The journal was always meant to speak to general voice use, not a single discipline.

Week 1 – Intention. Sample page from the Epictetus reflection journal.

While finishing the blog and working through the journal formatting, I was also preparing Germont for La Traviata. I was thinking about what a father says to a son, and what he says to the woman his son loves. I was thinking about restraint, care, and responsibility, and how those qualities sound when the voice matters. That work lives in the same place as the journal—the preparation before speech, the choice behind the sound, the attention brought to what follows.

Seeing all fifty-two entries laid out in a finished format changed my relationship to the work. It was no longer something I was still adjusting internally or holding open for improvement. It existed as a whole, with its own shape and limits.

Staying with this process all year, without deadlines or external pressure, became the practice itself. The work asked for judgment about when enough was enough and attention to when further revision no longer served clarity. Finishing meant recognizing that the journal had reached a point where it could stand and be used, even as future refinements remain possible.

As the year closes, it feels worth naming the follow-through itself. Something lived across time. An intention kept in view, returned to repeatedly, and brought into form through steady use.

Weekly Voice Insights #71- What the Voice Serves When Conditions Aren’t Perfect

When the Instrument Isn’t Ideal—and the Intention Is

Over the past several days, I had the privilege of singing a series of concerts in assisted living and healthcare settings. These performances were offered as a gesture of care—for residents, and for the staff who serve them every day.

One of those concerts required a clear-eyed decision.

The keyboard available to us was not the instrument this music was written for. It had fewer keys, and certain passages required adjustment. Linda took time to understand what was possible on that instrument and then made careful decisions so the music could still be offered fully to the room.

See short video here: https://youtu.be/-7U29_xbXS8

What people responded to was not the instrument itself. They responded to the steadiness of the sound and the intention behind it. One woman, in particular, was deeply affected by what she heard. It wasn’t recognition of the piece or familiarity with the style. It was the vibration of the sound itself—the way it met her physically and emotionally. The experience was strong enough that she struggled to speak afterward.

That response is instructive. It reminds us that sound is not abstract. The vibrations we create with our voice carry weight. They move through bodies, not just ears. How we speak and sing has consequence, whether or not the listener has language for it.

That moment also clarified something about connection that’s easy to overlook. We often talk about connection as emotional or interpersonal, but it is also physical. Being in the room matters. Sound moves air, and that movement is felt in the body, not just perceived by the ear. Recordings of great singers and speakers can move us deeply, but they don’t fully carry that bodily experience of shared vibration. In that space, the connection was not symbolic or imagined. It was something the body registered directly.

The final verse of O Holy Night speaks of love practiced, peace carried, and the recognition of shared humanity. It speaks of dignity restored and burdens loosened. In that room, those ideas were not explained. They were encountered through sound.

This experience brings me back to a line from Epictetus, who begins the Enchiridion with a simple distinction:

“Some things are up to us and some things are not.”

The instrument was not up to us. The space was not up to us. What remained ours was judgment, intention, and response.

That way of seeing things aligns closely with the path I return to again and again in my own work: intention, breath, tone, and connection. Intention leads the choice. Breath supports how that choice is carried. Tone gives the sound its weight and clarity. Connection is what happens when those elements are aligned and received by someone else. None of those are guaranteed by circumstances, but all of them are available through attention.

That distinction applies just as much to our own vocal instrument. We don’t choose the voice we were given, and we don’t fully control how it lands. What is ours is the care with which we use it. Intention, attention, and expressiveness are choices. That’s the work I continue to encourage in myself. In everyday communication—outside of performances—we rarely get clear feedback about the effect our voice has. Moments like this offer a physical reminder that how we use our voice carries impact, even when we don’t immediately see it.

I could not have offered this music without Linda. Her judgment at the keyboard made the performance possible. And I could not have offered it in the way I did without the years of work behind my own voice. I am able to express things now that were not available to me before. The evidence for that was not internal. It was in the room.

As this reflection is published on Christmas Eve, I carry these recent experiences into another shared space and another gathered community. The setting is different, but the work is the same. Voice offered with intention, supported by breath, shaped through tone, and attentive to connection becomes part of how people listen, reflect, and feel accompanied. Especially on a day like this, that kind of care matters.

These concerts were a gift—to residents, to staff, and to those of us offering the music. They reaffirm why I continue this work and why attention to voice, vibration, and intention matters. Sound offered with care reaches people in ways explanation never will.

Related Posts:

Weekly Voice Insights #60 – Breath, Airflow, and Effort: The Physics Beneath the Voice
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/10/weekly-voice-insight-60-breath-airflow.html

Weekly Voice Insights #68 – What We Wear, What We Feel, and How It Shapes Our Voice
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/12/weekly-voice-insights-68-what-we-wear.html

Weekly Voice Insights #70 – The 6–7 Hour: What the Voice Knows in Transition
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/12/weekly-voice-insights-70-67-hour-what.html

Further Resources:

Epictetus on Control and Choice (Via Stoica) 
https://viastoica.com/10-epictetus-quotes-on-control/

Music, Sound, and Emotional Response (JMIR Mental Health) 
https://mental.jmir.org/2025/1/e69120

Weekly Voice Insights #70 -The 6–7 Hour: What the Voice Knows in Transition

Using breath and sound to restore coordination in early evening.

What the voice knows in early evening.

There’s a stretch of time in the early evening that many people recognize without needing to name it. The workday has ended, but the evening hasn’t fully arrived, and the body seems to hover between those two states. The pace slows, attention loosens, and voice use often fades unless there’s a clear reason to speak.

Lately, this hour has been showing up more publicly.

What Changes During This Hour 

Short videos circulate of people moving through the space between six and seven—walking, cooking, sitting quietly, doing very little on purpose. For the people watching, the timing makes sense immediately. You can tell where in the day this is without anything being explained.

What shows up most consistently during this window is a change in how things are being used. During this window, the supports that carried breath, posture, and voice earlier in the day begin to drop away, while the body hasn’t yet arrived at rest.

Between Drive and Rest

Early evening sits between two physiological modes. The forward drive that carries the day begins to taper, while the systems that support recovery haven’t fully engaged. That gap appears with remarkable consistency, especially in people who use their voice throughout the day. You hear it immediately when they speak.

Lower Demand, Different Use

By early evening, the demand on the voice is usually lower. The environment is quieter, conversation is reduced, and there’s less need to be audible or to sustain sound. When speech happens under those conditions, it often comes with lower breath pressure and less airflow. Over time, that can shift more of the work onto the vocal folds themselves — what voice teachers often call “talking on the cords” — which helps explain why voices frequently feel more tired later in the evening.

This develops through accumulation rather than any single cause. Nothing dramatic happens all at once. The system settles into a quieter, less coordinated state as the structure of the day falls away.

Why Vibration Matters

When voice use fades, vibration fades with it, and the change is noticeable. Vibration provides direct physical feedback. It lets the body know that air is moving, sound is sustained, and time is unfolding smoothly. When that feedback diminishes, one of the body’s simplest organizing signals drops away. That change often explains why this hour can feel flat or disconnected, even when nothing specific seems wrong.

What People Do Without Thinking

People tend to respond intuitively. They reach out to someone, step outside for a walk, put on music, or sing along with something familiar. Each of these actions brings rhythm, coordinated airflow, vibration, and external pacing back into the system. Action changes how the voice and breath are being used, often before the mind assigns any meaning to the experience.

What I Return To

For me, this is where I turn to something very simple. I’ll do a couple of Farinelli exercises, just enough to reconnect breath across the torso. A comfortable inhale, a brief suspension, and a steady release on an unvoiced “S.” That usually creates enough space to move on.

Here is the video I made showing how I use the Farinelli exercise:
https://youtu.be/wnxbD2Ueuro?si=rb1Fk5XPbYMHaYL8

After that, I’ll start singing. Often it’s Beautiful Dreamer. It’s a tune I return to, and the words matter to me. As I sing, my attention stays with the vowels moving through those words, the vibration carried by sounds that already have meaning.

As that continues, I notice that I begin taking fuller breaths, and then, without planning it, I’m using longer phrases of breath than I had been earlier. I’m not deciding to breathe that way ahead of time. The longer inhales and even longer exhales seem to follow the intention of the words and the sustained vibration they invite. By the time I’m finished, I can tell that something has shifted in my body. The hour feels different than it did when I began.

Every habit and faculty is preserved and increased by corresponding actions. — Epictetus

Weekly Voice Insights #69 -Dear Applicant, Thank You for Your Time: Why That’s Not Enough

How small details in communication reveal more than we intend

How something is delivered matters as much as what it contains.

It starts simply enough. You apply for a position, gather your materials, and send them off. In some cases, you even have a brief conversation with someone involved in the process. You come away thinking the exchange was steady and respectful. You wait for the next step.

Eventually, a message appears. At first glance, the tone seems warm. It acknowledges the work you submitted, references the strength of the applicant pool, and expresses appreciation for your interest. I read one such message recently and thought: That was considerate. It sounded as though someone had taken time to look through my CV and reflect on my experience. For a moment, that felt grounding.

Then I noticed a small detail. My name was in a different font than the rest of the letter. A slight shift in typeface, but enough to show the message had been assembled from a template. The wording suggested personal attention; the formatting suggested something else. My reaction shifted immediately. Not anger—simply the awareness that what I had read as personal was, in fact, a standard message made to sound personal.

Epictetus reminds us:

“We are not disturbed by things, but by the views we take of them.”

The letter itself had not changed.
What changed was what I understood it to be.
At first, I read care into it. Then I saw the seams, and the meaning reorganized itself. The disappointment wasn’t about the rejection. It was about the realization that the tone and the mechanics didn’t match.

Another question followed. If the intention was to write in a personal tone, why not check the details? The font mismatch isn’t a major flaw, but once you see it, it’s hard not to wonder how closely the rest of the communication was handled. Not because the writer was careless, but because the presentation didn’t fully support the message it aimed to send.

Then a practical thought arose: if an institution is going to send a message that sounds individualized, why not include one sentence that truly reflects the CV? It doesn’t need to be elaborate. A single reference—international teaching, a particular production, a unique program—would anchor the message to the person who receives it. Without that, the compliments are broad enough to apply to dozens of applicants and specific enough to sound personal without actually being personal.

This pattern is familiar from voice work. Over time, a singer learns the subtle match between the body and the sound—how a vowel feels when it fits their natural production, and how the breath settles when they’re aligned. It’s not about high-level technique. It’s about noticing. When the physical cues don’t match the sound they think they’re making, something is off, even if they can’t hear it themselves. That’s why listening—real listening—matters. Seeing the font shift in the opening line of the letter felt similar. A small detail revealed that the outward tone and the underlying structure weren’t working together. And as in singing, that small detail changed the way the entire message landed.

Professional communication is no different. A brief, direct note that reflects the actual exchange—even if it was a single conversation—often carries more steadiness than a polished paragraph meant to soften the message. Clarity is not unkind. Distance is not neutral. We hear these mismatches, even on the page.

Rejection itself is not the problem. It’s the way it’s delivered. We’re professionals. We don’t need flattery in rejection—we need clarity. We don’t need brand-safe empathy—we need real communication.

So to the organizations drafting their next round of emails: if you truly value people, write to them like people. Not just “applicants,” not as a collective, not as a category—but as humans who took the time to show you their work.

That would be enough.

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Related Posts

Weekly Voice Insights #48 — What Tone Reveals Before Words Begin
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2024/11/weekly-insight-48-what-tone-reveals.html

Weekly Voice Insights #54 — The Subtle Work of Noticing
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2024/12/weekly-voice-insights-54-subtle-work-of.html

Weekly Voice Insights #61 — Epictetus and the Difference Between What Happens and What We Tell Ourselves
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/02/weekly-voice-insights-61-epictetus-and.html

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Further Resources

From Hope to Silence – Ghosting in Recruitment
https://mypivot.substack.com/p/from-hope-to-silence

Why Job Ghosting Is on the Rise and Can You Prevent It? https://www.linkedin.com/posts/brigettehyacinth_ghosted-job-candidate-5-months-ago-she-activity-7374136917455503362

6 Toxic Candidate Experience Tales: Applicants Deserve Better
https://getleadline.com/blog/6-toxic-candidate-experience-tales-applicants-deserve-better

Weekly Voice Insights #68 — What We Wear, What We Feel, and How It Shapes Our Voice

Your Voice Begins With What You Put On.

In Biarritz, during rehearsals for La Traviata, there’s an Instagram clip from our sitzprobe. A sitzprobe is a music-only rehearsal—no staging, no costumes—just the orchestra in front and the cast grouped behind them. From the outside, it looks relaxed. People wear whatever gets them through a long day of music-making.

In this clip, I’m wearing a dress shirt and my boots—clothes that help my body settle into the work. The boots give my legs a clear sense of where to stand and where my weight settles, and they help me feel where my back is aligned. The shirt has a splash of color and style, and I feel comfortable and confident in it.

Over the years, I’ve worked with colleagues who feel just as grounded in sneakers and a t-shirt. I’m not one of them. My voice responds to very small physical cues. The body reacts to what it’s wearing before the mind ever comments on it.

Many singers talk about how putting on the costume helps them “feel like the character.” That’s true, and it’s valid. But for me, waiting until Production Week—when we finally move to the stage with costumes and props—was always too late.  I needed earlier physical information. I wish I had understood this sooner in my training. I didn’t realize how much clothing can support—or confuse—the body’s ability to organize breath and alignment.

During the Traviata staging process, I rehearsed in a jacket because it gave me a clearer sense of how Germont carried himself—far more than a t-shirt ever would. The shoulder structure, the inner pocket, even the slight weight of the fabric changed how I held my upper body. Those details helped me find the role physically, not just vocally.

I’ve seen a shift in recent years. I’ve seen highly trained singers arrive in very casual clothing—short shorts or loose tank tops that expose more than they may realize. I’ve also seen outfits that simply don’t fit well: jackets too tight or too loose, vests riding up, shirts untucked. These small details matter. But it’s a different physical message. The breath they practice in that outfit isn’t the breath they’ll need in a fitted costume. In a concert tux, the collar and tie create a very different sensation through the neck and upper body than a thin undershirt ever could. None of this is moral judgment. It’s just the reality of how clothes influence the instrument.

There’s another part of this that isn’t only physical. It’s respect. In a formal rehearsal with an orchestra, a conductor, and colleagues, I’m not going to wear what I would wear at home watching a movie and eating snacks. That kind of clothing puts my body in a casual stance—and it also signals a relaxed, informal energy to the room around me. I’m not talking about being dressed to the nines. It’s simply acknowledging the level of work that’s happening and the people involved in it.

My years in Paris taught me this without anyone saying it. Not everyone walked around in elegant clothes, but you could see that people put thought into what they wore. They chose something that suited their style and helped them feel ready for the day. I lived in the 19th arrondissement, a regular neighborhood, and even there the same pattern appeared. I remember a storefront near my apartment—a mix of bakery and general shop—with mirrored panels on the outside. People would pause before going in, check their reflection, adjust a collar or a sleeve, and make sure they felt presentable before asking the shopkeeper for a baguette. It wasn’t vanity. It was a small gesture of consideration. A thoughtful detail that said, “This moment matters enough for me to show up well.”  

Another observation came from a very different part of my life—when I was a substitute teacher in the Clark County School District in Las Vegas. They called us “guest teachers,” but the students still called us substitute teachers. I remember a group coming in, seeing the regular teacher was gone, and cheering, “Yay! Sub!” It was funny, and very honest. After working at one school for several days, a few teachers finally started talking to me. One of them said, “We thought you were administration.” I asked why. They said, “Because you wear a tie.” I didn’t dress that way to be taken for anything other than what I was. I did it out of respect for the students. What I found interesting was that when I walked through the hallways, it was sometimes hard to tell who was a teacher and who was a student. I think the students noticed that I chose to dress differently for them, and they responded to it. I wasn’t trying to impress them. I simply chose something that showed respect.

This connects to something simple you can observe in your own life. At your next meeting—the kind where people pay closer attention, not just a quick stop-by-the-office conversation—look at the speaker who holds the room. Notice what they’re wearing. Everyone has their own style, so this isn’t about being “dressed up.” It’s about whether they chose something that anchors them physically. A ring, earrings, a scarf, a well-fitted shirt, a specific pair of shoes—whatever helps them settle before they speak. The choices people make often tell you something about how they want to show up in that moment.

Clothing isn’t only about how I feel in my body. It’s also about how I meet the people I’m working with.

The same thing shows up outside of performance. When I’m preparing to speak or present in front of others, I think carefully about what I’ll wear—not for appearance, but to help my body do its job. Supportive shoes, structured fabric, a shirt that sits well through the shoulders: these aren’t “wardrobe choices.” They’re technical decisions. The small details matter, just as they do with breath, alignment, and clarity.

If you’re presenting to stakeholders, coaching a team, or walking into a room where steadiness matters, the clothing you choose will influence your physical readiness. It’s not about formality. It’s about giving your body correct information. Clothing tells the body what kind of moment this is. The voice follows that information.

Clothing is not decoration. It’s part of the instrument. It helps the body understand the work ahead, whether that’s singing Verdi or explaining a plan to senior leadership. Our voice doesn’t operate in isolation. It operates inside the body we bring into the room.

"First, say to yourself what you would be; then do what you have to do." — Epictetus

We don’t control how a rehearsal unfolds or how a meeting goes. But we do control the choices that set us up well—the deliberate details that help us feel organized and ready. Clothing is one of those details. A quiet one, but often an important one.

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Related Posts

Weekly Voice Insights #40 – Small Practices, Big Shifts — Building Vocal Presence in Daily Life
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/05/weekly-insight-40-small-practices-big.html

Weekly Voice Insights #37 – Voice, Resilience, and Embodying Intention
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/04/weekly-insight-37-voice-resilience-and.html

Weekly Voice Insights #45 – How Presence Is Experienced—Not Just Seen
https://dyavwithelias.blogspot.com/2025/06/weekly-insight-45-presence-is.html

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Further Resources

Enclothed Cognition (Adam & Galinsky, 2012)
How what we wear affects attention, confidence, and internal state.
https://utstat.utoronto.ca/reid/sta2201s/2012/labcoatarticle.pdf

Considerations for Maintenance of Postural Alignment for Voice Production (Arboleda et al., 2008)
A vocal-pedagogy classic on how alignment and balance influence healthy voice use.
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/16978836/

The Influence of Posture and Balance on Voice: A Review (2018)
A literature review showing how posture affects laryngeal behavior, breathing, and resonance.
https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/564d/f21f9a9aa35f5576d253d03f16cc8b821b5c.pdf

Singers’ Postural Alignment and Vocal Quality (2021)
Open-access study linking postural habits with measurable vocal outcomes.
https://www.scielo.br/j/acr/a/4kSTtQmHFWXdvtjCMwQJymp/?lang=en

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Elias Mokole | Keynote Speaker, BA & Beyond 2025
Voice, Breath, and Clarity | Developing Your Authentic Voice Newsletter

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Weekly Insights #67 -Continuity and the Human Voice: What Lamperti, Epictetus, and AI Reveal About Clear Communication

How steady attention, living vibration, and the end of a sentence shape connection more than we realize

I was reviewing some older teaching notes and came across a short statement from Francesco Lamperti. Lamperti taught in the late nineteenth century, and his writing is plain and direct. He describes how everyday speech breaks momentum while trained singing depends on carrying vibration through a phrase. His attention is always on steadiness—how sound moves from one moment to the next without interruption.

Around the same time, I read an online reflection from someone who tested an AI system in a simple conversation. He gave it a few details and let the system respond. What struck him wasn’t depth or insight, but steadiness. The AI stayed with the thread he gave it. It responded in the order it received information. It didn’t shift focus or rush ahead. That left a stronger impression than many of the recent human conversations he’d experienced.

Both moments pointed toward the same issue: communication loses clarity when attention moves away from the line too soon.

Two recent pieces of mine look at this from different angles:

• Weekly Voice Insights #66 – When the Script Speeds You Up

This piece looks at how pacing breaks when someone relies too heavily on written notes. Silent reading moves faster than spoken language, and the listener loses the thread.

• Weekly Voice Insights #65 – Your Acoustic Signature: What Can’t Be Copied or Replaced

This piece explores how a live voice gains its identity through physical vibration—something that only appears when the speaker stays with the moment long enough for the sound to form.

These ideas sit at the center of my Developing Your Authentic Voice work. DYAV uses a simple sequence: Intention → Breath → Tone → Connection. A thought forms, breath organizes behind it, tone carries it, and the message reaches the listener. When attention holds steady, the sequence works. When attention shifts away too soon, continuity breaks.

Lamperti, Epictetus, AI, and the DYAV sequence point to the same thing: a message holds together only when the speaker stays with the moment the listener is actually in.

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Lamperti’s Triangle and the Line of Sound

Lamperti taught that clear tone depends on three elements working together: diction, diaphragm, and focus. He called this an “eternal triangle.” Each element affects the others. When diction is clear, breath organizes behind it. When attention stays on the phrase, the vibration carries evenly. When those pieces align, the voice moves without breaking.

That same structure appears in ordinary speech. When intention is steady, breath follows it. When breath steadies, tone carries the idea forward. When tone stays consistent, the listener can follow the line.

This is why people lose clarity when reading from a script. Silent reading moves faster than spoken language, and the voice starts chasing that internal speed. The listener falls behind.

And in the acoustic side of the voice, the same pattern shows up. A live voice carries irregularities, shifts in breath, and changes in resonance—qualities that come from staying with the moment long enough for vibration to take shape. Tone forms in real time. It can’t be rushed.

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Epictetus and the Discipline of Staying With the Moment

Epictetus teaches the same principle through attention. In Discourses 1.1, when a student asked to hear more of his teaching, Epictetus reminded him that it isn’t only the speaker who must prepare—the listener also has work to do. Hearing requires steadiness.

“The one who hears must train himself just as much as the one who speaks.”

Understanding depends on staying with the thought long enough to register it. Once attention shifts away from the end of the idea, clarity drops.

This fits naturally with the DYAV sequence. Intention completes the thought, breath organizes behind it, tone carries it, and connection forms. Each part depends on the one before it. When attention loosens, the chain loosens.

AI models this mechanically. It takes the next word, then the next. It doesn’t anticipate or prepare the next idea early. It stays with the line because it has no competing impulses. Humans often drift without noticing it. That is where communication breaks.

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A Practical Exercise: Staying With the End of the Line

Including the real exchange from this article

This exercise shows how attention works in real time.

Use two lines of dialogue:

Person A: “I’d like you to go to the store.”
Person B: “Why do you want me to go to the store?”

Before responding, register the last word of the other person’s line—not to interpret it, but to confirm that you stayed with their thought long enough to hear it.

Person A: “To get some orange juice.”
(You register: juice)
Person B: “Is there anything else besides the orange juice?”

To do this, you cannot prepare your response while the other person is still speaking. You have to stay with them through the end of the line. The next sentence begins more cleanly because your attention remained where the communication actually was.

While writing this article, I asked the AI:

“You give all of my words equal attention, correct? You don’t jump ahead?”

Here is the exact response:

“Yes. I take every word you give me in order. I don’t anticipate the next point. I don’t skip to the end of the sentence. I don’t prepare a response while you’re still speaking. I follow the full line you give me, one piece at a time.”

This answer wasn’t produced because I “fed” it the direction of the response. It was the system describing what it actually does. Language models process input in the order received. They do not drift or anticipate. That steadiness often feels clearer than human delivery because nothing pulls them ahead of the moment.

Lamperti explained this through sound: follow the phrase through its end.
Epictetus explained it through attention: remain with what is present.
DYAV applies it to daily communication.

This small exercise makes the principle visible.

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A steady line—whether spoken or sung—depends on staying with the idea long enough for it to land. When intention finishes the thought, breath organizes naturally. When breath organizes, tone settles. When tone settles, the listener follows without strain.

The online reflection I read made this clear in another way. The man wasn’t responding to empathy or insight in the AI’s words. He was responding to steadiness. The system stayed with his message. It didn’t anticipate or shift focus. That one behavior made the exchange feel clearer than many of the human conversations he’d had recently.

With Thanksgiving tomorrow, it’s worth noting how gratitude affects steadiness in its own way. Gregg Braden is a bestselling author and independent researcher whose work explores how the heart and brain communicate. His collaboration with the HeartMath Institute shows that when attention shifts to the heart, when the breath slows, and when a real feeling of gratitude is generated, the signal between the heart and brain becomes more organized. Nothing dramatic is required. It’s the natural effect of giving attention a clear place to settle.

That is the same principle running through Weekly Voice Insights #66 – When the Script Speeds You Up and Weekly Voice Insights #65 – Your Acoustic Signature. One looks at pacing; the other looks at vibration. Both depend on staying with the moment long enough for sound and meaning to hold together.

Lamperti described this through sound. Epictetus described it through attention. DYAV shows it in daily speech. When we stay with the moment, the voice has what it needs. When we leave the moment too soon, the listener feels the gap immediately.

The AI in that example wasn’t demonstrating understanding. It was demonstrating continuity. That’s the part humans can reclaim when they give themselves time to follow the idea they are speaking, all the way through to its end.