Weekly Voice Insights #110-What Can We Eliminate?

I just came back from presenting at PMI Madison, and over the two days there was a lot of conversation about leadership, communication, collaboration, meetings, listening, giving people room to speak. Many useful ideas and a great deal of leadership maxims as well.

• Communicate openly. 
• Listen to your team. 
• Leave time for questions. 
• Make sure everyone feels free to contribute. 

Chris Sprague, whose work centers on enterprise transformation, culture, change, and strategy execution, talked in one of the workshops about going into a meeting with a laundry list of things you want to accomplish. He raised the question: What can we eliminate?

I know that question very well from preparing presentations.

Part of what takes me so long when I prepare is not figuring out what I could say. I usually have far too much to say. The harder part is deciding what I might omit.

For my breakout session, I had organized my speaker notes almost like a menu. The idea was that I could monitor the time and listen to what people were responding to and then decide whether to stay somewhere longer or move on.

There is a word I heard several times during the conference that is being used more and more outside of music: orchestration. For me, orchestration has a literal meaning.

An orchestra rehearsal has a fixed amount of time. In a professional, unionized orchestra, the conductor cannot simply decide to keep everyone another twenty minutes. Going over costs money, sometimes a great deal of money, very quickly. The maestro may hear twenty things that could be fixed. There may only be time for five.

Epictetus gets very close to this in Discourses II.17. In George Long’s translation:


“Adapt the preconception properly to the particular things.”

In another presentation, the suggestion was to have a brief weekly leadership meeting—ten or fifteen minutes—where people could raise concerns or talk about what was getting in the way. If there are ten people in the room and one person raises something that actually needs discussion, what happens to the rest of the fifteen minutes?

I remember seeing a meme in which a meeting is almost over, the person leading it asks if anyone has questions, and someone speaks up. Everyone else groans because they were almost done. Most of us have probably been in some version of that meeting.

They may be thinking: Was there really room for an answer? Was there time to do anything with it? Was it the right group for the discussion? Or was asking the question simply one more item on the list?

A performative question is asked to create participation—to get people responding, raising hands, speaking, or otherwise engaging with the session. A diagnostic question is asked to learn something about the room: what people understand, what they are experiencing, where the difficulty is, or what may be most useful to address next. Ideally, a question can do both.

People may also be deciding whether it is worth speaking up: Is this really safe to say? Will I be seen as negative, difficult, or not a team player? Will this be held against me later? Even when a leader asking for input sincerely wants an answer, those concerns can still be there. Saying people are free to communicate is one thing; creating enough time, space, trust, and flexibility for them actually to do it is another.

Marty Neumeier wrote in 46 Rules of Genius that you can learn anything, but you cannot learn everything. I used that book when I taught seminar classes for first-year students, and I have always liked that idea because it applies just as easily to communication. You may have twenty useful ideas, but you cannot give all twenty equal time.

I also heard a presentation where one leadership maxim followed another for close to an hour. There was barely time to absorb one before the next appeared. By the time the speaker asked for questions, there was so much material that I am not sure people knew where to begin.I had deliberately left about fifteen minutes for questions in my own presentation, demonstrated some of what I do by singing, and already eliminated material so I would not have to rush. In the feedback form I offered, participants indicated a desire for more opportunity to practice, which is useful information for me. Next time, I may explain less, or stop after a section and ask something that helps me decide whether to stay there or move on.

I am not sure what that next version will look like yet. I can create the plan, but I do not have to follow it one hundred percent. I have to be willing to adapt.

Weekly Voice Insights #109-When Worry Starts Making the Decisions

“Some things are up to us, and some are not. Focus only on what is yours to govern.”

—Based on Epictetus, Enchiridion 1

Yesterday, while preparing for an engagement, I caught myself thinking, Why bother continuing to work on this?

A possible conflict had come up. Nothing had been cancelled. No one had told me that I couldn’t attend. I had simply begun thinking several steps ahead and rationalizing why it might no longer make sense to prepare.

I couldn’t settle the outside circumstances by thinking about them longer. I could continue working on the presentation. Still, it took me some time to separate those two things.

Epictetus begins the Enchiridion with eph’ hēmin: up to me, within my control. Other people’s actions, institutional decisions, weather, events, and their outcomes are not up to me. My choices, my work, and where I direct my attention are.

I consider myself a thorough person. Part of my agitation came from realizing that I had overlooked information I should have read more carefully. If I had understood it the first time, perhaps I could have avoided the uncertainty.

There was something useful in acknowledging the mistake. I can read more carefully next time. But then I began treating the mistake as evidence against how I see myself. A thorough person should not have done this.

Of course, a thorough person can still misread something. Continuing to be irritated with myself will not change what I missed. Ah, to be human.

I have done this before. When I was preparing to sing Germont in La Traviata in France, I worried that the engagement might conflict with my work schedule. I gave a possible conflict more and more of my attention, wanting to settle something before the circumstances themselves had settled it.

My Developing Your Authentic Voice Reflection Journal includes another reminder:

“Stop frightening yourself with wild thoughts—examine them calmly.”
—Based on Epictetus, Discourses 2.1

The possibility I was considering was not unreasonable. “This could interfere with my engagement” became “I may not be able to go.” 

Repeated thoughts do manifest themselves in how I act. They become visible.

Positive thoughts do not automatically create confidence, but they can affect how I prepare and respond to myself and others.

Knowing an idea does not mean I have learned to practice it.

Prohairesis: the faculty of choice. In my daily reflection I asked myself , “Will I have the strength to do the things I choose?” I followed that with, “I have the will to keep at it. Yay me.”

I get to choose, so I must choose—and then do. Sometimes I also have to make the same choice again when my attention returns to the worry.

Voice practice has taught me something about that return. I may understand that I need to release unnecessary tension or allow the breath to move. Understanding the instruction does not mean the habit has changed. I have to pay attention to what I am doing and learn to recognize when I have slipped back into something that is not productive.

Breath happens without my control. With awareness, I can govern how I use it. I may not prevent the first physical response to uncertainty, and I cannot order myself to stop worrying. I can notice when the worry has taken over my attention.

Tarachē: disturbance, agitation. That describes what was consuming my energy. 

Exousia: authority, the power to govern. I still had control over where I directed that energy, even when the choice did not come easily.

“My life is up to me” can sound much larger than what I mean. I do not control everything that happens in my life. Much of what happens depends upon other people, timing, institutions, and circumstances I cannot predict.

What remains up to me is whether I allow an imagined outcome to decide how I use today. Yesterday I noticed that I had wanted to stop preparing because of something that might happen. I went back to working on the presentation and today less of my energy is directed towards fear and worry.

Inner Check-In

• What uncertain outcome have I begun treating as though it has already happened?
• What am I neglecting while I continue thinking about that outcome?
• How are my repeated thoughts becoming visible in my behavior?
• Where do I want to direct my attention now?

Weekly Voice Insights #108- When a Familiar Role Begins to Feel New

Yesterday, Nicholas McRoberts, founder and artistic director of Opéra de Biarritz Pays Basque, called to offer me the role of Sharpless in Madama Butterfly. As we talked about the production, our conversation moved toward the differences between preparing Verdi and Puccini.

Verdi’s characters can sometimes be painted too monochromatically. They become good or bad, noble or corrupt, loving or vengeful. They shouldn’t be treated that way, but the temptation is there. Puccini writes in a more naturalistic style, which leaves room for more complexity.

Sharpless is the American consul in Nagasaki. When he listens to Butterfly, he hears something Pinkerton has missed: for her, the marriage is a real commitment. He recognizes the danger in that difference and later witnesses the consequences for her. His empathy is an important part of the character, particularly in the way he responds to Butterfly. But empathy is not something I can play. It has to be present in my intention, and that intention affects the way I deliver the line.

The Greek word prosōpon can mean a role, mask, or character. 

Epictetus cautions:

“Never assume a character inconsistent with your own, nor try to appear what you are not.”

There is an obvious tension in that statement for a performer. I am taking on another person’s prosōpon. Sharpless has his own words, relationships, history, and place within the opera. But if I play the outward appearance of empathy, the portrayal becomes less believable.

Perhaps that is part of what overacting is. A real characteristic is enlarged until it no longer seems real.

This can also happen when someone takes on a particular role within a team. The person may have the talent and many of the qualities the position requires. But if those qualities are pushed too far—or displayed in a way that seeks approval—other people sense that something doesn’t quite correspond. They may not be able to say exactly what they are reacting to, but they feel it.

Physis refers to one’s natural condition or inherent way of being. It takes time to become comfortable enough in one’s own skin to recognize a natural way of speaking, responding, and being with other people. The same is true when I prepare a character.

I have performed Sharpless many times. In the Foster 200: An American Jukebox concerts I have been doing, I also sing “The Vicar of Bray,” taking on that character as he moves rather conveniently through changing political loyalties. Whether I am returning to Sharpless or singing the Vicar, I look for aspects of the character that correspond with my own ideas, words, and emotions.

Mimēsis means imitation, and imitation is often part of learning. Singers borrow sounds, phrasing, gestures, and interpretations. The important question is why I am borrowing something. When I understand what drew me to a particular choice, I can begin to individualize it. Otherwise, I may simply reproduce the outward result of someone else’s work.

Repetition helps me discover my own interpretation. Each time I return to the music and text, I naturally add to or enhance the meaning. I hear something in a phrase that I didn’t hear before. A word takes on more weight. A response to another character becomes more specific. The interpretation becomes connected with what I believe.

In this production, Sharpless will speak dialogue in French, which is unusual, while the sung portions will remain in Puccini’s original Italian. I didn’t write any of those words, and I cannot replace them with words that feel more comfortable. I have to inhabit them and find a way to make them my own.

For me, that begins with intention. What am I intending when Sharpless says a particular line? The intention is served by breath, which becomes tone and eventually connects with the audience. That connection still has to leave room for the audience to react. I don’t have to play empathy. I have to know what Sharpless intends and allow that intention to affect the line.

The same problem can arise when someone is given a script for a presentation or talking points to share with a team. Memorizing the words may make the delivery accurate, but accuracy alone won’t make the thoughts belong to the speaker. The person still has to live with the text long enough to understand what each point means, why it is being said, and what they intend the listeners to receive.

Although I have performed Sharpless many times, I don’t yet know what will feel new in this production. That will develop as I spend time with the French dialogue, return to the Italian, and look again at the words and intentions Puccini gives the character.

Inner Check-In

• When have you had to make words you didn’t write feel like your own?
• What happens when you try to display a quality instead of allowing it to come through your intention?
• Where might repetition help you discover something new in familiar material?

Weekly Voice Insights #107 -What Choice Sounds Like

John Doyle begins his August 28, 2026 Fire Engineering article, “The Hero Trap: Beyond Ego,” with Marcus Aurelius, using the passage to challenge the idea that Stoicism is simply about suppressing reaction. In Meditations 8.5, Aurelius writes:

“Secondly, look steadfastly at the thing, and see it as it is…”

The passage continues from seeing the situation accurately into the question of how we act and speak in response. Epictetus approaches a related question through the faculty of choice. In Discourses 1.1, he distinguishes between the body and the faculty of choice. I paraphrase that distinction this way: “You are not just voice and flesh, but also choice and character.”

"Choice and character" are closely connected because our choices do not simply disappear after we make them. Repeated often enough, they begin to form a habitual disposition, what the Greeks called ēthos. Character in that sense is less an abstract quality than a pattern of conduct that has become relatively stable.

Some of those patterns are easy to recognize. I have a morning ritual, and writing this blog has become part of it. Other habits are less intentional and may tell me more about myself: how quickly I become irritated, how much attention I give to a petty grievance, whether I feel compelled to answer every disturbance that comes my way. Small irritations are plentiful enough that responding to all of them would require an enormous amount of energy.

The leadership article also employs a surprising amount of vocal language. The author describes the urge to “command the room” or become the “loudest voice.” Under pressure, people stop listening, deflect feedback, lash out, shut down, lecture, or create an environment in which others eventually stop speaking.

As a singer and voice teacher, I experience tone as the result of a process already underway. Intention affects what I prepare to say, breath responds to that intention, and tone becomes part of what another person actually receives. I may intend one thing, produce another, and discover the difference only when I listen to what actually emerged.

A trained voice depends on repetition. Years of physical and vocal work create responses that eventually become available without requiring conscious management at every moment. There is something worth being grateful for in having a body and voice that continue to respond and serve.

Habit, of course, does not distinguish between what I meant to practice and what I happened to repeat. Impatience can become practiced. So can interruption, defensiveness, or the tendency to withdraw. What has been repeated often enough can begin to feel natural simply because it has become familiar.

That is where prohairesis, the faculty of choice, becomes more demanding. I find myself connecting it with the Italian word volontà, partly because I associate will with continuing to search, try, work, and improve. Yet Epictetus is asking for something more precise than determination. The question is what I do with what presents itself to me, what judgment I make about it, and how that judgment enters my conduct.

Voice and body are part of how that choice becomes visible and audible. I do not have complete command over either one, but I can become more aware of how I use them and of the habits that have formed through repeated use.

The leadership article argues that leaders can become preoccupied with appearing certain, strong, or in control, and that this performance can interfere with listening and responding. I hesitate over the phrase “letting go of the performance,” because performance itself is not the problem. As a singer, I may rehearse a role for weeks and still have to hear what another singer is doing in the moment, respond to the conductor, and adjust to what is actually happening around me. A prepared performance still depends on responsiveness.

The same is true of the sound itself. I can make a phrase louder, fuller, or more technically beautiful and still miss what the words require. The sound may be impressive while remaining too general for the thought or situation. In conversation, something similar can happen when the effort to sound decisive, composed, or authoritative begins to override the meaning of what is being said or the response of the person in front of me. 

Marcus Aurelius asks us to look at what is there and know it for what it is. Epictetus repeatedly returns responsibility to the faculty of choice. In voice work, there is a related kind of examination, although it does not necessarily happen while we are speaking. In teaching, I often encourage people to pay attention to how the sound feels physically in the mechanism while they are producing it, rather than trying to monitor how it sounds in the moment.

Listening can come afterward. When I hear a recording or think back on a conversation, I can ask whether what came across was what I intended. Did the tone carry the emotion I meant to communicate? Did the sound support the words, or did something else take over? That kind of listening can reveal a difference between intention and result that may be difficult to notice while the exchange is happening.

For me, that returns the question to choice. I cannot change the response that has already been made, but I can become more aware of what happened and let that awareness affect the next one.

Inner Check-In

• When you listen back to yourself, does the tone match what you intended to communicate?
• What kind of response do you find yourself repeating when you feel challenged or irritated?
• What might you choose differently the next time that response begins to form?

Weekly Voice Insights #106 - Structure, Listening and Responding

“Be for the most part silent, or speak merely what is necessary, and in few words.”—Epictetus, Enchiridion 33

Note to self: Let him finish.

Yesterday, I recorded a conversation with John Wisner, a Managing Principal Consultant and Business Analysis Capability Lead at Capco, for an upcoming edition of his BA Insights series. The proposed subject was solution identification and the role business analysts play in helping organizations move from understanding a problem toward identifying possible solutions.

I am not a business analyst by trade; my experience comes from working with business analysts, project managers, performers, teachers, and other professionals on the way they use their voices to communicate what they know. The delivery of information therefore became my point of entry into the discussion.

A business analyst may have a considerable amount of information to communicate to stakeholders or a team. The analyst may understand the terminology, the process, the supporting data, and the relationships between the different parts, while the people receiving the information may not have the same familiarity.

The difference affects more than the content because it also affects how the content is delivered.

Knowing the Material

If I have twenty or thirty minutes to present an idea, I can treat the available time as an opportunity to include as much information as possible.

I may have graphs, labels, quotations, definitions, examples, comparisons, and data supporting what I am trying to explain. Every part may seem relevant because I already understand how it fits into the larger subject.

The audience has to construct those relationships while I am speaking.

Something that feels like a brief explanation to me may contain several unfamiliar concepts for someone else. An analogy that helps me organize the subject may require the audience to understand another field before it can understand the comparison. A series of high-level points may arrive so quickly that there is no time to determine which point carries the most weight.

The information may be accurate while still arriving too quickly for the audience to group it into a coherent understanding.

Familiarity can compress the speaker’s experience of time and complexity. Because I know where the explanation is going, I may not notice how much work the audience is doing to follow me.

Staying on Topic

Structure is necessary because a presentation needs a purpose and a meeting needs to remain connected to the issue it was intended to address. A discussion that wanders too far can consume time without producing anything useful.

There is, however, a fine difference between keeping a conversation on topic and trying to make everything fit a specific structure.

If I prepare too completely for where I believe the discussion should go, I may begin herding the dialogue toward a destination I have chosen. I may listen for opportunities to return to my prepared material rather than considering where another person’s contribution could lead.

The questions may sound open even when my listening has already been organized around a preferred answer.

During solution identification, a team may need structure for examining the problem, considering requirements, evaluating alternatives, and determining what can be acted upon. The structure can keep the discussion focused while still leaving room for the participants to affect what happens within it.

Going Off Script

During yesterday’s conversation, I listened for parts of John’s questions and explanations that connected with my expertise. I used those points to consider solution identification through delivery, vocal self-awareness, and audience response.

The discussion moved into areas neither of us had expected, and his language gave me another way to consider questions I have been exploring through voice. The prepared topic kept us oriented without determining every direction the conversation could take.

Afterward, John renamed the session:

“Off Script: The Human Side of Solution Identification.”

The new title named a direction that became clear because we had allowed the conversation to develop.

Knowing When to Enter

Throughout the conversation, I was paying attention to my own pace. When ideas begin connecting, I can become excited and want to share several of them at once, so I made a conscious effort to complete a thought, pause, and give John time to respond before continuing. His response could then become part of where the conversation went next.

Listening presented a different challenge during longer stretches of explanation. When something John said connected immediately with one of my ideas, I sometimes felt an urgency to respond before the conversation moved beyond the point I wanted to address.

An interruption can sometimes support an exchange, but the urge to respond immediately can also pull my attention away from what the other person is still saying.

I wrote down one or two words as John spoke. The notes allowed me to continue listening and decide, after he had finished, whether my thought still belonged in the conversation. If it remained pertinent, I could return to it. If the discussion had gone somewhere else, I did not have to force it back simply because I had prepared something to say.

Leaving space required some trust in what would come next.

As the exchange developed, I noticed more space between some thoughts and slightly more time for an idea to be considered before either of us continued. One contribution affected the next, and the conversation developed through the way we responded to each other.

Intention kept us connected to the purpose of the discussion. Breath gave each thought some space. Tone reflected how we were engaging with the ideas, while connection depended on whether we used what the other person contributed.

AI can continue supplying information, interpretations, and possible answers. A live conversation introduces something less predictable: another person who may notice a relationship I had not considered.

Preparation gives me material to work with, while self-awareness helps me recognize when to speak, when to wait, and where the conversation may be able to go.

Inner Check-In

• When you present familiar information, how do you determine what may be unfamiliar to your audience?
• What indicates that your structure is helping the conversation rather than controlling it?
• When you feel an urgency to speak, what helps you decide whether to enter or continue listening?
• What happens to your pace and attention when the conversation no longer follows the expected path?

Weekly Voice Insights #105 -What Happens Before the Solution?

Image created in collaboration with AI.

“Test what appears good and hold to what truly is.”
— Based on Epictetus, Enchiridion 45

I was recently invited to take part in a podcast discussion about “solution identification” in business analysis. When I received the proposed questions, I first had to ask myself where my work with voice entered the discussion.

As I read through the questions, the connection became clearer. "Solution identification"  is not only about producing an answer. It involves understanding the problem, considering possible ways forward, and deciding which possibility is useful in a particular situation. All of that happens through conversation.

One of the questions asked how a Business Analyst knows when it is time to move from understanding the problem to identifying solutions. Another asked how analysts and stakeholders can keep from moving toward a solution too early.

Those questions are very much about voice.

What Happens to My Listening Once I Have an Answer?

In conversation, timing matters. I may begin preparing my response before the other person has completed the thought. But once I have begun forming it, part of my attention has already moved away from what the other person is saying.

The same thing can happen when someone recognizes a possible solution. Instead of continuing to investigate the problem, the person begins listening for information that supports the answer already in mind. 

This is where intention matters. What am I trying to accomplish in the exchange? Am I still trying to understand what is happening, or has my intention changed to gaining agreement for what I have already decided?

Leadership requires knowing when to give clear direction and when to leave room for another person to respond. That choice begins with intention. The same distinction applies when a group is working toward a solution. There is a time to guide the discussion and a time to remain quiet long enough for another possibility to emerge.

Attachment Can Be Heard

No one has to announce, “I am now defending my preferred solution.” The change often becomes audible.

Urgency can change the breath and pace, moving the voice away from the original intention. Uncertainty can create an urge to regain control, particularly when the discussion moves away from the prepared plan. The question then becomes: Where does my attention go when the conversation takes an unexpected turn, and how do I bring it back into focus?

Tone also affects how a possible solution is received. An idea presented with confidence can sound more complete than it actually is. Another idea may receive less consideration because the person presenting it sounds hesitant. If that happens, the group may be responding to the delivery rather than evaluating the substance of the solution.

Epictetus’ instruction is useful here: test what appears good. A solution that sounds convincing still has to be examined in relation to the problem, the people involved, and what the organization can actually do.

More Answers Require More Judgment

Another question asked what the Business Analyst adds if artificial intelligence can generate dozens of potential solutions in seconds.

AI can certainly make more possibilities available. It can organize information, identify patterns, suggest alternatives, and make a detailed answer sound remarkably complete. But producing possibilities and deciding what to do with them are different activities.

I considered a similar distinction in last week’s Voice Insight. After spending a lifetime learning about voice, the harder question was not whether I had enough information. It was what to do with all of it. I may know a great deal about a subject, but I cannot place all of it into one lesson, one presentation, or one conversation. At some point I have to decide what is useful right now.

AI gives us more information than ever, but it doesn’t take away the responsibility of choosing what actually matters and deserves our attention.

Those evaluating the options still have to ask:

• Was the problem described accurately?
• What assumptions entered the prompt?
• Whose perspective is missing?
• Does an answer that appears reasonable apply to the situation at hand?

My own use of AI often becomes an act of listening. AI usually gives me more language than I need. When I hear it read aloud, I can recognize what should remain, what reflects what I actually believe, and what still needs to be put into my own voice. The answer is not complete simply because it has been produced. I have to be able to say it and mean it.

Connection Is the Result

I have been preparing The Power of Your Voice: Skills for Crucial Conversations as both a presentation and a companion book. The framework is organized around four areas: intention, breath, tone, and connection. The first three can be prepared. Connection is the result.

A potential result depends on what another person receives. You may know more than the other person can use at once.

Notice:

• When does explanation become overload?
• Has a question gone unanswered?
• Has the most important concern been buried beneath additional information?

“Solution identification” may begin with analysis, but it does not remain on the page. People have to speak, listen, question, challenge, and decide. Listening includes hearing other people, but it can also mean listening back to my own delivery. I may know the subject so well that I do not hear how I sound while explaining it.

A recording creates some distance from the moment. It does not need to capture an entire presentation. I can record one or two points as though I were speaking directly to the audience, then listen back. Keeping the passage short makes it easier to compare what I intended with what can actually be heard and ask: If I were receiving this explanation, how might I respond?

Inner Check-In

• What happens to the way I listen and speak once I think I know the solution?
• If I heard my explanation from the listener’s place, what would I notice about my breath, pace, or tone—and how might I respond?
• When AI gives me more possibilities, how do I decide which ones deserve attention?

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Weekly Voice Insights #104 – 104 Weeks Later: What Bears Repeating

This week marks two years of Weekly Voice Insights, and as I started looking back through the 103 articles that came before this one, I found myself thinking less about the number 104 and more about what has happened during the process of getting here.

When I began, I did have some imposter syndrome. I think some of that is healthy. It can make me check what I am saying, go back to a source, question an assumption, or make sure that what I am putting in front of someone is actually useful. I still have some of that now, and I am not sure I would want it to disappear completely.

But the question was never really whether I knew enough about voice. I have been fortunate to spend a lifetime learning about it through singing, teaching, conductors, other singers, extraordinary teachers such as Margaret Harshaw, the writings of Giovanni Battista Lamperti, and performers such as Frank Sinatra, whose understanding of words and phrasing continues to give me things to think about.

The harder question was what to do with all of that information.

n his book 46 Rules of Genius, Marty Neumeier writes, “You can learn anything, but you can’t learn everything.” I think there is something similar in teaching and writing. I may know a great deal about a subject, but I cannot put all of it into one article, one lesson, one rehearsal, or one conversation. At some point I have to decide what is most useful right now.

After 104 weeks, I think I am more comfortable making that choice.

Looking back at the articles with the most views has been interesting because the subjects are quite varied. Some are about the mental side of voice. Others are about hearing yourself objectively, breath, vowels, practice, trust, or the way we listen to another person. What connects many of them for me is that they take something fairly large and bring the attention down to something a person can actually notice.

I keep thinking about the familiar experiment in which people are asked to concentrate on one task so intently that they can miss the gorilla walking through the scene. Attention has a hierarchy. When I am using my voice, there are many things I could think about, and I cannot give all of them equal attention at the same time.

It is remarkably easy to open my mouth and make sound. I can start saying the words before I have really considered what I intend to do with them. Breathing is something I have done all my life, so it is equally easy to assume I do not have to think about it. Yet those are two things I would like to have available to me before the sound begins: What is my intention, and what is my breath doing?

None of this is especially complicated, but there are a lot of things happening when I use my voice, and I cannot think about all of them at the same time. Part of what practice does is make some of those processes familiar enough that I do not have to keep attending to them. Then I can give more attention to my intention and to how what I am saying is actually being heard.

This may be one of the reasons Epictetus has become increasingly useful in these articles and in my own practice. The quotation I put on the back of my Epictetus reflection journal says, “You cannot learn that which you think you already know.” I find that especially relevant to voice because so much of what we do feels familiar. We already know how to breathe. We already know how to speak.

Knowing something well does not mean I am finished with it. I may know a song from memory, but I still have to think about the phrase before I sing it so that it comes from a present thought rather than simply from recall. The same is true when I teach or speak about an idea I have explained many times before. The words may be familiar, but the communication still has to happen now.

For me, the answer has often been repetition. That word sometimes gets treated as though repetition automatically means mindless practice, when it can be exactly the opposite. Repetition is how I make something available when my attention is occupied elsewhere.

I see that in my morning Stoic routine. There are mornings when I am interested and ready to do it, and there are mornings when I think, really, again? After hearing so many variations on the importance of discipline over the years, I found my own way of expressing it: “Discipline prevails when motivation fails.” I do not have to feel particularly inspired for the practice to still have value. I repeat it because the repetition itself keeps certain ideas accessible.

If I repeatedly return to intention and breath in practice, I do not have to start analyzing several different technical ideas when I am actually using my voice. The work I have done beforehand helps me know, without having to think about it, what belongs near the top of the hierarchy.

Perhaps that is one of the things these 104 weeks have taught me.

Two years ago, the amount of information I had about voice could sometimes feel almost like the problem. Where do I begin? What belongs here? What will actually help somebody?

I feel that uncertainty considerably less now. The writing itself has been a form of repetition. I have returned to breath from different directions. I have looked at intention through performance, communication, Stoic philosophy, and the practical experiences that happen in ordinary life. I have gone back to ideas I thought I understood and discovered that there was still another way to look at them.

Maybe the useful part of imposter syndrome is the part that continues to ask, “Have I looked closely enough at this?” Experience gives me another question to put beside it: “What do I already know that can help me decide what deserves my attention now?”

After 104 Weekly Voice Insights, I do not feel the same pressure to come up with something earth-shattering every week. Sometimes an insight is something I have thought about before that becomes useful again because of what I am seeing, hearing, or working on now. Those ideas may bear repeating. In fact, repetition may be part of how they become useful in the first place.

#DevelopingYourAuthenticVoice #WeeklyVoiceInsights104 #TwoYearsOfVoice #IntentionalPractice #StoicWisdom