Weekly Voice Insights #99 — Where Is My Effort Directed?

"If your efforts are uncertain, the results will be too." — Epictetus, Discourses

Greek Glossary

• πνεῦμα (pneuma): breath, spirit
• προαίρεσις (prohairesis): deliberate choice, moral purpose
• βέβαιος (bebaios): steady, reliable, dependable
• ἡγεμονικόν (hēgemonikon): the governing faculty, the directing mind
• ἀσθενής (asthenēs): weak, lacking strength

A Steady Breath

"Take slow, deliberate breaths."

Many of us have heard that suggestion before. I use it before a difficult conversation, while preparing each phrase when I sing, or whenever I notice that I am becoming anxious.

Breathing never asks to be remembered. Even while we sleep, it continues faithfully. It is one of the most dependable processes in our lives.

The breath is already present. The question becomes whether I am working with it or working against it.

Years of practice teach us to strengthen the breath, organize our thoughts, and communicate more clearly. Practice develops the skills we depend upon. There also comes a point when our effort shifts from building those skills to directing them wisely. During performance, conversation, or any important moment, continuing to search for one more technique is often less helpful than trusting the preparation that has already been done.

Directing Our Effort

During the first Foster 200 recital, I found myself replaying the single line I had momentarily forgotten. An afternoon filled with music, audience participation, and meaningful conversations gradually gave way to one brief mistake that continued asking for my attention long after the recital had ended.

aphiēmi means "to release, to let go."

The forgotten line could no longer be changed. 

If my efforts are uncertain, perhaps the first thing to examine is not their intensity but their direction.

Choosing What Deserves Attention

When teaching, I sometimes notice students trying to hold on to a breath because they have been told they should not breathe in the middle of a sentence or musical phrase. We certainly practice strengthening the breath and using it efficiently, just as swimmers gradually increase their capacity. At the same time, holding on to a breath that has already served its purpose rarely improves communication. Breath is there when the next thought or phrase calls for it.

The governing faculty, hēgemonikon, determines what we do next. Our thoughts, judgments, and choices determine where our effort is directed. A calm breath supports those choices, but it does not make them for us.

Dependable Habits

While visiting New Orleans, I spent time looking through an extraordinary collection of photographs, books, and memorabilia assembled over many years.

The people who influence us remain with us. Their lessons continue to appear in ways we may not recognize until much later.

Those influences are much like disciplined practice. They become part of us gradually, often without our noticing. When the opportunity comes to use them, the question is no longer whether we prepared enough, but whether we are willing to rely on what steady preparation has already given us.

I noticed the same pattern in a much smaller way when I caught myself saving a favorite food because I did not want to use it up. Eventually I had waited so long that I almost lost the opportunity to enjoy it. The effort was genuine, but it was directed toward preserving something instead of using it for the purpose it was meant to serve.

Each breath serves its purpose, is released, and another follows. We experience the breath we have rather than trying to preserve it for later. The breath quietly demonstrates the same principle. Steady preparation allows us to direct our effort toward the present moment instead of continuing to invest it in what has already passed.

Check-In

• Where is my effort directed today?
• Am I investing my attention in something that can still be shaped, or in something that has already passed?
• What dependable habits have I already developed that deserve my trust?

Weekly Voice Insights #98 -What Did She See?

Borrowed Lessons, Earned Character

 

Greek Glossary

• ἀρετή (aretē): excellence, virtue
• ἀλλότριον (allotrion): belonging to another, not your own
• οἰκεῖον (oikeion): one's own, proper to oneself
• πρόοδος (proodos): progress, advancement
• μίμησις (mimēsis): imitation
• ἕξις (hexis): habitual condition, acquired state
• τῦφος (typhos): conceit, vanity, inflated pride

What Did She See? (Aretē)

Near the end of my time at the Lyric Opera Center for American Artists in Chicago, I met with Ardis Krainik for my final exit interview. During our conversation she remarked that I had the volontà. I appreciated the compliment, although I also remember thinking in very practical terms. I had just completed the program, and what I really needed was a job.

Only years later did I begin wondering what she may have recognized. Her comment seemed to point beyond talent or musicianship toward qualities that had developed over time. That question fits naturally with this week's Stoic reading. Epictetus asks us to distinguish between what belongs to us and what belongs to something outside ourselves. Excellence is not something we borrow for a moment. It is revealed through the way we repeatedly choose to think, work, and respond.

Borrowed Beginnings (Mimēsis)

Every discipline begins with imitation.

Long before we develop our own ideas, we borrow from people who have already traveled the path ahead of us. We listen to teachers, observe colleagues, imitate performers, and follow exercises developed through years of experience. Voice study is no different. At first, we are learning another person's understanding so that we can gradually develop our own.

Preparing the Foster 200 recital reminded me of that process. Stephen Foster's melodies, poetry, and stories are not mine. I spent weeks reading the texts, memorizing verses, studying the historical background, and living with those songs until I understood them more completely. 

By the time I stood before the audience, I was no longer trying to remember lyrics from a page. The preparation had allowed me to communicate ideas that had become part of my own understanding.

Practice and Progress (Hexis and Proodos)

The recital confirmed something I have experienced many times as both a performer and a teacher. Repeated practice changes more than our level of skill. It gradually changes us.

Audience members selected songs in an order I could not predict. Between selections we laughed, talked about history, and explored the stories behind the music. At one point I momentarily lost a line of text and realized that I had left behind the iPad containing every lyric as my backup. I smiled, told the audience I was "surfing without a net," and kept going.

Driving home afterward, it occurred to me that the recital had depended far less on memorization than on weeks of disciplined preparation. The work of reading, repeating, studying, and thinking about those songs had made them available to me when I needed them. That is what the Stoics describe as hexis—an acquired condition that develops through consistent practice. Progress (proodos) is not measured only by what we know, but by what has become sufficiently familiar that we can draw upon it naturally.

The same process appears in teaching. At first we consciously remember every instruction we have been given. Over time those ideas become part of the way we think, listen, and respond.

What Becomes Our Own? (Oikeion and Allotrion)

After the recital, I was sitting at the table with my journals when a woman came over to speak with me. A friend had brought her from a retirement community. She told me how meaningful it had been simply to be in the presence of live singing. She spoke about feeling the vibrations of the human voice and described the experience as energizing. As a retired nurse, she reflected on how beneficial experiences like that could be for a person's well-being.

Our conversation reminded me that the purpose of preparation is never simply to accumulate knowledge or demonstrate skill. Everything I had practiced found its purpose in serving another person.

Stephen Foster's words will never become mine. He wrote them, and they remain his. My responsibility is different. Through careful preparation, I can know those words so well that they are no longer confined to the printed page. They become thoughts I am able to communicate with honesty and conviction, allowing the audience to experience them as living ideas rather than simply lyrics being recited.

What belongs to me is not the text itself, but the preparation, the understanding, and the choices I make in presenting it. What belongs to the audience is equally important. Each listener brings a lifetime of experiences, memories, and emotions to the performance, and each person is free to receive those words in a different way. My role is to present them as clearly and honestly as I can, leaving room for others to make their own connections.

Perhaps that is what Ardis Krainik recognized all those years ago. I cannot know exactly what she meant by volontà, but I can see that years of disciplined work have shaped not only how I sing, but how I prepare, teach, communicate, and respond to the opportunities placed before me.

We begin by borrowing from others. Through thoughtful practice, some of those borrowed ideas gradually become part of who we are. That is where aretē begins to emerge—not as something we claim, but as something we have patiently cultivated over time.

Check-In

• What qualities in my life have become part of who I am through repeated practice?
• What am I still borrowing from others, and how might I make it genuinely my own?
• What commitment could I practice consistently enough that, over time, it becomes part of my character?

Weekly Voice Insights #97 -What Do I Draw Upon When I'm Taken Off Script?

Learning the Material, Not the Sequence

"Train your mind to adapt to any circumstance. In this way, if circumstances take you off script, you won't be desperate for a new prompting."

— Based on Discourses 2.2

Greek Vocabulary

• προαίρεσις (prohairesis): deliberate choice, trained will
• διάνοια (dianoia): reasoning, practical judgment
• προσαρμόζω (prosarmozo): to adapt, adjust
• λόγος (logos): reasoned speech, articulated thought
• ἡγεμονικόν (hēgemonikon): the governing faculty

At the end of June, I will be presenting a recital celebrating the 200th anniversary of Stephen Foster's birth. Unlike most recitals I have given, the audience will help determine much of the program. Rather than following a fixed sequence from beginning to end, audience members will select many of the songs they wish to hear.

Some days I review a song expecting it to be chosen. Other days I work through pieces that may never be requested at all. I spend time with the texts, melodies, and historical context because I do not know which selection an audience member will call for. The discipline involves preparing for the possibility that almost anything could come next.

As I worked each day in this way,  I began to see connections to teaching, presentations, and communication more broadly. A lesson plan is valuable because it helps organize ideas and provides a direction for the session, yet some of the most productive moments occur when a student asks a question I was not expecting. At that point, the lesson plan has done its job. It has provided enough preparation that the conversation can move where it needs to go.

The Greek term προσαρμόζω (prosarmozo) means "to adapt" or "to adjust." Adaptation sounds simple when discussed in theory. It becomes more challenging when circumstances move in an unexpected direction and there is no script available to tell us what to do next.

The phrase "desperate for a new prompting" caught my attention because it describes a feeling I recognize in myself. It can appear as impatience, frustration, uncertainty, or the desire for someone else to provide the next instruction. When I stop and examine that feeling more closely, I often discover that what I really want is certainty. I want to know what comes next so that I can proceed with confidence.

The recital provides a useful example. I do not know which song an audience member will request. What I can do is become familiar enough with the material that I am able to respond when the request arrives. In that sense, the audience is not disrupting the plan. The audience is part of the plan.

The same thing happens outside the recital hall. Knowing the material is different from knowing exactly what will happen next, because conversations, schedules, technology, and other people rarely move in the precise order I expect. When something changes, the question becomes what I can draw upon in that moment.

One of the Greek terms that stands out to me is προαίρεσις (prohairesis), deliberate choice or trained will. Another is ἡγεμονικόν (hēgemonikon), the governing faculty that evaluates impressions and directs action. Together, these ideas point toward a practical skill: the ability to pause long enough to understand what is happening before deciding what to do about it.

Many years ago, during my final exit interview at the Lyric Opera Center for American Artists at Lyric Opera of Chicago, Ardis Krainik told me that I had the volontà. I have often wondered what she meant. The older I become, the less I think she was speaking about talent. Talent and technique certainly matter, but they do not fully explain why some people continue moving forward when circumstances change unexpectedly. Perhaps she was describing a willingness to continue choosing and adjusting without requiring perfect conditions before taking action.

Every day I review texts, melodies, historical context, and program notes. Many of the songs have multiple verses, so the work is not only remembering words. I have to know how one verse leads into the next, what the language is asking for, and how intention, breath, and pacing carry the song forward. That kind of preparation does not tell me what will happen next, but it gives me something steady to rely on when the next selection is called.

Perhaps that is why the phrase "desperate for a new prompting" connects for me. There are certainly moments when I would prefer clearer instructions, a more predictable outcome, or a better sense of what comes next. Yet the purpose of preparation is not to eliminate uncertainty. The purpose is to develop enough familiarity, understanding, and flexibility that uncertainty does not bring everything to a halt.

Check-In

• What do I draw upon when I am taken off script?
• Where do I rely on memorizing rather than understanding?
• How do I know when a familiar response is an active choice rather than a convenient habit?

Weekly Voice Insights #96: Doing the Thing Itself

Breath, practice, steadiness, and preparing the voice before speaking

"Just as the one training the voice does so through the voice, so too, if you wish to grow in steadiness, practice it daily—by doing the thing itself."

— Based on Epictetus, Discourses 1.4

• φωνή (phōnē): voice, sound
• ἕξις (hexis): trained condition, habit formed by practice
• βέβαιος (bebaios): steady, dependable
• πνεῦμα (pneuma): breath, airflow, vital force
• ἐνέργεια (energeia): active use, being at work

We breathe every day.

Because breathing happens automatically, it is easy to overlook its role in how we speak. Yet breath is one of the few parts of voice use that we can bring into awareness and practice deliberately.

Sometimes it takes energy just to begin. It can become easy to make excuses, to think I should do this instead of that, or that I am too tired. The resistance often appears before the work itself begins.

Here are some of the daily practices I have set out for myself: writing, a morning routine, singing, memorizing, and walking. But they remain intentions until I actually return to them and do the thing itself.

Voice practice is not only about what comes out of our mouths. It includes the breath, awareness, and intention that come before we speak.

φωνή (phōnē) — NOTICE THE VOICE

Before I can work with the voice, I have to listen to it.

It is easy to focus on the words I have prepared, the message I want to communicate, or the point I am trying to make. But voice practice also asks me to listen to what is happening as I speak.

• What happens before the sound begins?
• What do I hear in my breath, pace, or tone as I begin to speak?
• Do I notice how I am speaking while I am speaking?
• Do I notice how my voice sounds when I hear it back in a recording?

Recording a voice memo, practicing a message into a phone, or listening back to something I have spoken can make subtle habits more noticeable. Before I can make adjustments, I have to become aware of what the voice is actually doing.

ἕξις (hexis) — BUILD THE HABIT

Practice creates familiarity and I find what I repeat becomes dependable. Over time, repetition begins to happen more easily, even subconsciously. Then I can move on to the next task without needing to think about every step.

What I have chosen to focus becomes available as if by "magic". Or as my parents demonstrated to me - "magic" of this kind is a product of hard, disciplined work.

• Taking one breath before responding
• Pausing before entering a conversation
• Noticing the body before speaking

A single action repeated often becomes a habit that is available when needed.

βέβαιος (bebaios) — CULTIVATE STEADINESS

Steadiness is not something we suddenly possess. It develops through repetition.

When we practice returning to the breath, we create a point of return during stressful moments, difficult conversations, and situations that demand a response.

• What helps me feel grounded before I speak?
• What changes when I pause?
• What remains steady even when circumstances are not?

Steadiness does not mean sounding perfect. We can admire a polished “radio voice” or the precision of modern recording technology, but the goal is not to remove the human qualities from the voice. It is to understand our own habits and know whether the voice is doing what we intend it to do.

πνεῦμα (pneuma) — RETURN TO THE BREATH

Each week in Developing Your Authentic Voice with Epictetus: A 52-Week Reflective Journal for Intention, Breath, Tone, and Connection, I include a Voice in Practice prompt to bring the week’s ideas into everyday situations. This week’s practice is remarkably simple: 

1. Before you respond, take a breath.
2. When the impulse to speak rises, pause.
3. Then speak.

I notice this impulse most clearly when something hits me emotionally. In that moment, I may want to answer right away.

One or two beats of breath can change the response. The inhale creates a small space.Within that space, we have an opportunity to observe:

• Am I reacting?
• Am I listening?
• Am I rushing?
• Am I holding my breath?

Breath, airflow, and vital force are not fixed. The power, control, and use of the breath can be enhanced through daily, incremental awareness.

ἐνέργεια (energeia) — PUT IT INTO ACTION

Breath becomes useful when it is used.

I sometimes joke that breath is a renewable resource. We do not need to save it. We can use the air we have and take another breath when we need one.

That sounds simple, but it is easy to forget when we are thinking about breath too much. We may try to take too large a breath, hold it, manage it, or make it behave. Practice helps us learn what an enlarged or enhanced breath feels like in the body and what it feels like to use it naturally.

This is part of what the Farinelli exercises help us notice. Exercises like this can teach us how the body receives breath, organizes breath, and releases breath over time.

Lately, I have noticed how much of my inner talk is about energy: when I have it, when I do not, and when I should work. When I am tired, I can become more irritable. Observing that gives me a chance to make a different choice.

The voice becomes more dependable when breath is brought into daily situations:

• Conversations
• Meetings
• Teaching
• Presentations
• Moments of disagreement
• Everyday exchanges

One breath may not solve every problem, but it can create a reliable point of return. A five-second inhale followed by a longer exhale can become a dependable reset. With practice, the body begins to recognize that pattern, allowing the breath to become a familiar place to return to.

INNER CHECK-IN

• In what situations do I feel the impulse to speak right away, without pausing first?
• In that moment, what happens when I begin to speak?
• When am I most likely to speak from irritation or fatigue?
• What repeated practice helps me become more dependable?

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Weekly Voice Insights #95: What We Think We Already Know

Breath, assumption, and bringing voice use into awareness

“You cannot learn what you think you already know  — Based on Epictetus, Discourses 2.1

• ἀκούειν (akouein): to hear, to listen attentively
• κρίσις (krisis): judgment, decision
• δοκεῖν (dokein): to suppose, to assume
• ἐξέτασις (exetasis): examination
• ἑτοιμότης (hetoimotēs): readiness, preparedness

We already know how to make sound. This is one reason voice practice can be difficult.

We speak every day. We breathe every day. We make sound without needing to study it. So it is easy to assume that we already understand what the voice is doing.

The resistance may begin there. Why would I need to learn something I already do?

Voice practice begins when we start noticing what is happening underneath the sound.

• Where do I feel the breath in the body?
• Does the breath feel like it rises in the body?
• Do I notice tension in the tongue, jaw, or throat?
• Am I speaking faster than I need to?

When we are speaking, we are usually focused on what we want to say, what someone else said, or what we need to answer. Sound comes out, so we move on. We communicate, but we may not be observing how we are using the voice while we communicate.

But making sound is not the same thing as understanding how we make sound.

ἀκούειν (akouein) — LISTEN WITH WILLINGNESS

Listening begins with a willingness to pause. We listen to another person, and we also listen to ourselves. This type of listening is observational.

• What do I hear?
• What do I feel?
• What changes when I inhale?

Before we respond, we have to stay open long enough to receive what is actually being said.

κρίσις (krisis) — NOTICE THE JUDGMENT

Certainty can arrive too early. It can happen quickly. We think we understand before we have fully listened.

• What does certainty feel like in the body?
• Have I already decided what I think before I have fully heard?
• Am I still listening, or am I already answering?

δοκεῖν (dokein) — EXAMINE WHAT YOU ASSUME

We all make assumptions. We have to. We cannot examine everything in every moment. The problem comes when assumption hardens into certainty.

In voice practice, that certainty may sound like:

• I already know how to breathe.
• I already know how to speak.
• I already know what my voice does.

Familiarity can make us less curious. The work is to notice the assumption before it decides the response for us.

ἐξέτασις (exetasis) — BE WILLING TO EXAMINE

You cannot learn what you refuse to examine.

Before the sound starts, the inhale gives you a small space to notice what is happening.

• Am I rushing?
• Am I reacting?
• Am I listening?

A pause can signal a reset.

ἑτοιμότης (hetoimotēs) — PAUSE BEFORE RESPONSE

The inhale marks the moment before response.

Pause long enough to hear before you decide.

One breath may be enough. But even one breath can interrupt the assumption that we already know what is happening.

Readiness is the moment when the body, breath, and thought are available enough for the voice to enter clearly.

INNER CHECK-IN

• What do I think I already know about my voice? 
• Do I know what I sound like to others?
• Where do I feel the breath in my body before I speak?
• Am I speaking faster than necessary?
• Do I notice tension in the tongue, jaw, or throat?

Weekly Voice Insights #94 —One Thought, One Sentence, One Breath

“Understand what you mean before you speak.”

— Epictetus, Discourses 2.23

• νόημα (noēma): thought formed in the mind
• σαφής (saphēs): clear, distinct
• φρόνησις (phronēsis): sound practical judgment
• πρόληψις (prolēpsis): preconception

Before an important conversation, we usually think about what we are going to say. We gather the points, and arrange the details. Preparation has value and creates direction. Still, the real test often comes in a much smaller moment: the instant before sound begins.

At that point, the practical question becomes: What happens when we begin speaking before the thought has fully formed?

That question was especially useful as I prepared a 50-minute presentation called The Power of Your Voice: Skills for Crucial Conversations. I had the material, the exercises, the slides, and the Epictetus quotes. The remaining work was to compose those pieces into something useful for the audience in front of me.

My reflection practice for the week was simple: keep the quote in view and notice where it applied. As I worked with the presentation material, the words began to point toward a practical question: what has to happen before a thought becomes speech?

I framed this under intention:

What needs to be clear?

1. One idea.
2. One sentence.
3. Let the pause happen.

It sounds simple in theory, but once speech begins, the temptation to correct or explain can cause us to interrupt ourselves.

νόημα (noēma): Let the thought form

The Greek word νόημα refers to a thought formed in the mind. This is the central question: has the thought actually formed, or am I trying to form it while talking?

During the week, one idea kept resurfacing: “Finish one thought before beginning another.”

A speaker may begin with one idea, hear another idea forming underneath it, then start adding explanations before the first sentence has completed its work. The listener then receives pieces of several thoughts rather than one formed thought.

In my singing life, I have learned to give myself some distance before listening back to a live performance. I tried to bring that same habit to this presentation. Thinking back over the presentation, I made this note: “I believe I said what I meant because I had taken time to sift through the material and decide which ideas belonged.”

True, I had more material than I could use clearly, so I had to sift through it, and trust those choices once I began speaking.

My practiced process becomes visible here. The speech happens in the moment, but the framework has been prepared beforehand. Returning to that framework helps thought, breath, sound, and meaning stay connected to the idea instead of trying to express everything at once.

σαφής (saphēs): Make the first idea clear

σαφής means clear or distinct. A thought can be brief and still be clear.

After living with this material, I observed: “I am getting a clearer, more distinct picture of what I’d like to say on Thursday. Ideas are everywhere.”

Often for me, this is how preparation begins. The ideas are present, but they have not yet settled into order. The hierarchy has to become clear before I speak.

φρόνησις (phronēsis): Decide whether the thought should become speech

The word φρόνησις means sound practical judgment.  A thought may be valid, and a sentence may be available, but that still leaves another question: should this be said aloud now?

I had to choose what would serve the audience. I had to decide which ideas belonged  and which ones could wait.

How do I know when what I’m thinking should be said aloud?

Not every thought needs a voice.

If there is even a spark of negative emotion in myself,  I try to remember to pause and do an abbreviated Farinelli breathing exercise (inhale, suspend, release), then decide whether to voice my thoughts.

For me, that is one of the clearest links between Stoic practice and voice work. The question is not only “Should I speak?” The question is “Is it necessary to speak?”

πρόληψις (prolēpsis): Check what the listener has received

πρόληψις is translated as a preconception or a prior understanding. 

What tells me a thought has landed with a listener?

I can feel it in their energy and see it in their eyes. Then I register that, take a breath, and continue to my next thought.

The listener’s face, eyes, posture, and timing often give useful information. A speaker who ignores those signals may continue piling on language long after the first idea needed space.

Epictetus’ instruction remains practical: understand what you mean before you speak. In a crucial conversation, that may begin with something very small. One thought. One sentence. One breath.

Inner Check-In

• Am I trying to put too many ideas into one sentence?
• What is the first idea I need to make clear?
• How can I tell when I need to pause and let the listener catch up?

 Weekly Voice Insights #93 -Freeze the Impulse

“Stay awake. Watch your habits, impulses, and goals like an enemy lying in ambush.” — Epictetus, Discourses 4.13

Greek Glossary

• ἕξις (hexis): habit, settled way of acting
• ὁρμή (hormē): urge, impulse, movement toward
• προσοχή (prosokhē): attention, mindfulness, attentiveness
• φαντασία (phantasia): impression, appearance
• προαίρεσις (prohairesis): deliberate intention, moral choice
• ἐπιμέλεια (epimeleia): care, cultivation, attentive practice