Be Ye Not Distracted!

The first time I met her I was 15. I had a lukewarm self-esteem, what was about to become a full-blown eating disorder, and a million and one self-doubts that taunted me on the daily. I was scared of never being good enough and carried the burden of trying to make the whole world happy - often at the expense of losing myself in the process.

Her name was Elizabeth Bossard, but everyone called her Boss. Little did I know the first day I entered her eccentric office filled with Mary Engelbright pictures, inspirational sayings and too many teddy bears to count, my life would never be the same. Not only was she the best voice coach around; she was a brilliant, powerful woman with a soft spot for self-doubting underdogs. 

When we met, my voice was timid - both musically and otherwise. I was scared to sing out unless I was in the shower, and even more scared to express my feelings, needs, and boundaries. My insecurities were totally apparent to her, but she wasn’t phased a bit. Polishing diamonds in the rough was her specialty. Despite my blatant anxiety, she knew I was strong; equipped with courage I hadn't yet discovered. She treated me like it the second I met her in a way nobody ever had. She immediately saw the version of me I hadn't become yet - the version I'm still becoming. 

While I’ve always struggled to be self-confident, I've been extremely blessed with an amazing family, incredible friends, a close relationship with God, and WAY more blessings than I can count. But even with an abundance of blessings, we all still have our trials, right? She helped me conquer mine from 15 on, simply by reminding me on the regular that I could.

She knew more about my life than anyone. When she died, a part of me did too. The hole she left is gaping, and without her guidance and encouragement, I'm often more than lost. But I find myself through singing, through speaking up for the underdog, through being kind to others even when it's unfair to be the "bigger person," through trying to be a little more comfortable in my own skin. Going to bat for the underdog and a desire to be kind have always come pretty naturally to me. But being comfortable in my own skin? Yikes! Being an overly apologetic people pleaser made that impossible.

Boss always insisted I was so much more than I ever dared to believe. She lectured me often. “You have a gift to love so big and care so deeply, and I’m so proud of you for that. But, Babe. Why in the world can’t you love you, just a little bit? Why do you let others make you feel so unworthy?! Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. You tell them - dammit! And stop feeling like you’ve got so much to prove! Stop being sorry so much!” This always led to me profusely apologizing. Her eyes twinkled as she rolled them. “Babe. What did I just say? Get over it.” 

In college, I took her 7:45 am public speaking class. Stars filled the dark Idaho sky each morning I trudged from my apartment into below-zero temperatures. Boss warmed things right up, always greeting us in conversational song. She did this regularly - at the grocery store, on campus, you name it. She did it to be funny, to intentionally embarrass people, and because she just didn’t care if anyone thought she was a crazy, old lady singing in the dairy aisle. Her fabulous persona put people at ease, and she didn’t mind if some labeled her as ‘weird’ in the process. She was a one-of-a-kind diva; filled with prowess and poise, but no hint of arrogance. She humbly, but confidently, recognized her strengths. So, she unapologetically shared them; not to show off, but to connect. She was self-assured because her worth did not come from others; she did not share her light to seek acceptance. She only cared about two people’s approval: hers and God’s. And she had both at all times, even with all her hell’s and damns. I’m sure of it.

Just as she lit up the grocery store by her mere presence, she made cold, dreary mornings bright. She enthusiastically dragged us out of our comfort zones to help us gain confidence. Most notably, she facilitated activities so we, without even realizing it, helped each other.

During voice lessons, she always said when you make a mistake, make it big. Don't panic if you stumble or run out of breath. Don’t let a pitchy note derail you. Instead, own it. Mess up! Learn why you messed up. Then fix it! “Panicking in the middle of a mistake, or quitting because you made one, doesn't teach you a damn thing about how to fix it,” she’d always say. She frequently scolded me for fearing failure and dared me to give myself more chances than I ever thought I deserved.

Don’t get it twisted - she wasn’t the type to baby anybody. She had incredibly high expectations she DEMANDED you rise to, often using some stringent tough love. She built you up, not to pat you on the back or put you on a pedestal, but to get you moving! To get you from caterpillar to butterfly. She emphasized that true confidence comes from humbly recognizing all you’ve been given and all you are capable of overcoming. She required you to rise to the challenge of being the best version of you, and to humbly acknowledge that your strengths come from the Big Man Upstairs. If He made you, she always reasoned, you must be pretty great. “So, be GREAT, damnit!” she’d order, like it was a piece of cake. 

Her approach to confidence never condoned arrogance. She was brilliant because she knew she was made of the same stuff as stars, and she gratefully acted like it by continually improving herself while letting her strengths shine. Because why hide your innate, God-given light when you were made to sparkle?

I wasn’t used to sparkling. It was anxiety-inducing that someone might take something I did or said the wrong way, that I would make someone else uncomfortable. At this fear, Boss rolled her eyes and told me to get over it. Perhaps the most important thing she taught me - that I still fail at miserably - is to not give a hoot about what other people think. She was famous for saying: “What others say about you cannot diminish your personal glory as a child of God; it can only distract you. BE YE NOT DISTRACTED!”

She knew I was exceptionally prone to being “distracted,” so she was strategic in drilling this concept into my timid, insecure head. One year, she put me on the program for a collegiate vocal showcase. The campus music department was phenomenal; the student talent equally impressive. This event was for accomplished singers, many trained in opera or theatre. Boss taught both classical and what she termed "popical" approaches to all her students. She wisely expanded my repertoire, while encouraging my passion for songwriting. I was unorthodox compared to her other students. Lucky for me, she embraced unorthodox.

Whenever I performed, I hid behind the piano or my guitar. I belted freely only in the comfort of my shower or Hyundai Elantra. With a few years of technique, I’d grown immensely as a vocalist. But a recital for a bunch of super refined, polished performers? No, thank you. 

Unfortunately for me and my uptight comfort zone, the showcase was never an invitation; it was a command. Like all her students, I was going, whether I wanted to or not. “Isn't this for real singers?” I protested. She scoffed at my squeamish doubt like it was beyond ridiculous. “Well, DUH!” she sang. “That's why you’re on the program, hello!” She rolled her eyes, yet they still smiled. “And Babe, don't forget your guitar,” she added coyly. “But quit hiding behind it, damnit!”

As far as she was concerned, I belonged. As far as I was concerned, my musical career (and ability to show my face on campus) was coming to an end. I'll never forget that experience-it was horrific. No one else remotely resembled what I had to offer - which I felt was nothing but an embarrassing heap of emotions in a stupid, homemade song that sounded a lot cooler when I played it on my bed with no audience. 

At first I stammered, self-conscious and mortified. But my eyes quickly found Boss in the audience, beaming with exuberant pride, insisting I wasn't out of place at all. Her smirk seemed to say: Why do you care so much about their opinions? That isn’t the point! If people are gonna talk, then give them something to talk about! 

In September 2011, an unfortunate incident left my voice literally scarred. My boyfriend of two years had been cheating on me. When I confronted him about it, he threw my cell phone out the window, then grabbed me by the throat and choked me. I screamed for help as he covered my mouth. I’ll never forget that feeling of being literally overpowered, of having my voice forcefully silenced. I’ve blamed myself over and over for the damage this did to my vocal chords. I shouldn't have screamed. My vocal folds were badly injured; imprisoned by tension and trauma, causing ulcers and nodes to develop. The swelling and strain that still remains has left a painful lump in my throat ever since.

For awhile, I tried to sing anyway, which in hindsight was extremely foolish. My pipes needed rest, but my soul longed to sing. It was no use. My range was significantly restricted. At one point, my left chord couldn’t vibrate at all, which caused the doctor alarm. He told me I had to quit teaching preschool right away and that I couldn't sing again until things improved. It’s been about six years since that injury, and I still see a voice therapist weekly. Some days I still feel angry and defeated by the pain.

After that happened, Boss made me take it easy; we talked and ate Dove chocolates in place of vocal lessons. I learned more about my voice during those visits on her living room couch than I ever had before. She said it was long past time I learn to say no and stop trying to please everybody. She taught me that it is not only okay to draw healthy boundaries with people, but it is crucial. She continued to encourage me to not worry so much about things out of my control and she reminded me to like myself more. She reminded me that it's okay to stick up for myself like I stick up for others. And she never stopped telling me to be bold in the face of opposition because according to her, I could “do it, dammit!” Nike had nothing on her.

I didn't believe her generous praise for years. Most days, I still don't. The feeling of someone having total confidence in you when you have none is both humbling and profound. Life-changing, even. Boss patiently continued to help me flourish - in all aspects. She listened to me cry plenty but always told me to shape up when I was selling myself short and needed to rise to the occasion. “Don’t be afraid to speak your truth,” she often said. “You are the writer of your story.”

When she died, my voice somehow felt more broken. My coach, my mentor, my confidante, was gone. She died suddenly, a month before I graduated college. I still have her invitation to my graduation barbecue, still sealed in the envelope. When I took her family a card after she died, my wedding announcement picture was on her front table where it had always been next to a plaque that read, “Friends Are the Family You Choose.” How grateful I am she chose me, along with all the others she so generously adored.

I'm still learning to speak my truth and use my voice like Boss so beautifully taught me to. Often, I’m awfully off key-in more ways than one. But I've realized, even in the last few months, I don't have to be so timid or apologetic, so incessantly worried about pleasing the masses that are utterly impossible to please. I can be bold without apology. I can be brave without self-doubt. And whenever I'm off key-because it happens to the best of us-the show will go on.

I miss Boss every day, and I'm not going to get over it like I know she’d tell me to. I wish I could tell her thanks, for teaching me I belong because I’m good at helping others belong. I'm in law school now, largely thanks to her. I want to be a voice for those who need a bold advocate. A voice for the voiceless. Cheesy, I know. She always made me feel cool for wanting to do that, to be that. Like I could make a difference just by loving people. She has made the biggest difference by loving me. 

My first year of law school helped me find my voice in an unexpected way. The first semester, I felt like I did at the vocal showcase: completely out of place and inadequate. I was so worried about pleasing people, terrified to look stupid, and I exhausted myself from never feeling good enough. I had nightmares about getting called on in class and cared about other’s opinions way too much. I let some toxic, hurtful people who I went out of my way to befriend take advantage of my vulnerabilities. And I let the pressure of the grading curve and cutthroat atmosphere undermine me. In undergrad, straight A’s came easy. Here, my determined efforts and hard work seemed in vain. I survived the semester just fine, but was left depleted.

It was daunting. Everyone else seemed to have loads of legal experience and confidence, and at least one attorney relative to help them out. Not me. I worked with kids with special needs before law school and adored my work with all my soul, but I had no place here. I had a bachelor’s degree in child development, zero legal experience, and I’d never even been in a law firm, except to get divorced. 

Second semester, I thought a lot about what Boss taught me; how I’m kind and smart and capable. How I’m a passionate and strong advocate for others. How I don’t need to let people bring me down or pathetically waste all my energy trying to please the un-pleasable. I remembered that hitting a few bad notes doesn’t mean I should give up, but instead, move forward with determination to do better. Because why be mediocre when you can sparkle, right?

One day in my criminal law class we read a child advocacy case, and for the first time in law school -seven months in - I remembered why I came here. I came here because I want to speak up for those who society underestimates and disregards. I came here because I have a gift and passion for championing the underdogs. I came here because I have so much to learn, but also so much to offer! That day it finally clicked: I was worthy to be here as much as anybody else. And I wasn’t all the sudden worthy; I’d been worthy all along. So, be worthy! I thought. Somewhere in heaven right at that moment a certain voice teacher was gloating. 

I’ve never dared run the risk of being confident, but I realized that I finally needed to “get over it.” Quietly, but boldly, I decided to rise from the ashes and finally believe in the version of me Boss always saw me being.

Thanks to her wisdom that still teaches me daily, I finally had the courage to stop being a punching bag for people - obviously without being unkind, but also without being sorry. My grades improved immensely because I finally accepted that I had something to offer as much as the next student. I didn’t suddenly think so highly of myself - not at all! Instead, I humbly remembered whose opinion of me matters. Every day second semester, I asked for God’s help in enabling me to succeed. I was gently reminded there is more to life than law school, but also encouraged to do my best. My hard work, my deliberate effort to be comfortable in my own skin, and my five zillion prayers paid off. My grades, my first legal job, and more importantly, my relationships with others, made me proud. I finally refused to be a doormat for the wrong people, and focused on the amazing ones I am so blessed to have, instead.

Y’all, Boss was right. About everything. But especially this: what others say about you or how others treat you cannot dull your shine. So, step up to the plate, get out of your cocoon, acknowledge the divine being within you, and BECOME!

Boss, I cannot possibly express my gratitude for all you’ve done for me, so I promise to keep singing when I can and looking out for all the underdogs. Thanks for instantaneously believing in a 15-year old underdog and for deliberately and patiently giving her the chance over and over and over to be heard, even when she was barely brave enough to whisper. 

By physically losing my voice, I found the one that’s been inside me all along. Somehow, Boss was right that first day I walked into her office those many years ago. My unorthodox, inadequate voice is so much braver and bigger and more worthy of being heard than I could have ever imagined. And I'm [almost] not even sorry about it. 

So, y’all, please learn this lesson much faster than I did: BE YE NOT DISTRACTED! What others say about you, or how others treat you, CANNOT diminish your personal glory as a child of God. And maybe you don’t believe in Him like Boss and I do. But, at least trust me on this: you are made of the same stuff as stars. So, sparkle. Shine. Be great. Be glorious! Hell, sing in the hallways. The grocery store. The law firm conference room.

And really give them something to talk about.