Hillary didn’t make it. She gave it everything she had, and still, she had to concede.

When she gave her concession speech on Saturday, I could feel her
sadness, her disappointment. Or what I imagined she must be feeling.
Because who hasn’t known the sadness that comes when you fall  short of
your goal. The deep disappointment you feel when you’ve given
everything to your goal —  your energy  passion, love, time, not to
mention all that money  — and you come to the day where you have to
stand up and say, “You know, I didn’t make it.” You didn’t make it, and
someone else has your prize.

As a singer, I fear that day when I might have to admit that I’ve
fallen short of my goal. That I didn’t reach my ideal. That, yes, I
gave it everything I had, my time, energy, heart and soul, and lots and
lots of money, only to fail and be made to say, “You know, I did my
best, but I didn’t make it.”

I’m not talking about the little disappointments and failures along
the way. Every path towards a goal comes with its ups and down and
rocky patches. Hillary loses a state. Gets caught in a lie. Gets bad
press. And as a singer, life is full of these bumps and challenges.
Those gigs when you didn’t sing as well as you wanted. Or the audience
turnout is measly. Or you didn’t even cover your costs.

But the sorrow I feel for Hillary is not in these little defeats,
but in reaching the final disappointment where the ultimate goal is
lost. Hey, Hillary won almost every debate she had with Barack. But in
the end, she had to concede the final victory. And the weight of that
failure is what I feel. And fear.

At times, this fear of failing can feel so heavy that it makes me
want to quit now. Before I give any more of my heart and energy. Before
I invest even more money and time into becoming the singer I long to
be. But like Hillary, I won’t throw in the towel until the writing is
on the wall. Until I know it’s time.

My friend Lua, who is also a singer full of longing, asked me what
IS my goal? What is this ideal of which I’m afraid of falling short? I
explained to her that it’s not a career goal. It’s not about becoming
famous or financially successful as a singer. It’s a two-part goal.

One part is technical: I want to achieve a level of vocal freedom
and authenticity that I sense is possible for me. The other part is a
performance goal: I want to know that I can perform with such a deep
state of connection to All That I Am while also feeling connected with
my audience. And to experience these two goals together, where I am
vocally free, real, and expansive, grounded and centered in my voice,
while also being exquisitely present and available to my audience.

Perhaps I’m not describing this in a way that makes it easy to
understand. It’s an ideal in my mind of how I want to experience
singing and performing. It’s an internal goal, one that only I will
recognize when I’ve reached it.

And unlike Hillary, I don’t have millions of supporters pushing me
on or calling my name. On those days when I feel like walking away from
this singing insanity there isn’t a throng at my door begging me to
continue singing. No one’s going to scream, “You go, girl! You keep at
it! You need to keep singing for us!” Nah. If I quit singing, no one is
going to lose a thing. No one is going to care… but me.

My friend Julee thinks that Hillary must also be feeling an
incredible sense of relief. The long, hard, very public fight is over.
She has room for the next great thing. I used to feel, at times, that
it would be such a relief to let go of singing. To let go of the
effort, the discipline, the practicing, the comparing, the
disappointment, the negotiating. A life without the push towards my
goal.

For perhaps, when you finally let go of that to which you’ve held so
tightly, that’s when something grand and magical makes its entrance and
asks you to dance. No longer held fast in the arms of your previous
love, you can say “yes,” and perchance be swept off your feet.

This I wish for Hillary. And, when it’s my time, me.