Spiritual X Factor Part One

I think I have – to be honest – a good singing voice and I am thankful to God for this gift. I sing all the time, at small and large social and educational events, in my home, with friends, in schools with children (beaming faces and joyful voices), in recording studios, in workshops and in my daily prayers. I don’t need fame to be a singer and I don’t need the ‘X Factor’ to bring meaning to my life, to be my last chance for success. Isn’t that a relief, saving myself and all my family and friends a bucket of tears and heart-ache!

(Richard Leigh and myself, performing at ‘Make a Difference in Just One Day’ fundraiser, 21st September 2007.)

I did used to think I would one day go on ‘X Factor’ and try my hand at winning over Simon Cowell. Yet now I have no desire to audition for the show, not because I lack the self-esteem to think I could go very far but because I don’t want to be a celebrity.

 I do enjoy watching the programme however because I love to witness people’s journeys and it’s great hearing good singers and songs, but I am mystified by the attachment people have to winning the competition as the be-all-and-end-all. Were we all really born to seek fame as our purpose in life as almost every ‘X Factor’ contestant claims? Really? Every singer? Ever?

The ‘X Factor’ amount of tears, heart-on-a-plate emotions, devastation or complete bonkers, screaming exuberance is, I’m sure, all genuine, but come on! I feel so sad when I hear, every week, people saying things like, ‘If I don’t get through to the next round, it will DESTROY me’, and ‘This is make or break for me.’.

The fact that I can sing doesn’t fool me (or delude me) into thinking I am destined for stardom or mass adoration. If fame was the only way I could achieve anything with my particular gift, how sad and limiting that would be. I would miss out on so much joy, as would all the young people I work with in singing groups and primary schools.

I truly do not see how celebrity lifestyles bring long lasting happiness. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that if I was given the chance to sing professionally, recording an album on a well known record label, I wouldn’t jump at the chance. Of course I’d jump up and down for joy. Maybe even shed a few tears, but only a few. I would, no doubt enjoy the excitement of it all, the attention and the fancy clothes among other things. But for my own protection my personality would need to be hidden behind an accepted public persona to avoid trouble from all the strangers I had just sung my heart out to.  My singing would be taken away from me as a person, from Fleur – and shoved out into the public domain, disconnected from the inspiration for my songs (personal experiences and the Baha’i writings) and the amazing, pure and soul-connecting feeling I get when I sing – as I am carried away from myself, as I feel my soul sings. It would all distract me for a bit, but deep down I know it wouldn’t complete me, satisfy my soul or bring me long lasting happiness.  (Zimbabwean choir ‘Siyaya’, performing in Bath, August 2008)