VOICE LESSONS

I don’t know anyone who likes the sound of their voice when they hear it on a voice message or some other recording. For me, it’s a particularly uncomfortable listen. Growing up, I spent a lot of time fretting over whether I sounded effeminate, whether a simple hello outed me as gay and, in turn, made me vulnerable to ridicule or something worse.

 

When I was contacted a month ago to be part of the show, Now or Never, on CBC Radio, my instinct was to reply with a politer version of “Hell, no!” Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t have a voice for radio. I can’t summon a fake, deep register like Ted Baxter. I can’t sound warm and folksy like Chris Wallace. In my head, I fear I sound like Snagglepuss. Canada is a progressive country and we’re as gay-welcoming as most any place, but still I wondered how many listeners would turn down the volume and then go ahead and change the station when they realized I might blather on for more than a minute. Indeed, my segment was supposed to be about ten minutes. Perhaps I’d lead to the demise of Now or Never after triggering an online social media campaign: #Never. 

 

Still, the show that I might be a part of interested me. CBC wanted the hourlong show to focus on The Joy of Exercise and I was being considered as the cautionary tale. A producer got my name from another CBC producer who’d published a short essay I wrote last year about being a guy with an eating disorder. I wasn’t diagnosed with anorexia until it had become a decades-long, entrenched habit that, despite treatment efforts, I can’t shake. I don’t want other men to struggle alone.

 

First step was a phone call the same afternoon as the email. Tight deadline apparently. I knew the purpose of the conversation: the producer had to screen me to see if I had something to say, to make sure I could think on the spot and, yes, to determine if my voice were radio-worthy. The call lasted half an hour. I made Andrew laugh, I gave him things to ponder and yet the whole time it felt like a déjà-vu coffee date—“I’ll let you know,” followed by a crushing email: “Great talking to you, but you’re just not the right fit.” That’s what hundreds of go-nowhere coffee dates will do. I’ve become an expert at prepping for the worst. If I can see a kick to the ribs coming, I can brace for it even if I don’t have the agility to skirt it.

 

But, no, this was an occasion to forgo doomsday preparations. The radio interview was on, one o’clock the next day. “You’ll like Trevor,” Andrew said of the host who would be interviewing me. “He’s easy on the eyes.” I did a Google Image search ahead of time. Andrew was right. Trevor Dineen had a face that was definitely not for radio. This is a guy who could post selfies on Twitter—“New haircut”; “Should I wear a shirt today?”—and get thousands of likes. (Just for comparison, I posted a new haircut photo from yesterday. Sixteen likes so far. Woo hoo!) I told myself that seeing how attractive Trevor was beforehand would keep me from getting tongue-tied during the first minutes of the interview.

 

Everything went well. We chatted for fifty minutes and I knew the piece would have to be pared down to ten at most. If I flubbed something or said “Um” too many times, I figured the magic of editing would make me sound more polished. It was only after disconnecting from our online connection that I wondered if I should have requested more editing magic: make my voice deeper…half an octave lower instead of one of those deep, slowed down audios they give to whistleblowers and people in the FBI Witness Protection Program.

 

Too late. What would be would be.

 

The interview didn’t air until six days later. Andrew had emailed me the link and told me my part would begin around the forty-minute mark of the program. I could have gone straight to that, but I needed to ease myself into hearing my voice and whatever it was that I’d rambled on about. I told myself I wanted to get the fuller experience. I wanted to hear all of the show and the various contributors. I wanted to hear my comments only after getting the right context as to how I fit or didn’t fit with the other speakers.

 

You can hear the whole program here or you can skip ahead to my part. I’m truly glad I listened to the entire show as I found the other segments to be interesting—especially the opening one about an 84-year-old woman who dressed up in pearls during COVID while exercising with her daughter. She sounded so lovely I wished the whole hour had been devoted to her. I smiled throughout the episode, proud to be Canadian as the speakers were so diverse in so many ways. I committed to listening more to CBC Radio.

 

And then it came time for my segment. Yes, I immediately picked up how distinctly gay my voice sounded. I waited for my sweat glands to go into overdrive, my shirt to get splotchy, first in the underarms and then in the midriff and back. But, no. I remained the prefect specimen for an antiperspirant commercial. Oh, how I’ve grown. I’m gay. So what? I mentioned being gay in the interview. Nothing to hide anymore. Let my voice be authentic. Let it just be.

 

What threw me more about my voice was how Canadian I sounded. My American friends are constantly telling me how I have a distinct accent, not just in how I stretch the words “out” and “about,” but in how I say everything. By gosh, they’re right. Even after an extended stint (now long ago) living in the U.S., I’m Canadian through and through. I’m a gay Canadian. I’m a gay Canadian with an eating disorder. And, brushing all those labels aside, I had something to say. Rather than being mortified, I was proud. 

 

The whole thing was a fun experience. Maybe there’s someone out there struggling with body issues, with exercise, with gayness and/or with an eating disorder or disordered eating who heard me. Maybe something I said struck a chord. Maybe I made a positive difference. Stripping away all my self-consciousness, that’s what my agreeing to the radio interview was all about. Let that be what matters.