RealVoice 

On Returning to the Work

Doubt, depth, and the benefits of returning to Singing in the Wild

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One of the things I’ve come to see over the years is that there can be real value in returning to this work.

I’m writing about this, because I think it’s something that’s often overlooked - and it can offer a significant opportunity for growth.

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On the surface, many of the elements of the retreat will be familiar — the structure, the processes, the songs - these won’t change dramatically.

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But what does change is the place you are meeting all of this from, and how you engage with the work.

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Let me explain.

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Your ability to trust yourself, to trust your voice, and to trust the journey will have grown.

 

And with that, your capacity to express yourself more freely and to relate from the real you will have increased.

 

And your capacity to meet, to open and to receive the other will have grown as well as.

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There’s a paradox here.

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Even though much of what we do may be similar, it can also feel entirely different.

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You are different.

The group will be different.

And your capacity to meet this experience will have changed.

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Because of that, people often find they can relax into the process more fully. There’s less wondering “what is this?”, “how do I do this?”, “where is this headed?” - and more capacity to trust what unfolds and to simply be in it.

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One of the most valuable aspects of returning is that you begin to see, very clearly, how far you’ve come.

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Things that may have felt challenging before become more natural. What once needed effort happens with greater ease and flow. 

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In that sense, returning isn’t about repeating or trying to re-create the same experience - it’s a way of continuing what has already begun to grow, and building on that. 

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At the same time, it’s completely normal for doubts to arise.

You might find yourself thinking:

• It won’t be as good the second time.

• It’ll probably just be the same again.

• I’ve already done Singing in the Wild.

• What if I don’t get as much out of it a second time?

• I don’t want to go backwards.​​

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Or more specifically:

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• “Maybe what I experienced was a bit of a one-off… I don’t want to be disappointed.”

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• “I can’t see how I could get more value than last time.”

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If any of those sound familiar, you’re not alone. They’re part of this territory.

Not more - but different

It’s natural to wonder how taking the retreat again could offer you more than what you’ve already received.

In practice, it’s not usually a case of more or better.

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At the end of the day, neither you nor I know exactly what you will encounter. That’s the nature of this kind of work.

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But the quality of your experience does change.

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There may be less intensity, and more ease.

Less effort, and more presence.

Less needing to work things out, and more capacity to relax into the experience.

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From there, something different can happen - and it’s often more integrated and more deeply felt.

You don’t go backwards

Another concern can be whether returning might undo something, or take you back to where you were.

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In reality, you don’t go back - and you won’t be starting at square one.

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You arrive from where you are now.

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And often, returning to this retreat makes visible just how much has shifted - in your voice, in your confidence, and in how you relate to others.

Meeting the edge - again, but differently

For some, their first experience of Singing in the Wild can feel like a challenge. It's new. It's different. It's an unknown territory. 

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That’s part of the work.

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But when some people take the retreat again, they often find that their edge has shifted. What once felt like a barrier, no longer is. It's a wonderful thing to experience this.

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It can be subtle.

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But they often find that their edge has shifted to a deeper level. Only this time, it can meet it;

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With more awareness.

A greater sense of choice.

And a deeper trust in themselves and the process. 

On doubt, and the threshold

In my experience, whenever we come close to something real - something with the potential to shift us - doubt and hesitation can also come up.

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It’s not a sign that something is wrong, but a sign that we may be approaching a threshold.

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It reminds me of the figures sometimes carved on the entrances of temples and old churches. They’re not there to frighten us away, but to mark a crossing into a different kind of space.

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A place that asks for a different quality of attention. And a different intention. 

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The message isn’t “don’t enter,” but simply: be aware - something real is here.

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We can stay where things are familiar, or we can get curious, and take a step toward something we don’t yet fully know.

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And each of us gets to choose.

Sometimes it’s not the time

It’s also true to say that sometimes it isn’t the right moment to step in.

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Part of this work is learning to listen to yourself.

To recognise your limits.

To honour where you are.

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This work isn’t something that’s right for everyone, under all conditions.

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At the same time, it can be worth becoming curious about the nature of our doubts.

Some are protective in ways that are wise and necessary.

Others can keep us where things are familiar - even when we might be ready for change.

The invitation is not to push through regardless, but to notice what’s there - with eyes open - and to choose from there.

A word from my side

Each time I run Singing in the Wild, I notice doubts coming up for me too.

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Not because I don’t trust the process - but because there is a threshold to be crossed. From my everyday world into something that lies beyond the everyday and the ordinary.

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I often ask myself: “So… how do we get from here to there?”

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There’s a crossing to be made. And part of my role is to guide others through it - into something more intentional, aware, and relational.

 

It calls me to step out of my everyday way of being, and to enter something entirely different.

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I’ve been through this enough times to recognise those thoughts, and I don’t give them too much weight.

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What I’ve experienced, again and again, is that when we are all gathered, at the start of the retreat, something begins to move in me.

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I strike up my accordion.
I hear the voices of the group sounding for the first time - and I’m back.

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Something in me comes alive.
Something in me wakes up.

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I’m reminded of a place that feels both timeless and familiar.

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And when I see the voice of one person landing, and how it's received.

At first with some shyness or hesitation.

But then with an excitement - that there’s a freedom here to explore and to grow in our voices, with our sound and in ourselves.

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When I see people sharing, and opening.

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I know I’m in the right place.
Doing exactly what I’m meant to be doing.

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To see others meeting one another in this way is deeply moving.

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It’s a different way of being - a different way of coming together.

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We set aside our usual routines, our habits, our busy-ness - and step into something present. Intentional. And alive.

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There are always unknowns in that.

But what unfolds is consistently life-affirming.

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I’m at home in this work.

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And I come away each time with a renewed sense of appreciation of others, and to that quality in us that is deeply human.

 

 

Making your decision

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So, if you’re considering whether to take this journey again, it’s worth checking in with yourself.

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Fears and doubts may have something useful to say.

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But they don’t tell the whole story.

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Listen also to the soulful part of you - the part that doesn’t always find a place to show up in your everyday life - the part that wants to grow, to live, to sing and to play.