The Most Unexpected of Compliments
Apparently, I have a nice voice! Who knew?
The best birthday party I’ve ever had occurred when I turned four. The ingenious theme was simply “Disney princess dress up.” This involved my mother laying out all the princess costumes we owned, which were enough to clothe a small European nation, then stepping back as a mob of three-foot tall girls descended. Being the birthday girl, I obviously got first pick. I chose the yellow ball gown from Beauty and the Beast - you know, the one Belle wears while waltzing with the Beast as the titular song plays. In a bold display of cunning fashion sense, I paired the sunshine tulle with an Arabian style blue tiara from the Princess Jasmine Aladdin collection.
At only four years old, I had solidified myself as a budding fashion visionary, and anyone who knew anything about style could see it. Unfortunately for me, some less-cultured party attendees lacked that eye for design, such as Julia, an acquaintance of mine from recreational soccer. “You should be Ariel because you have red hair,” she suggested, as if her brunette bob gave her any right to wear the Belle dress. Who the hell was she to be giving me fashion advice? “No. I don’t want to be Ariel,” I said. When it was clear I intended on standing my ground, Julia’s mother joined the fray and asked, “Aw, what’s wrong with Ariel?”
“Well, I’m just nothing like her,” I shot back. “I would never give up my voice.”
It seems that little Keara knew a good thing when she had it, because for the past year or so an interesting phenomenon surrounding my voice has taken shape: people love it. I know this because people tell me so every single day, mostly through the medium of TikTok comments but also occasionally in person, usually when I cross paths with a kind gay. Of course, I strongly encourage all compliments; if you have a praise to sing about me, let your voice be heard! But I must admit I don’t really understand what all the fuss is about.
I have always loved the sound of my own voice, but this has less to do with sound quality and more to do with all the great, hilarious, intelligent things I’m constantly saying. The idea that someone could love my voice for its sound alone, so much so that they take to the TikTok comments section and confess, “I was completely distracted by your voice, it's so soothing and sweet,” is incredibly surprising.
Growing up, the general consensus regarding my voice was that it was too loud and heard too often. I had lots to say and zero volume control. My teachers tried curbing this tendency with phrases like, “Indoor voices,” and, “Quiet Coyote,” but their pleas were difficult for me to hear because, of course, I was talking.
When I was around six, my family and I watched a feel-good movie centered on a young boy who befriends a whale. In one scene, a marine biologist describes how whale calls are loud enough to be heard from ten thousand miles away. “Just like Keara,” remarked my mother, which earned me the family nickname, “Our Little Whale.” Another instance that illuminates my sonic reputation occurred the following year, when my father was sitting at the kitchen counter reading a newspaper article which documented a recent child kidnapping and subsequent rescue. Once finished, he folded up the paper and said, “Geez. There’s some real sick people out there. But at least we don’t have to worry about Keara getting kidnapped.” I prodded him on what he meant by that and he explained, “Well, if anyone tries to take you, you’ll scream, and if you scream, the whole tristate area will hear you!” Needless to say, if I showed my family members the TikTok comments I receive which describe my voice as, “soothing and sweet,” they would double over and cackle like a band of wild hyenas, slapping their knees and holding their stomachs from laughing too hard.
I was never self-conscious about my naturally booming voice. My similarity to whales and ability to burst the eardrums of would-be kidnappers were badges I wore with great pride. But every gift comes with a certain price. It was during lunchtime in the third grade when I noticed a painful headache begin to develop around my temples. Never being one to grit my teeth and push through the pain, I immediately marched myself down to the nurse’s office and gave my mother a call, which she assured me was the right thing to do. My father was alerted to my condition and sprung into action, quickly whisking me away from school and driving me straight to the pediatrician. “It’s around the temples, you said?” asked the doctor. I nodded meekly, as by this point I was already resigned to my fate of becoming a Make-A-Wish kid. “Any jaw pain? Does it hurt more when you open and close your mouth?” Now that he mentioned it, I noticed my jaw did in fact have a certain ache to it. After I confirmed his suspicion, he turned to my father and said, “I think it’s just an overused jaw muscle - an overactive jaw disorder, if you will.” My father burst into uproarious laughter but I didn’t get the joke. “What does that mean?” I asked. My dad, now wheezing, replied, “It means you talk too much!”
Coming face to face with the stark consequences of my vocal lifestyle was a sobering experience. By puberty, I had developed the ability to keep my speech projection in check with only a few occasional relapses, such as all the times my boss at the New York University Housing Office was forced to march to my cubicle and remind me, as gently as he could, that there were people on this floor that were actually trying to get some work done. Once conscious of the problem, I would answer the next caller in a near whisper. But by two or three calls later, I was once again blissfully unaware.
That seems to be the main problem for me: I am almost always completely unconscious of my voice level. This makes controlling the sound of my reactions, such as screams or laughter, pretty tricky. In the eighth grade my best friend, Genevieve, told me that on the first day of middle school she couldn’t locate our friend group in the crowd of new faces. Anxious and alone, she suddenly heard the thunderous roar of my laugh. “I followed the sound of it and got to a big circle of people and in the middle was you, laughing.” This story warmed my heart deeply, it made me feel lucky to have a laugh so jovial that it could be recognized in a crowd. Yet it didn’t soothe the sting I felt when a boy with large hair in my Freshman year film class heard my laugh and said, “Wow! You sound just like Seth Rogen when you laugh!” For the rest of college, whenever we crossed paths, he would greet me by saying, “Hey-ayyyy Seth Rogen!” Now, I like Seth Rogen’s laugh - it’s deep and jolly and hearty. However, when you are a woman who is trying to attract members of the opposite sex, having men associate your laugh with the man who voiced Mantis in Kung Fu Panda is not great for the ego. I know I have a low voice for a woman, but I was hoping it came off dark and sexy and gave me a certain mysterious allure. Now burdened with the “Seth Rogen” nickname, I was forced to confront the hard truth that the only allure my voice gave off was that of Santa Claus.
But then a strange thing happened. I began to post my standup jokes on TikTok and I was met with gushing compliments on my voice. They called my voice “beautiful” and “calming” and not once did they say I sounded like a burly man! I even recently received a comment which wrote, “Ok but why is her voice so attractive?” Ha! My voice! Attractive! Who knew? What’s more, I’m now starting to get these compliments in real life. A month ago I met the partner of my mom’s best friend. He was a Broadway theater producer so we had lots to talk about concerning the state of art and culture in New York. About one minute into our conversation, he stopped and said, “I love your voice! It’s so….” he began to rub his fists together, searching for the right words, “Deep and husky and raspy!” At that moment I knew he was amazing at his job.
I’m not sure why I felt the need to explain the lore surrounding my voice. Maybe in part because it’s funny and maybe in part to say thank you to everyone who has hopped on the loving Keara’s voice bandwagon. I like to think that I am fully self aware, of both my faults and my good qualities, but this whole voice thing has made me reconsider. Perhaps I shouldn’t let one boy with big hair destroy my ego for years to come, perhaps there are more good qualities to me than I know, and perhaps I will hear about them one day from somebody kind.