My date with destiny: singing with Bobby McFerrin
How the pain of a missed opportunity awakened my lost voice
Dear Brave Soul, we’re here to hear the anguish in our hearts that calls us forth, to make stories that sing, and to shout (or whisper) our truth from the rooftops. May this tale fill you up.
Years ago, when Bobby McFerrin called for a singer to join him onstage— my fears betrayed me. This week, I finally answered.
I've long adored Bobby McFerrin. Beyond his iconic global No. 1 hit “Don't Worry Be Happy,” his “Circle Songs” album called me home to the beauty of human voices —raw, improvised, and instrument-free. I wore out my bootleg CD, imbibing the rare wine of improvised community song-making, his legacy art called “circle singing.”
“The voice doesn’t lead,” McFerrin says. “The spirit leads. I just open up my mouth and go. I never know what’s going to come out. I really enjoy the surprise improvisation brings.”1
When Bobby came to town, I sat up front. Though I'd always loved to sing, I’d silenced my voice with a decade of corporate overwork. So when he asked, “Who wants to come up and sing with me?” I froze—with surprise, longing and fear.
My mind emptied itself. What is singing? What are songs? Do I even know a song? My feet begged to walk on stage, but my husband shot me a terrified look. I didn't yet know I was an empath, absorbing his fear. I stuck to my seat like an ice cube.
When nobody took his invitation, Bobby pivoted. He began the song, “Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town,” and passed a mic to the crowd to sing with him. I sang one twangy line, but blazed with fury inside: Why didn't I go up there?
After the show, we saw friends who’d gone backstage to thank him. I wanted to meet him, too, but I grudgingly followed my husband to the car. I hadn’t met this inner child yet, a little People Pleaser Monkey.
My disappointment in myself consumed me for weeks. I blamed my husband (pure bullshite). But this burning feeling—I want to sing!—motivated me to act.
I took a weekly Circle Singing class in Seattle, a long trip by ferry. There I met dear soul sisters, lifelong friends. Vocal improv bloomed. Debby Boland Watt2 led monthly circles; we formed a weekly ensemble and recorded together; I led women's singing circles and created a one-woman musical/workshop about overcoming my fears.
All because of Bobby McFerrin.
In 2019 I learned Bobby had Parkinson’s. So I traveled to Omega Institute in NY to study a week of circle singing with him. We crossed paths constantly—in the cafeteria, bookstore, walking the grounds. Each time I saw him, tears bubbled up.
During that week, Bobby visibly got stronger through the healing power of singing in community. One of his solos was undeniably the most gorgeous art I'd experienced—embodying every emotion, vibration, and tone of living. Tears poured down my cheeks as I sang my part; they didn’t stop when the song ended. A teacher asked if I was okay. “It’s an ache,” I said. “When Bobby sings, I know humans are worth saving.”
Fast forward through a pandemic. It’s 2025. My mom dies; her brilliant best friend Nancy is diagnosed with Parkinson's and Lewy Body Dementia. I’ve learned about the power of singing to heal us, and how improv stimulates massive brain activity.3
We plan a trip to see Bobby, who now only sings Mondays at Freight & Salvage in Berkeley. I ask if he could chat with her after the show, but I’m told, “he doesn’t usually talk to people.” When he takes the stage, my heart sings. His voice is quiet, yet calm, steady, musically astute. Halfway through the show, he asks: "Anybody want to sing with us?"
Within seconds, I'm dancing up to the mic, with Nancy beside me. I sing of how our voices lift our hearts with unity and joy, and invite all to join in “HalleLUNA,” a chant for the moon. Bobby gives his mic to Nancy, and she freestyles: "I'm 78 years old..."
When our song ends, Bobby calls down to me. “I want to thank you for what you just sang,” he says. I thank him for our rich time at Omega. We chat like that.
After the show he invites us backstage to speak with Nancy about Parkinson’s. He says, “Sometimes I forget where I am. I don’t know why I’m here, what I’m doing. My band Motion helps me, holds it together.” As he speaks of gratitude, he looks directly into my eyes — holding me with a long soul-to-soul gaze that I’ll never let go of. Through his Parkinson’s, somehow he is becoming even more luminous.
As I cherish this moment, I realize how I’ve come full circle since that first frozen moment. I will never be afraid to sing again. Thank you, Bobby!
If this story lights you up, or inspires you to share your wild creative voice, I’ve done my job. Please subscribe for more stories, songs, and support. Or buy me a Chai ☕
🗣️ Your turn: When did you miss out on taking a leap? What did you learn? Has regret propelled you to follow your heart?
Thank you for sharing your brave creative soul with us. 💝 Your comments make my heart sing. More to come,
More at BobbyMcFerrin.com, CircleSongs.com. Motion improv workshops June 24-27, 2025.
Debby Boland Watt: dear friend, gifted singer and vocal teacher.
“Something Weird Happens to Your Brain When You Start Improvising” Science Alert, 2016
This is a positively gorgeous perspective in so many ways. My voice in many ways has been my life and I would never have thought to put much of this, this way. Perhaps I'm too close to it, I don't know. But you do. Thank you Christine. You are a blessing.
Thank you for sharing your heartfelt experience in My Date with Destiny: Singing with Bobby McFerrin. Your narrative beautifully captures the transformative power of music and the profound connection it fosters among individuals. By recounting your journey and the spontaneous chant of “HalleLUNA,” you invite readers to embrace vulnerability and the joy of authentic expression. Your story serves as an inspiring reminder of the magic that unfolds when we allow ourselves to be fully present and open to the moment.