Key Changes
March 20, 2025 at 04:30PMIn this essay for Orion, Sabrina Imbler braids together science, history, and deeply personal reflection. At its core, this piece is about transition and transformation: the ways bodies change, the way sounds and voices evolve. Imbler writes about karaoke, testosterone, sobriety, and becoming someone new, reflecting on their own journey as well as the lives of crickets whose songs have shifted over time in order for them to survive.
In this essay for Orion, science and nature writer Sabrina Imbler weaves together biology, history, and personal reflection to explore transition and transformation: how bodies change, how voices evolve, how sound itself adapts for survival. Through karaoke, testosterone, and sobriety, Imbler traces their own shifting identity alongside crickets whose songs have morphed over time—each finding new ways to be heard in the world.
HUMANS, BIRDS, AND whales learn their songs over the course of their lives. They practice, learn through mistakes, and even compose new songs together. But crickets, who live only a few months and hatch long after their parents’ generation has perished, cannot learn their songs from elders. Rather, each species is born with its own signature song. The composition is genetically encoded and manifests in the specific ridges of the males’ wings. Even if a cricket is raised in total isolation, having never met another of its kind, he will know how to sing his own particular song—at least after a few raspy attempts. As soon as the cricket known as the handsome trig molts into an adult, he can rub one wing over another and emit his characteristic rattling trill. A cricket’s song is a beacon of connection to his kind; if it were ever lost, he may be doomed to wander alone in the reeds.
I DIDN’T START taking testosterone because I wanted to become a man. Rather, I coveted certain manly flourishes: a wispy mustache, flesh desperate to become muscle, a new mystery of a face. What I wanted most of all was a deeper voice, one that could drop into the abyss and skim the seafloor. As testosterone tilts your larynx and thickens your vocal cords, your voice sinks, stretches, and breaks. Mine skipped like a broken record. It fell off cliffs in conversation, only to reappear moments later. It became a shadow I could not pin down. Although I knew others found this pubescence embarrassing, I felt thrilled by the discomfort. I could hardly blame my body, transiting between one voice and another like a blinking satellite, destination unknown. Of course, there would be blips along the way. But eventually, I realized I had lost my urge to karaoke.
from Longreads https://longreads.com/2025/03/20/key-changes/
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