Never before in my—admittedly short—life have I been this anxious. The most important month of my life thus far is February of 2009. I will be auditioning for Oberlin Conservatory, Westminster Choir College, and James Madison University with the hope that one of these fine institutions (preferably one of the former two) accepts me.
My dream for this stage of my life is to matriculate to Oberlin Conservatory in Ohio for my bachelors in Music (vocal performance and music theory), to be followed by a Masters in Opera Theatre, Choral Conducting, and Music Education.
Since early childhood I have been a rather fearless individual. Physical things could never really frighten me. Shock me, perhaps, but never frighten me. But when it comes to being judged, I have always done my utmost to impress anyone and everyone around me. I had to be the best at whatever I did. I have excelled in school for as long as I can remember, I have always been looked at as one of the talented singers and overall musicians, I absorb information aurally and so am fairly well rounded knowledge-wise.
This urge, this drive, this need to excel has, I believe, been manifested not as a desire to please my parents and peers, but out of the constant fear of rejection that courses through my mind each and every day. The thought that I might not be good enough, or rather, that I might not be good is enough to give me an ulcer. My abdomen tightens and my entire body tenses when I imagine myself in positions where I am being judged.
For my upcoming auditions, the adjudication process will be what causes me to develop panic attacks. My life lies in each of the adjudicator's hands.
I cannot help but ruminate over the possibility of receiving three letters of declination, each not a strike against my ego or my humility, but a bludgeon to my very being. My colleagues and instructors all tell me I'm going to do fine, they're going to love me, I'm gonna make it; and yet, no matter how many times I hear this, it does not help one iota. I still have trouble sleeping each night because every muscle in my body tenses simultaneously, my teeth clench, my eyes are squeezed shut as I suffer through another wave of pure anxious fear.
I breathe deeply a few times, in an attempt to relax. Eventually I unilaterally relax each individual muscle and calm down.
It is difficult to put into words my feelings in a way that others can understand fully. If you were to see me in some public venue, you would never know of the struggle I put myself through. Outwardly, I am constantly engaged in a masquerade. Life is but a play where one must always maintain character. I put on the façade of the big-headed, confident performer and bottle all of my emotions.
C'est la vie.
Enough with my rant on my life and its struggle.
The point of the narrative bit was to express that I honestly think I think too much. If only the world could just slow down a bit, relax, take a breath. But that is not how it works. The world will not break for those who can't keep up—and by this I in NO WAY imply that the world should be a dog-eat-dog, only the strong survive type world. I only imply that if I, or anyone else, ever stop to let things just pass me by, there is no way in hell I could ever make it.
