Yesterday was the first of my auditions required to transfer to a four-year music program.
I’m going to copy over almost exactly what I wrote in my personal journal, because I can’t express it all with perfect moment-by-moment accuracy. I can only talk about what yesterday felt like, and how it was a fulfillment of something I’ve been waiting for my entire life. I know a lot of people hate auditions, but sometimes I get into one and I remember exactly how to shine.
I did it.
I went in feeling a little apprehensive, but better than I had all semester. Ready, fueled by the strength of other people’s belief in me more than my own, but a little bit of my own, too. I went into a practice room and warmed up alone while hearing a more highly trained voice than mine warming up and hearing people play their piano scales faster and in more complex variations than I could. I went downstairs and heard a teenage girl with a lovely voice singing one of my pieces, and felt a flicker of “I don’t belong here; she’s only 17 and she’s better than me,” until I realized that her Italian diction wasn’t great and her rhythm was off in a few spots.
I ran through with my pianist, and the acoustics in the room were brilliant. I could hear myself. Maybe my voice wasn’t big in comparison to others, but I could fill up this space. I was hitting my expressive points. Vibrato, with which I struggle to find the correct air pressure/support for consistent achievement, crept in on far more extended pitches than before. I rolled my final R’s in the Italian piece better than I ever have.
Ok, maybe I could do this.
I went upstairs to the Theory exam. There were four tests: one to test into levels 1, 2, or 3, and one to test out of Theory entirely. After looking over all four, Theory III seemed the best choice – it actually looked easier to me than Theory II, and Theory IV had a few concepts I didn’t know yet and didn’t want to try to reason out under pressure. I had… not exactly trouble, but I had to think a little harder than I would’ve liked, but I did well. I finished, knowing I’d performed solidly. One down.
A hour’s break was spent drinking tea at Starbucks with my husband, who came with me for moral support. Then back for actual auditions. They were within a hair of the same quality as my runthrough – I cannot actually tell for the life of me whether they were slightly better than the run-through, or if I’d been a little better under slightly less scrutiny, but I had a moment where a high note rang in the space a second after I finished and I realized that that was me and that I could sing.
There were less amazing parts; I don’t feel I performed well on my piano or sight-reading placements even though they were easily below my actual skill level. I don’t care. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. I feel like I could never care again. All I’ve ever wanted in my entire life is to be able to sing and I can.