I awaken to a stomach in knots. The audition is twelve hours away and yet I’m already filled with nerves. At work, I keep silent, not wanting to voice any fears. My friends pat me on the back and dote well-wishes upon me. My thoughts tell a different story.
Are you crazy?!
What the hell are you doing?!
You haven’t danced in years! You think you’ll actually make it?
In actuality, no. I don’t think I’ll make it but what’s the harm in trying, right?
Work ends too quickly for my liking and my stomach continues its somersaults in anticipation of the audition. I arrive to the studio and attempt to smile without my jaw quivering. Headshots are turned in. Resumes are submitted. I look around to the other girls and see perfection in hair and makeup. How old are they? 18? 19? My 25 years suddenly seem ancient. I’m definitely out of my league here.
The minutes drag by as we stretch and I try not to vomit. What are the odds of me running out of here and never bumping into these people again? Not likely, I suppose.
The time comes and the director asks us to assemble on the floor. Turn sequences come first. Great. Let’s start off with my weakness, why don’t we? The other dancers float across the floor while I stumble through the pass, barely holding on to my center. I feel like a fool. I glance at the exit, my mind pushing me to just give up and leave. No. That would be the ultimate embarrassment. I have to at least get through it.
We move on to choreography. This is where I believe I can shine. The instructor, however, has something else in mind. As if someone pressed fast forward on the evening, she takes off through the piece at a breakneck speed. I struggle to keep up but eventually nail it. The performances begin as we break off into smaller groups. I get better and more confident each time I perform. Where others shined earlier, some stumble during this phase. Maybe I can do this?
With my head held a little higher than before, the audition is suddenly over. The directors promise an answer by the next day and I make my way home. A glass of wine greets me as I crawl into bed and think back over the evening. While not a complete disaster as I originally imagined, I still didn’t believe that I was good enough to actually make it.
An hour and a half and a few glasses of wine later, the ding of my phone brings me out of my thoughts. It’s only an email notification. I pull it up to delete the never-ending spam.
The first word of the subject line tells a different story.
Auditions this Saturday! EEK!
Awesomeness Awaits at Yeah Write!