I’m so scared.
I’m going to pretend I’m writing a letter here. If I’m writing a letter, I’m not sitting here freaking myself out, I am writing a letter to someone else, describing my frustration. A letter to whomever feels like reading it, whomever is comfortable indulging in my few minutes of personal panic at this point in time.
Dear Friend/To Whom it May Concern,
I’m worried my life is going to be a complete waste.
I have to trust that it isn’t: I know that. I have to believe that there is some cosmic plan out there just for me, guiding me step by step through my life. It’s only by believing that, that I can have hope. Hope that my existence here will mean something.
That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Whether or not something of me will remain once I’m gone? Isn’t that how it is for everybody, to some degree?
I’m sitting here at a desk in room 921 of the Hampton Inn in downtown Philadelphia. Tomorrow is my audition for the Curtis Institute of Music. I’m applying for a Master’s Degree in Opera Performance. Monday, I audition at the Academy of Vocal Arts.
But. WHAT AM I DOING??? I’m twenty-one years old and already I love this– what I’m doing– with so much of myself that it just about breaks me in half to think of failing to get into one of these schools. Yes, I have Eastman (or DO I?? It’s not as though I’ve gotten an acceptance letter yet)– but Eastman for six years? Will that be okay? How will that look on a résumé? Would I be better off applying to some random Hochschule? Their deadline doesn’t end until this end of this month. Can I AFFORD to live in Europe? Can I afford the travel costs (the answer: no, not really*). Am I only considering applying there so I won’t look like a complete waste of time? If I don’t get into grad school (or AVA)– WHERE DO I GO?
I have been telling myself that it’s too soon to know. I haven’t even sung here yet. I don’t know what my cosmic plan is, and blah blah blah.
Well, bullshit to me, because I’m terrified with not knowing. I know this is not a big deal for millions and millions of people, most of whom have waaaay more important things to worry about– and I’m extremely grateful that I don’t have cancer or a child to worry about, or massive debt**. But this?
This is my life.
I have to decide what to do with the rest of my life, if I’m not good enough.
I guess the answer has to be, “Be good enough. Be more than good enough.”
But to be the best, you have to know all of the things. And I most certainly do not. I don’t even know a quarter of the things. Or an eighth. Or a seventeenth.
Anyway… the rant is winding down because I have to go bed. Thank you for reading, Friend. Thank you for indulging me as I pause here awkwardly, just now remembering I was pretending to write a letter, for the sake of preserving my own illusion of sanity…
If this were to be a letter, I’d have to ask a few questions. Rather, I’d want to. That would steer me away from my own rambling…
How are you today? Give me the long answer, because otherwise what’s the point of asking?
Have you made any plans for the rest of your life? Tell me about them. Spare no detail. I can’t be the only one around here whose dreams are widely unrestricted (to the point of madness).
Last but not least, why haven’t you been around lately? I constantly check my phone to see if you’ve popped up on Skype mobile. It’s nice to have a distraction like you, you know. Actually, maybe you didn’t know that. Awkward again…
In any case, now you know. And I should bring this to a nicely rounded conclusion. Somehow.
Tomorrow I audition at Curtis. That’s something I didn’t think (or even know) I was capable of pursuing.
Monday I audition at AVA. That will be the longest shot on the planet for me, but at least it will be fun…
Tuesday I might be leaving for home, if I don’t get called back for AVA. And I think I might be okay with that.
I keep trying to tell myself that if I stay in Rochester, it will Be Okay. I will have an apartment. I might get a cat (so long as he can pretend he’s a dog). I can take all the language courses my little heart (and wallet) desire (can afford). I will have time to really solidify my technique… I am comfortable there.
Do I want to be comfortable? Don’t I want to work, and do this work, in a place that forces me to the highest level I can stand?
God knows, that I don’t know. I have to believe that it will happen how it’s supposed to happen, in this grand cosmic scheme. Or else… or else what? I lose faith in everything, probably. And I am too in love with what I’m doing to let it drop so I can have some incredibly pointless crisis of consciousness.
Sowieso. If you’re reading this, thanks for taking the time. If you’ve skipped ahead to here, I can’t say I blame you. If I’ve annoyed you, find something else to do… If your name is Michi, why are you reading my blog instead of talking to me in person? I probably haven’t heard from you in a while…
That said, I think I’m about done. Cathartic pretend letter completed.
* And by “not really,” I mean “not at all”
** Oh wait, I’m in debt FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, because of music school