English Essays are Fun to Post

“I have confidence they'll put me to the test. But I'll make them see I have confidence in me.”

There’s nothing special about leggings and soft shoes, yet they incurred interpretation in me the moment I saw them at musical auditions, tempting my mind to wallow in apathy. I still don’t know how I fooled myself into trying out for the school musical. Realizing afterward how vividly one’s mindset paints the picture that determines the end result in an experience that has the potential to be either positive or negative set the leggings in perspective.
Negative mindsets seem to have a way of sneaking up on its most innocent and unsuspecting victims. Once lured into a trap of false confidence, a flurry of demoralizing comments pounces upon them, ultimately obliterating their aspiration. In this instance, I was the one pounced upon. Many of my good friends had told me their wonderful musical stories throughout the year, inspiring me to set the unreasonable goal that I wanted to be in the musical the following year.
I had never done a singing audition except for all-city choir, which I do not believe counts. The musical was different. I approached it with a certain degree of seriousness, preparing my audition by listening to the amazing Julie Andrews sing “My Favorite Things” endlessly like a broken record. I received the privilege of rehearsing it with a pianist. It was more magical when I sang it by myself as opposed to the lunch group in the choir room. When I confessed this to my friend Hillary, she burst out in a fit of anger and told me that auditions are all about singing to the lunch group. Shower singing doesn’t count, obviously. What I truly needed was confidence.
My major concern was not singing, but the knowledge of that upcoming ominous dancing part. According to those seasoned musical-ists, we were taught a few dance steps, then allowed to go home, practice, and come back later to perform. Hearing this I felt encouraged, remembering when we did an interpretative dance in the eighth grade. I took my time grasping all the movements and coordinating them with the music, and was quickly surpassed by fifth graders, proving that I am not a very coordinated person. Any videotape of me in the hallway could easily prove this. Once I understood what I was doing, things flowed. As long as I had time to practice, I could most likely handle the moving part of this.

“Oh, I must stop these doubts, all these worries. If I don't I just know I'll turn back. I must dream of the things I am seeking. I am seeking the courage I lack.”

How easily hopes are dashed when intimidation reigns the mind! Despite initial eagerness, my confidence level was low on the long five-minute journey to South. It didn’t help that my mother didn’t even know that I was auditioning. My mind raced with endless possibilities. If I made it, I’d have to find some reasonable way to explain the three hour rehearsals each night. I’d have to go directly from swimming to rehearsal with only a half hour in between. When could I eat dinner? Who needs dinner? Who needs sleep? Regardless of the obstacles, I was trying out. I promised myself that even if I didn’t make it I wouldn’t be too upset, since I know better than anyone how inexperienced I am. No tears allowed.
The singing audition went quite well. It was the highlight of my experience. I didn’t mix up the cream-colored ponies with the strudel, or the girls in white dresses with brown paper packages. The encouraging, positive feedback I received from my student audience was the most dangerous thing I had. Deep inside me, this slight twinge of confidence brewed like a poison. I was only waiting for it to seep through the rest of my body, slowly killing me.
My reaction to the poison appeared in the dancing. Some people had actual dancing shoes and leggings. I had jeans and tennis shoes. The unnamed lady showed the group a little choreographed section she had worked out. It was manageable. Just as I thought I understood the foot part, she added more onto it. And then more, even before I even could comprehend the previous part. She was using terms I didn’t understand. What was a ‘jazz square’? I had no idea. I unsuccessful attempted to fake it. I was a marionette with her strings twisted. I followed the group, slipping further and further toward the back of the group of people. When she couldn’t add any more dance steps to the routine, the unnamed lady suggested we pair up and perform what we had supposedly learned. I expected this to be a simple run-through. I soon realized that was not the case. This routine was the audition, unabridged and “hardcore”. Panic set in. I didn’t know this that well, not to the point that I could perform the entire routine and not survive as a blundering idiot…alas, I knew that was who I truly was when it came down to it. A fat, stupid, blundering idiot who got compliments only because others felt sorry for her pitiful state of being…
“Do you still need a partner?”. Of all people, why must you ask me? Go find some other amazing person like yourself to perform with. Leave me here to pout against the wall. Go away. I’m a blundering idiot. I’ll only disappoint you. “Umm, yes. I don’t quite understand the routine, though…” If I can’t even keep up while copying everyone else, how am I supposed to do this with only one other person? I can’t. I’m a blundering idiot, I told you. “Just fake it and you’ll be fine.”. Sure I will. My mental telepathy was not getting through.

“The courage to serve them with reliance. Face my mistakes without defiance. Show them I'm worthy. And while I show them. I'll show me.”

Watching even the most talented people look confused and laugh nervously as they leapt around the stage made me feel even worse about myself. The line of audition-ees was more like death row. Two by two, walking up to the gallows, anxiously anticipating their fate…
 I honestly can not say exactly what happened when it was my turn - or our turn. I started out with a mask of confidence easily removable. Then I froze. If I couldn’t perform, then why should I bother? Why should I take away from the other person? I didn’t want to confuse them. So I stopped. I stood still. Then I walked off stage, as the music kept playing. Blundering idiot, my head screamed. A lonely tear of shame slowly crept down my face, like a lonely puppy meanders through the streets. It was the only tear I let escape. My future business card flashed before my eyes “Lauren Bell, blundering idiot.”
I still have to wonder how much of a blundering idiot I am, and question where that term even came from. I have determined that I might not have been such a blundering idiot had I not told myself I that was. I might have stayed on stage had I not told myself my presence was subtracting from the other person’s performance. Some people are outstanding, and even a blundering idiot can not prevent them from getting title roles. The only person I subtracted from was myself with my negative thoughts. I approached the entire experience from the wrong perspective. If there is a next time, I plan to ensure that the blundering idiot mindset has vanished. In its place must be confidence, regardless of whether or not I truly am a blundering idiot. Next time, I don’t need leggings or dance shoes. As Julie Andrews so memorably proclaimed, “I have confidence in me!”.