High Stakes

So, it is finished. Everything is turned in, all the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed... it's all over but the shouting and the waiting. I should know the thrill of victory of the agony of defeat around late march/ early april.

Which means, of course, that I will once again have time for the blogging. Hooray.

Todays topic is success. I was thinking about this last night at choir practice. For one particular song we are in a mixed formation, meaning singing next to people that are singing parts other than your own. I haven't done that for about 7 years, since I was in Madrigals in high school. It was a struggle to learn at that time, and I felt way over my head, but eventually, I was successful and learned how to hold my own against the other voices. I remember feeling so challenged by it, mostly because I was so grateful to be in Madrigals in the first place, and felt like if anyone realized I couldn't hold my part, I would be outed as an imposter and kicked out of the choir. It never even occurred to me that you weren't supposed to be perfect immediately when starting something new.

This change in formation made me think about the things I had wanted when I was younger. I wanted to be in Madrigals so desperately when I was a Junior in high school. All through high school I spent my time trying to be the lead in every play, the soloist in every concert, what I refered to as "the it girl". I was always trying to prove something to someone, either myself or others. I wanted to be known, and I wanted my talent to be coveted. And because of this, I was incredibly hard on myself. I remember leaving my Madrigals audition and balling my eyes out, breaking down crying in the back hallway behind the choir room because I had missed one note. I couldn't appreciate my talent, because I was always judging it. But when I got into Madrigals, and began to really feel blessed by talent instead of critical of it, I was able to move into a place where performing was fun again, and I could feel strong and confident and capable.

But it was still a couple of years before I could stop taking it all so personally. When I didn't get into the BFA Acting program at the U, I once again found myself crying in a hallway, this time in New Jersey, during a spring break trip to New York. I was sobbing so hard I think my drama teacher thought someone had died. At the time, I thought it was my dreams. Once I got to college, I still took myself really seriously, but as my experience in theatre broadened and I was able to see other options, I began to realize that it wasn't about me as a person, or my talent, sometimes it was just about being "right" or not. It is personal, but in a way you really can't control, like not being attracted to people with blue eyes. There isn't a thing they or you can do about it.

So I was thinking about this last night, how badly I wanted these things and how trivial and small they seem now. Your desires just get bigger and more complicated as you get older, and the stakes get higher. If I hadn't gotten into Madrigals as a Junior, I probably would have gotten in as a Senior, but I would have been miserable. Now, if I don't get into the right law school, I don't know what my next step will be. I want this so badly, badly enough that I haven't left myself other options. If I don't, I guess I'll get over it, but at what point does this emotional rollercoaster stop? And bigger question, do I really want it to? Isn't the passionate intensity of desire what makes life worth living? What would it be like to travel through life without any dreams, or goals, or aspirations? Without the potential for loss that is deeply and painfully felt? Maybe I'm just a drama queen, but I think I'd take possible pain over definite boredom any day.