I figured, “Why not? No interviews for September, what else am I going to be doing with my life?”
This is something I’m doing for me.
But I just realized the song I picked is for my kids as much as it is for me.
So maybe I’ll smile instead of faint.
Ah, I’m so excited to hear about this! Good luck!
Thank you! As it turns out, it was very uneventful. Lots of waiting, lots of amicable chatting with other nervous people. Everyone was pretty friendly. Everyone I head was very good, but only one in our audition group and none of the folks I spoke with in line got called back. Over half the people I talked or listened to there had auditioned for this and other such shows before. Colleen left me with a couple of small plastic My Little Pony toys in my purse, which subsequently made me several new friends and distracted/momentarily calmed several people.
When we were in the audition itself (ten people to a group, a dressing room with a horseshoe of chairs along three walls and a producer at the desk at the front, each person stands and sings a verse and a chorus), everyone clapped for everyone else. Our producer smiled almost constantly and was incredibly encouraging. No one actually stood out because everyone was at more or less the same fairly professional level. After the third person who got up and sat down had filled the room with the same full and fairly flawless sound, I wasn’t nervous anymore because…well, because I knew darned well I wasn’t at this level, and I was okay with that. It was surreally normal, the incredible quality of all these voices, and I had to wonder if that was the case for every other group, too. So I got up, sang, didn’t expect anything, sat down, smiled and clapped for other people and waited to leave.
And then I did, because I wasn’t called back, and that’s for the best. Because that meant I could belt anything I wanted on the car ride home and not worry about losing my voice. It meant that I didn’t have to worry about scheduling issues. And it meant I’d done something I said I would do and that now I can cross it off the bucket list and never bother with it again. (Originally it had been to audition for American Idol — this was prelims for The Voice — but after hearing so many absolute horror stories about Idol auditions, I’m glad I never did.) My kids are going to think I’m lying when I tell them I’m actually not upset at all, and then when they finally believe me at least a handful will probably think something is wrong with me.
I had to cough up $15 for parking and $12 in tolls for the Lincoln Tunnel and that is my only regret.
Overall, the feeling is best described as this: You’re waiting in line for what is, to you, a mindblowingly frightening roller coaster — because you don’t usually go on roller coasters, and this is a big one. As you talk to people you find out more about the turns or the loops and you’re a bit less terrified of the unknown, instead left with the same nerves and excitement that everyone around you has in varying degrees, and because you now have some kind of common ground and you’re waiting for a long time conversation moves eventually from their coaster experiences to where they’re from and what they do and things like that.
When you get to the actual ride you can’t feel anything for the first few seconds, where you can see the whole park in front of you. By the time you’re at the second or third drop it’s not that big a deal anymore, though it isn’t as if you’re bored. And when you’re done, you might not go on that coaster again because it wasn’t necessarily what you wanted, but the experience was fun enough in itself.
Now back to applying for teaching positions, which is much scarier.