Every moment of our lives, we are staring at some sort of failure directly in the eye, even if we may not realize it. Every choice that presents itself to us and every chance we take could always lead to failure. But this is where life becomes interesting; where it becomes worth living.
I’ve always been a singer. I may not have always realized it, but it’s always been there inside me, fighting for a chance. When I made the conscious decision to set my voice free, I did not exactly realize what I had signed up for. The very nature of being a performer is accompanied with copious amounts of failure; every audition, every illness, every performance could give way to failure.
My sophomore year of high school, I gathered my courage and decided that I was going to try out for the fall musical, "Pippin." I worked all summer with my vocal coach, learned every song, read every version of the script, studied every character. I did not expect to be a character, for those roles tended to be reserved for the upperclassmen, but I deeply longed to make it into the ensemble. I wanted to show everyone that I was good enough to be there, that I could play with the big kids, the theater kids. I went to the audition beyond prepared and sang my heart out for the 30 seconds we were allowed.
But, when the cast list came out, I felt as though a brick had been thrown at my head. I scanned the list again and again, tears erupting from my eyes, searching for my name as if my life depended on it being there. My chest ached and I felt as though the air was purposefully avoiding my lungs out of fear. All my friends names were etched on that sheet in black ink. Mine was not.
It took a few days for me to pick myself up. I had failed, and failure is a poison that fills you up and tells you that you are not good enough. But failure can also be a remedy. It proved to be my remedy.
After I was done feeling bad (which is perfectly OK for a little while), I knew I needed to sing to feel better, even if I could not do that through "Pippin." I walked into choir class the next day, my failure fueling me to do something to rid myself of the feeling of unworthiness. When the teacher asked who would like to try out for the solo that would be performed at the concert in October, my hand could not have shot up faster. I barely even knew the song, but I auditioned anyway. Who would have thought that that impulse, based on failure, would have given me the chance to do what I love most: perform. Who would have thought that I was good enough, that I could be proud of myself? My failure seemed to know. It drove me out of my comfort zone those next few days and I even auditioned for the co-curricular of an a cappella group -- 50 girls auditioned and only 10 made it. I was one.
And that failure still drives me today, to keep on doing what I love. The failure knows my passion and reminds me every day that if I do not keep picking myself up and continuing to sing, even in the face of failure, then it will surely be my demise. But I will not let failure win. It will shape me, but not define me. I am a performer and my courage is strong, thanks to my failure.
