I don't usually win stuff. I have never won anything out of a drawing. Every time I shop at Trader Joe's, I put one of those little tickets into the BYOB lottery. I have never won in my many years of shopping there. A long time ago, my entire family won prizes in a drawing at a church party and my name was the only one that didn't get picked. I often enter the Lucky magazine sweepstakes to get some of those fabulous beauty prizes. Nope, nothing.
These are pretty flippant examples, but I have barely won anything that could be deemed a little more important either. I have entered many competitions in my time, some that I've blogged about, some that I haven't; some I've entered without telling a soul. Some I have won by default because there was no one else competing. Many I've gotten a quiet rejection letter to which I nodded and put promptly in the recycle bin.
So I thought I would write about winning, because I don't usually win stuff. I did the USC Donald Miller Concerto Competition last week, and I won. The prize? I'll be performing with an orchestra for our department recital in April in Newman Hall. I am totally psyched. I've longed for playing with orchestra since my days as a cellist in California Youth Symphony. My current axe of choice not being an orchestral instrument, I've left that world behind and continued along, not wanting to pine for anything that is outside my realm of expression now. But here I have another chance to play with an orchestra- and this time as soloist! (If they can hear me, that is. Perhaps it's wise that the guitar is not an orchestral instrument. It would promptly be drowned out by just about any single instrument in the orchestra.)
I have a terrible habit of imagining every possible outcome for every single uncertainty in my life. I think it's my way of managing my expectations and protecting myself from any kind of shock or surprising emotions. Here was one scenario that I had imagined, and when they announced that I had won, it didn't feel anything like I thought it would. I felt no different than I did right after I finished playing and sat down to watch the rest of the competitors in the audience. I guess this is because my real anxiety was to play the concerto my utmost best as I had been prepping for it vigorously for some time, studying the score, listening and re-listening to my favorite recording of it while driving while imagining the orchestra and singing along to my entrances; practicing passages slowly and at tempo, drilling small sections, and running it as if it were a performance, with bright lights and a canine audience to boot. So the real release was getting through it and feeling good about it overall. Only one pseudo-missed entrance that I promptly got back on with my pianist. No other major mishaps to tell of.
And so continues the journey, onto practicing and more practicing. A burst of confidence reminded me that I need to always be pushing forward if I want any semblance of a performing career, not settling and not stopping. Another performance of the concerto at a noon concert yesterday proved to myself that I am making progress in the art of performing. I know how to manage it and I know that what matters is my heart, and the process. I know how to be in it, and my stomach doesn't hurt every time as much as it used to. And I love it.
