It’s the morning of the audition, seven hours before you have to go. You know that this audition will put you into a harsh, solo spotlight, and you must be prepared for whatever musical “hoops” the audition committee sets before you. You have worked long and hard for six years and the outcome of this audition will determine the rest of your life. You practice quickly one last time, making sure that everything is absolutely perfect. As you finish the last few notes of the concerto, you are convinced that you everything sounds good enough. However, the piece wasn’t perfect.

Although it didn’t sound perfect, you know that if you keep practicing, you will get stressed out and it will be counterproductive. You decide to do what you do best and go and watch Netflix. You lay down on the couch and turn on the TV.
You don’t care what you watch, you just want to relax. After a couple of minutes, you begin to feel sleepy and your eyes grow heavy. You ignore it and allow this sense of tiredness to take over your body. . .
Before you know it, you jerk up, glance at the clock, and begin to freak out. The clock reads 4:23, a little less than an hour before your audition. You . . .
Grab your things quickly and rush out the door
Decide that it’s too late to go to the audition

You convince yourself that there is not enough time to drive to the audition in time. A feeling of guilt overcomes your body but you disregard it and go back to sleep. You’d much rather go on with your day than deal with the stress of an audition.

2b1. You had six minutes to prove that you deserved a seat in the orchestra. However, we regretfully inform you that you did not make it. You either gave up or your nerves took over. Don't take it harshly. You will just have to wait again until there is a new opening, which may never happen again in your lifetime.

You calm down and realize that, if you plan everything right, then you will get there in time. You run upstairs, grab your instrument and your music and run out the door. You turn on the ignition in your car and notice that the 'check engine' light is on. You're in too much of a rush to care. Fifteen minutes later, the engine starts to sputter and the car slows down to a stop. You have no choice but to leave your car there. You grab your things and run the extra mile. Your feet are burning and your back is aching, but you ignore the pain. This audition is your top priority and nothing will get in the way of it. You soon approach the symphony hall and enter the building in time. You are out of breath and your heart is racing.
Sign in

You are fairly unsure of where to go, but you quickly spot the check-in table and sign in.
You go downstairs to the communal warm up area and take out your instrument. As you take out your reeds and music, you realize that, while rushing, you forgot your water cup for reeds. It's not the end of the world. You just have to make sure your reeds do not dry out. You walk to the bathroom, wet your reeds, walk back to the lounge and begin to play a few notes. Your tone sounds good but a few of the notes are being unresponsive. As you play through one of the excerpts, the door opens and the proctor appears. She tells you that it is time to go up to the Green Room.
Grab your things calmly and walk up to the Green Room.
You have a panic attack

The Green Room is the next step before the on-stage audition and that begins to scare you. You anxiety starts to take over and you have a panic attack. The proctor, as well as the other oboists try to calm you down. You convince yourself that you are not in the right state of mind to do the audition. The others continue to tell you that you are perfectly capable and to go upstairs.

Your insecurities take over and you decide to not do the audition. The amount of anxiety that you would have experienced on-stage would have been overwhelming. It would not have been worth it. You gather your things, walk upstairs, and walk out of the building in shame. As you drive home, you begin to regret your decision. Oh well, it is too late and there is nothing you can do.

The on-stage audition is approaching and that scares you.
However, you have prepared for this moment and you feel confident. You walk up the stairs and into the Green Room with a smile on your face. Everything is going well so far, and you tell yourself that you will make this audition.

You are now in the Green Room and you have the entire room to yourself. You set your music on the stand along with your tuner, wet your reed, and play a few notes to test the acoustics. You sound amazing. You wonder how much time you have and your nerves start to set in. Any moment now, that door will open and it will be time for you to perform on the stage. The uncertainty scares you. You take a few deep breaths to slow down your heartbeat and glance around the room. Behind you there is a piano and it looks beautiful. It looks as though it's never been played. You are tempted to go over and play a short piece just to see how it sounds.
Ignore your temptations and continue warming up.
Play a few notes on the piano

You set your instrument down and sit on the piano bench. You stare at the keys wondering which piece you should play. You decide to play one of your favorites,
'Beethoven's Emperor Concerto.'
The moment your fingers touch the keys, everything comes out naturally and at ease.
This piano sounds as gorgeous as your instrument did. You zone out and let the music take over. Before you know it, the door opens and the proctor tells you to leave the building. She tells you that the piano is Symphony property and is not to be touched by anyone not in the Symphony. You have broken the rules and are not allowed to audition.
You have a feeling of regret as you walk downstairs to grab your things. You walk out of the building and drive home crying. Playing that piano was not worth it.

You decide that it's not a good idea to touch the piano, as it's not yours to play. You go back to playing your excerpts. After what feels like 20 minutes, the door opens slowly and the proctor walks in. It is now time. You put your things in your pocket and walk out the door with your instrument and music. Before the proctor opens the door to the stage, she tells you what order the music should be performed in and what scales should be played. D major and c# minor, the concerto and then the excerpts. You take a deep breath and are thankful that the scales are so easy. You open the door to the stage and are mesmerized by the beauty of the hall. Your anxiety slowly disappears and you love the fact that you get the entire stage to yourself. You walk along the carpet to the stand, set your things down and take another deep breath. You think about tuning one last time just to see how you sound on-stage.

You want everything to be perfect so, just to be safe, you take out your tuner and set it on your stand. The second you blow an A, the proctor runs over and tells you to leave.
Confused, she tells you that having electronics on-stage will get you disqualified.
As you gather your things, you remember her mentioning earlier that tuners are not to be used on-stage. You hate yourself for not being more cautious.
Everything was going so well and in a matter of seconds, it all ended .
. . .

As you reach for your pocket, you quickly remember that electronics are not allowed on-stage. You put your hands back on the instrument and blow a few notes to see how you sound. You sound terrible. You take the reed out of your mouth, examine it and notice that there is a split. Normally, you’d soak another reed, but you remember that you forgot your water cup at home.

You start to freak out. You assume that it’s all over. You turn around to look at the Proctor. She gives a look of confusion. You walk over to her and tell her the situation. She runs out of the room and in about 30 seconds, comes back with a cup of water.
You quickly plop a reed into the water, wait and take the reed out.

You stick your reed into your instrument and blow a couple of notes. You instantly fall in love with your tone. You can hear yourself echo throughout the hall and it puts a smile on your face. You turn around, look at the Proctor and she nods. You assume that that means that you can now start the actual audition. The room suddenly feels very hot. You can feel the stage lights beaming onto your skin. Balls of sweat trickle down your face.
Your hands feel clammy. You quickly wipe your hands on your pants and start taking more deep breaths. You can feel your heartbeat increasing. You just want to get the audition over with. You cannot believe that you’ve made it this far already. You take one deep breath and play the first scale. Perfect. The next scale. It wasn’t perfectly even but still pretty good. Alright. One third of the way there. That wasn’t so bad.

You remember not to tense up, not to bite, and just to sing. You play the first measure of the concerto and think to yourself, ‘play out, don’t be timid.’ Three minutes into the concerto and you’re sweating profusely. The stage feels even hotter now. Your mouth begins to ache on the high notes but you push through. As you play the last trill, you are satisfied with how the concerto sounded. You messed up one note, but you are hoping that you still have a chance. Now for the excerpts. The first one to be played is the second movement of Tchaikovsky’s 4th symphony. You remind yourself to relax. As you approach the second half of the solo, you decide not to breathe and to just continue in one breath. You immediately regret that decision as you play the 2nd to last measure.

You try to continue playing but your body does not allow it and you gasp for air.
However, that does not stop you. You continue playing and the notes sound beautiful.
One excerpt to go and you will be done with the audition. You start to worry, as this is the fast excerpt and if you mess up one note, you are screwed. You play the first half.
Definitely acceptable. Now for the complicated part. This half of the excerpt is definitely the more difficult one. You know that are you are perfectly capable of playing it through.
You play the first few notes and stop. Crap. It’s okay though. Not the end of the world.
You start the excerpt over and finish it this time. Not exactly in tempo but at least it’s over. You grab your things, and leave the hall.

One day you come home from your dreadful job, and you see that you got some mail from the symphony. You slide your finger along the envelope and tear it open. You hold the letter against your chest and take a deep breath. You are scared to look at what it says, but then realize that the decision has already been made. Nothing you do now will change the outcome. After about five minutes, you hold the letter in front of you and open it slowly.
"Dear Alessandra, we are pleased to tell you -" YES! You got the job.
Congratulations! You have survived an orchestra audition. Now be prepared for one of the best and most stressful jobs of your life.

Two months later, you are driving to your first rehearsal and arrive early. You are thankful that this time, your car did not break down. You get out of the car, grab your instrument and get ready to cross the street.. It is a busy street and many cars pass by. You look both ways. Clear. You take a few steps forward and as you approach the yellow lines, your trip over the strap of your instrument and fall forward onto your hand. You try to get up but your wrist is throbbing and the pain is unbearable. You look to your left and see a truck speeding towards you. You grab your instrument and hold it close to you as the truck rams into you. You see the light. You have died. I'm sorry. You have failed.

You have no other choice but to play on the split reed. You cringe as you play each note, each worse than the previous one. It is an indescribable sound, but a saxophone could easily sound better than this. As you finish the last excerpt, you burst into tears. All of that preparation for nothing. You will never get over this.

Everything turns black and you jerk up from your bed breathing heavily and covered in sweat. It was only a nightmare.
You check your watch. 3:56. You have rehearsal in about eight hours. You lay back down and roll over on your side. Everything is going to be okay.