The music was beautiful. It was a haunting melody, lyrical and lilting and gentle as ocean mist, splattering the audience with quiet chords and a pulsing melody. The notes were smooth as silk, gliding like ocean waves and calling gently with the irresistible pull of a singing Siren, beckoning me to lose myself in the ethereal song. However, the smooth serenade was dimmed by the cacophony of my panicked thoughts, thoroughly eliminating any chance I had of enjoying the music by bombarding me with all the thoughts of what could go wrong, all the ways I could fail, and the dubious questions as to if I was ready for this performance. This was a challenge that scared me beyond belief; I didn’t think I could do it.

 I am terrified. It was a revelation that dumped itself on me as I was nervously waiting to perform and struggling to identify the emotion that was plaguing my limbs with numbness and trembling. The emotion that had captured my thoughts and threw doubts and fears at me from every direction. The emotion that had tied me to my chair, quickened my heartbeat, and caused me to hyperventilate as I closed my eyes and tried to calm the obvious shaking of my fingers. The emotion that I only matched to a title when my name was called and I stumbled up to the glossy Steinway piano after the previous girl’s performance, my hands shaking and dripping with sweat as I adjusted my seat, placed them on the piano, and desperately tried to calm myself as I peered at my own shiny, panicked reflection. I can’t do this, I thought. I’m going to fail.

When I started playing, my hands shook so badly that I could barely reach the notes. After stumbling through my first few measures, I was ready to give up and run away, to escape from the penetrating gaze of the audience and the critical stares of the judges. Still, I persevered despite my fear and anxiety, struggling through the first part of the song. The audience shifted, leaning back, subtly commentating as I played on; the judges cast their gazes to the ground, their faces unreadable out of the corner of my eye, though they didn’t seem terribly interested. Flashes of light pricked my vision, signaling bored children playing games on their parents’ phones. Annoyance flashed through me; I suddenly wanted them all to watch me, to hear within my notes the time I had put into each one. After hours and hours of tedious practicing, I refused to disgrace years of painful effort and sacrifice. I did the best I could,  my mind whispered. I am not about to be reduced to a trembling mess after all the time I spent on this song. I am ready, my mind confirmed, I am capable. My thoughts took up a chant: I am ready, I am capable, I am ready, I am capable, I am...It took another few moments of playing to recognize this new emotion.

Determined. I had spent countless hours practicing; I had spent countless summer days listening to my friends play outside while I labored to perfect a page that was not yet flawless. I had taken it upon myself to put hours of work into this song, despite how arduous it could be to constantly fix mistakes and make improvements. I knew this song; two years of practice had imbued the notes into my fingers. I was capable; I was ready.

I’m not going to give up now.

As I realized this, new confidence flooded through me and into the song. The uneven melody grew calm and continuous, each note dropping seamlessly to the next. My playing grew steady and clear, the notes ringing out with a full, rich tone. My fear mitigated, replaced by a sudden focus on the song and the techniques I needed to employ. Somehow I was able to successfully navigate the song, impeccably playing every note of the haunting, lyrical piece.

After I was done, I scrambled back to my seat, unable to conceal the smile that blazed across my face and grew like a wildfire as I proudly acknowledged the smiles of pride from my family. The smile remained stamped on my face throughout the rest of the performances; suddenly energized, I swung my legs beneath my chair and would have whistled had the room not been in pin-drop silence, or had I been decent at whistling, which I wasn’t. So I did the best I could not to combust from the emotional overload of relief and euphoria, whistling in my head and keeping my head up and my smile broad. I did it. The realization made me giddy, and I could have skipped through the isles and danced to the cheerful tune a boy was currently playing on the piano, again, had the room not been in complete stillness, and had I been decent at dancing, which I was definitely not. Finally, I managed a fairly tranquil state, dimming my smile, though it adamantly refused to be expunged from my face. I breathed slowly, savoring the music now as I was no longer terrified. The boy’s hands were whirring at the speed of lightning, his fingers a blur as they danced along the keyboard, slowed to an almost complete stop, then lashed out with three final chords that resonated throughout the room. He paused, then slowly withdrew his hands from the keyboard and marched back to his parents, who offered silent compliments. It was over. Well, the performances, anyway.

Perhaps I should have been nervous for the announcement of results, but my elation at having played so well still echoed through the caverns of my mind. Whistling and dancing aside, I was purely happy for such an amazing experience, one I would never forget. The silence continued, still restricting me from expressing my joy with horrible dancing or strangled whistling. Scattered coughs tumbled through the audience, and there was a subtle fidgeting in the air as people stole furtive glances at their phones screens or simply shifted impatiently as the judges conversed in a location unknown. The lady who organized the competition suddenly strode in, her blonde-yellow hair bobbing as she marched past on (seemingly torturous) high heels and turned with a radiant smile on her face, drawing all eyes to her and the spotless white envelope in her hand. She delicately opened the envelope and drew out a slip of paper.

“In second place, Contestant number 12, Joanna Andrews, “ she called.

It took a moment for that to sink in. Contestant….. 12. Did I hear her wrong? But my name was unmistakable.

There was a crumpled slip of paper in my hands containing the words Contestant 12.

It. Was. Me.

I gaped at the woman, my mouth undoubtedly hanging open as my family grinned at me and voiced their excitement and appreciation. With the thunderous clapping, no one would have heard me whistling, but I missed the opportunity since I was too busy trying to lift my jaw, which refused to let me close my open mouth. Finally, I managed a grin, my facial muscles again being uncooperative as they refused to erase my wide smile.

Then came first place, again announced in a clear, clipped tone.

“Contestant 9.”

Of course, I couldn’t hear her name. A momentary flashback showed me a girl who had nailed every note, who had brought out all the hidden melodies and had portrayed all the emotions of the song perfectly. The girl’s black hair sprang up as her head jerked, her sparkling blue dress glinting as she smiled and received a round of loud, exuberant applause; she beamed at her ecstatic parents, whose gazes were brimming with joy and pride. I grinned at her briefly, understanding her overwhelment of happiness. We both remained seated, breathing in the congratulations that were thrown our way from family and competitors alike.

I can’t believe that I won second place.

After the competition was over, the winners were announced, and the excitement had died down; the crowd slowly began to trickle out, contestants collecting their comments from the judge and reading them under the watchful gaze and commentary of their parents. People flooded out into the cold, breeze-filled air; the morning had started to shed its frigid chill by bringing out the warm, welcoming sun, but the icy nature of autumn was not to be deterred. I picked up my comments, and my sister picked up hers; the lady also handed my mom several slips of paper, which she explained to be family tickets for the subsequent performance that was exclusively for the winners and would be held the next day.

With this announcement came a fresh outcry of dread from my mind, but I tuned out the thoughts and instead summoned thoughts of confidence to my mind. I can do this. And I will do this…. Fantabulously. Was that a word? It didn’t matter. The second performance would go well, I was sure of it.

I smiled and thought: I am ready for this.

Challenges are inexorable; they come frequently, they are difficult, and they are terrifying.  But if you face them with confidence….. you can accomplish more than you ever imagined you could.

-Joanna Andrews