11/8/2018: It’s opening night for our school’s fall play: The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. All the actors and musicians are excited but a little bit tense. In my spot on the loft above the stage, I can see everything and everyone. I begin to recognize my peers and some of my teachers, and I start to get anxious.

“What if I don’t play well and it is so noticeable? Will my friends judge me for messing up? You don’t know how to play the cello right!”  I am overthinking everything, and my mind flies out of the moment and into the clouds of self criticism. The lights begin to dim in the back of the auditorium as the casual conversations of audience members slowly fade to mere whispers. I take a deep breath as I hear the entrance theme played out on the piano, cueing in one of the actors to strut down the aisles and begin the show. Doubts and insecurities begin to creep in, distracting me from the music.

“You know the music, you’ve practiced so much,” I silently remind myself. My stomach is filled to its capacity with butterflies, and I sense that my inner emotions are being projected onto my face. My legs and hands shake, and I feel weak. My legs supporting my cello start to shake the actual instrument, and trying to calm down sort of makes it worse.

“Deep breaths,” I remind myself.

As the theme song is about to start, I attempt to focus my attention on the play and get ready to play my first note. As I place my bow on the string and let the first notes ring out, I feel as if all eyes are on me, even though I know most people are focused on what the actors are doing below me. “Was I too loud, or too harsh? Was my vibrato okay?” I am suddenly so aware of of every little detail of my playing. Everything, from my posture to bow changes, becomes subject to my own criticism. My breathing quickens along with the tempo, and my eyes wide as if I am playing this music for the first time, even though I have been practicing it for weeks. T

he first song ends, leaving time for me to calm down and rest, until the next musical number begins. As the play goes on, this cycle of suspense, anxiety, and somewhat relief repeats over and over again until the show concludes.

Until the next performance, I can breathe for a while.

11/21/18:  After a few more performances, I feel like I am finally hitting my stride and gaining more confidence on stage. I begin playing all the right cues and figuring out how my part fit in with the vocals and percussion. My heart is no longer jumping because of anxiety, but from excitement. It feels so great to establish a sense of belonging and certainty within the music.

I was so pumped up for the weekend performances, but due to the power outage, they were cancelled. Upon hearing the rescheduled 9 PM final performance, I do admit I am more happy that we are having a final performance than I am upset about the starting time. As I walk through the auditorium, I have so many different emotions running around in my head and heart. Mainly, I am thrilled to see my friends and band members, but there is a small, depressing thought in the back of my mind: “This is your last show. All the fun and excitement will soon be over and back to normal life you go”.

I have finally begun making closer connections with the super nice cast members and getting over my anxiety, and not being apart of the play anymore will end all of that. When I start observing the other actors just laughing and having fun, I suddenly realize that I need to stop drowning in my sea of sadness and be in the moment. “You are playing difficult music for a play, and you are killing it! Focus on the happiness! This is the last performance, so make it your best and just have fun!”

Seeing all of the people flood into the auditorium is more exhilarating than stressful. There are tons of more people than usual, but that makes me even more confident because I know that I know what I am doing, and the amount of people there doesn’t affect my playing ability. The play starts, and I can feel my anxiety melt away, revealing the confident, shining, and amazing person I established myself to be.

When the opening song begins, I play with assertiveness and musicality never seen before. I laugh harder at the jokes I’ve heard dozens of time, and feel more of the emotion within the lyrics. This show is the best performance we have ever done as a whole, actors and musicians and all.

Within a blink of an eye, the performance closes and the cast bows for the final time. As I pack up the electric cello and prepare to leave, everyone around me congratulates each other and we all bask in the joy of a stellar performance.

I have learned so many valuable lessons from my experience in the fall play. From learning how to spell random words to getting out of my comfort zone, this experience has helped me grow into a different person. I truly wish that I could have played a million more shows, but alas, all good things must come to an end.

Congratulations to all of the cast, technical crew, and my fellow band members for making the past few weeks something that I will never forget. Don’t worry about what other people think of you, and don’t overthink yourself out of something. Try new things, step out of your comfort zone, take risks, do things in ways you have never done before, ask for help, surround yourself with self-actualized people, accept the fact that you have one lifetime on this planet as the person that you are, and realize how precious and important that is.

It took me a long time, but on my own, I have grown and prepared myself for the future.