Boombaboomboombaboom.
Oh that? That’s the beating of my heart.
Here I am, standing in the orchestra hall with my trusty bass, awaiting what would certainly be my doom.
D, A, F, E, shift, G, C sharp, D, harmonic—I run my solo through my head, fingering each note.
What if I messed up? What if I skipped a note? What if I played the wrong note? What if I went too slow? Too fast? These thoughts fly through my head at rapid speed. The door to the audition room squeaks as it opens, interrupting my constant stream of self-doubt. The player before me steps out with a smile on his face. Can lightning strike twice?

With one final deep breath, I enter the room. Slowly, I walk to the lone music stand, tripping on the way. Smooth. I place my music binder on the stand, looking shyly at the judge who will decide my fate.
“Hello”, she says, still looking down at her papers.
“Uh, hi”, I reply, nervously.
An awkward moment of silence passes.
“And your name is…”, she asks impatiently.
“Oh! Carly Rose”, I blurt.
“Ok whenever you’re ready.”
I place my bow on the string and begin to play. The first 5 measures sound fine but nerves get the better of me. I rush, losing my place on the page, so that I have to stop and find where I am. My bow hand shakes, making it sound inconsistent and, well, shaky. By the time I finish, I’m scared to look at my judge’s face. I wait, expecting her to give me tips and criticism. Instead, not even looking up from her papers, she tells me bluntly, “You’re good you can go.”

Turns out lightning can’t strike twice.