Seacoast of Bohemia

Section 14: In which I go home

I went back down the elevator, like sixteen of the seventeen people before me had done (the whole time I was there, that one girl was the only one I saw make it – even the super-cool Lothario didn't, and neither did any of the people immediately after me. I saw them all come down as empty-handed as I was.)

I interviewed on-camera one more time, with a camera-person who was standing with my associate producer, who was wonderfully sweet and said "Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny." This, incidentally, was the best interview I did. I managed to be a lot more coherent, and probably got in some good turns of phrase, too. And I almost cried on this one, which I hadn't for the others. So if they actually put in any footage of me interviewing, it will probably be from this one – which goes to show that being nice gets you a much better interview than being pushy, like the other producers, or distant, like Seacrest.

I went to my seat and got my things. "What happened up there?" one of the people still waiting to go up asked.

And then I really told the story for the first time – doing Simon's voice and folded-arm posture, imitating Randy's "dawg," overplaying my confused expression and cracking-voiced "But what do you mean?"

And do you know what? It was my best performance of the day. Every single person in that room was focusing completely on me. I had them – all ears, all eyes, all attention. All the other auditionees, all the parents and friends watched me. And that, more than anything else so far, helped me feel better. Because I knew that whatever had happened up there I could command a performance. Even emotionally distraught, even after I'd just failed at something, I could still perform, and do it well. And weirdly enough, I think I may even be a vastly better performer now than I was two weeks ago, just from the experience.

On the way out, I found Treyvon, and we hugged for a long time – which was when I finally did cry, and which meant so much to me. I mean, he barely knew me, and he'd just been cut himself, and still he took the time and the emotional energy to hug me and comfort me and tell me that it would be all right. He's just a terrific guy – I really hope he does become a professional performer, whatever Simon, Paula and Randy thought.

And finally, I got in my car, I changed my clothes, I called my parents, I bought myself some really good ice cream, and I went home.

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Section 15: In which I tell what happened after

And so. Bring the time-frame up to now. Two weeks later. It's taken me that long to complete this account (and I’m sorry it's been so long in coming, and it's so very, very enormously, outrageously long) – and I've done a lot since then.
I've thrown myself into my new job as an aide, for one. It's great. I'm in love with the kids I'm working with, and with the work I'm doing. I've never had such a rewarding job – or such a hard one – before, and I'm so glad I do now.

And the kids, themselves, have been wonderful in helping me feel like I didn't lose at all: the fifth grade interviewed me about my experience as part of a lesson on writing newspaper articles, and they all wanted my autograph afterwards, even though I didn't make it on the show! The fourth grade keeps asking me to sing for them. Some of them call me "the American Idol teacher." One kid runs up to me and hugs me every time she sees me, yelling "I just hugged an American Idol!"

It seems that they look up to me just for trying – and that makes me feel so good you would not believe it. I mean, I lost – I won't be an American Idol and a role model on t.v. – but to these kids, I'm still and idol, if not an Idol. Which sounds terrifically corny, I know (Patrick would hate it) but it's actually true.

They tell me, shyly, that they want to be singers or actors too. And though of course I’m not the reason that's true – the reason is inside themselves – I can help encourage them. I can be an example of someone who took the chance. Of someone who pushed herself to do something she didn't think she could do – and who got farther in it than she ever thought a person like her could. Which is amazing. And which, again, horribly corny though it sounds, I'd never thought of before.

But I've also thrown myself into other things. I've gone hiking. I've gone shopping. I've done some writing. (This thing is an enormous writing project in and of itself.) On the way back from Atlanta, just in the car, I wrote the best song I think I've ever written. And I've set myself the goal of writing about ten more this year – I may even learn the guitar, finally, so that I can really write them down instead of struggling to plunk out an uninspired piano accompaniment, like I've always done in the past. (Vanessa Carlton I am not.)

And just this past weekend, I managed to land an audition with our (very high-quality) regional theatre for their fall/winter season – and I killed it! I mean, I did really well.

I say that without knowing whether any part will pan out, of course, and it very well may not, for any number of reasons, but that does not change the fact that I went in there and auditioned better than I think I ever have in my life. It was an audition I think I can actually be proud of giving, and that has never before happened to me. I. Acted. Well. I did not suck. For the first time in my entire life, I am sure of this.
Plus which, I was only nervous for about the first second of it – and after that I actively enjoyed myself. Which has also never happened before. I don't know what this means, but it makes me feel pretty good.

And I've done a lot of thinking.

At one point when I was talking to Chad from Arkansas on the Friday night before the audition, babbling on about how much I loved costumes, he looked at me quizzically and said "Are you sure you're not in the wrong field?"

Well, no, I'm not. Of course. You all know that – I mean, nine-tenths of what I write is probably preoccupied with the idea that I have chosen or am about to chose the wrong field.

Thing is, though, I don't know what is the right field – any one I choose, I'll be giving up something I desperately and genuinely love! I love costumes. I love them to distraction. I love things and people that transgress or hang around the boundaries of society with a love that is unsurpassed. I love analyzing books and people and phenomena so much it hurts. I love performing so much I sometimes think it will kill me. I love to think, to sing, to act, to talk, to help, to create, to look, to listen – I love them all! I love them all so much I can't give any of them up – what career combines all of those things? Should I even try to find one? What do I do otherwise?
In many senses, this is not in any way a revelation. Of course I've been struggling with these questions for, well, ever. But what is a revelation is that I value all of these parts of me. I'm not willing to say that being a performer is a less important part of me than being a thinker is, nor am I willing to say the opposite. They aren't even separate parts of me – they're both me.

And I've been thinking a lot about myself as a performer. Weirdly, I think I have more performance confidence coming out of this experience than I ever had going into it. I mean, even though she and the others rejected me, Paula Abdul said I'm "almost too good for" American Idol! That's incredible! And I'm still enormously proud of having made it to the top 100-120 of 11,000 people. And I'm also enormously proud of having just done it. I don't know if anyone, least of all me, believed I could – but I did! I made up my mind and I did it!

What am I going to do next? Oh, I don’t know, I don't know! I'm tormented, of course. When am I ever not tormented? All this is not to say that I haven't been depressed, that I haven't felt the urge to just run and run and run away from all these questions. That I haven't had a ton of moments where I tear up and say to myself "Oh damn I wanted to be on that show so bad!"

I also haven't at all decided whether I will come back next year, like they said to. I have only one more year in which I could, since by next summer I will be 24. Which sounds terribly old to me – old to start a performance career, anyway, old to still be taking outrageous chances. But I also do desperately care about performing – and I like the me who takes outrageous chances a whole lot.

What it comes down to, of course, is that I don’t have any idea where I'll be this time next year. Will I have fallen so in love with teaching that I've dropped everything else and decided to try to do it full-throttle? (Already, the principal at my school has as much as said that she would want to hire me and let me complete my teaching certificate at the same time – which amazes and flatters me terribly.)
Will I have buckled down and applied for PhD programs in English, and be starting one?

Will I have gotten a part acting in something and be doing that? Will I have managed to write some songs – and maybe even record a demo album?

What it comes down to is: I just can't figure it out. I don't know whether I will have buckled down and chosen something practical, or whether I'll still be running after my dreams, holding my sides and puffing "Hey, guys, wait up!" My life is fantastically, horribly, frighteningly, heart-stoppingly up in the air.

But there it is, and there I am. And if there's one thing I know, it's that I can't just meander through the rest of my days until I die. So, yes, Simon Cowell, I am serious. I'm serious about being me – whoever that ends up being.

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Here ends my American Idol Odyssey and Epilogue – whether there will be a second season remains to be seen. Anyway, if you've waded through all of this one with me – I owe you! It's a ton to read, and I did it as much for myself as for anyone to read through – thus the truly astounding length. Thanks for all the support, everybody.

Labels: american idol, celebrity, trips, tv