It's a quiet Tuesday night, well deserved after another random crazy fest at crisis intervention. I get out of my dress pants, make a little dinner, and get ready to watch American Idol.* I'm stretched out on my leather couch, waiting for the next tone-deaf auditioner to walk into the judge's room and give us the performace of a lifetime. I laugh, I cringe, and I groan at the horrid sounds that are coming out of some of these mouths. Several dreams are swiftly shot down, much to my disturbing amusement.
What's special about the exceptionally awful singers that audition is that many of them walk into the room imagining that they're really going to make it. They say that all they want to do is sing, that they can't imagine being happier doing anything else, that they are destined to be a star. I'm witnessing delusional ideation at its best. It's like having a friend with a voice like Harvey Firestein tell me her dream is to become a news anchor. No matter her diction, her dedication, or her training, she would always lack one of the innate characteristics necessary for the job. I can't believe some of the voices that come out of these people who are so gung-ho about singing. They were born without a shot in the world.
I'm genuinely entertained by these people and wonder how they could be so clueless, but the truth is that whatever career path any of us choose, most of us will only be able to go so far. The work we put in, the hours of playtime we sacrifice, the mentors we encounter, they all help us move toward our goals. But we all have human limits. There is a point of return, and if you're fortunate enough to hit your wall of ability, more power to you. Even those who maximize their potential are incapable of surpassing it, however.
I continue watching as the delusioned and hopeless are smacked into reality by the people with the outside perspective, the ones who can compare you to the great ones and see how you stack up. I wonder if I could ever be as clueless to my capabilities as they are. Then I remember checking the mailbox on my way upstairs. I rarely receive mail, but I've been checking every day lately. This is what happens when you've applied to graduate schools. You put together your audition, send it to the judges, and eagerly await to discover whether someone else sees the talent you hope rests within you, or if you are among the delusioned.
*Yes, I watch American Idol. Every year I watch to hear the bad auditions, then 2 or 3 randoms with legitimate talent get me invested because I want to see how far they can go. You think I lose all music credibilty for this? Deal with it.
Three weeks after writing the above, I was accepted by my top choice of doctoral program. Today, I said yes. In six months, the future is here.