What It Means To 'Be Safe'

Clearly, I don't need to go into any description about Paris and what happened there last night. It doesn't matter who you are, or where you are in the world, it shakes us all. It should shake us all.

As soon as these attacks made international news, I received the whatsapp messages from my mother that I expected: "How are you? Hearing the news of France, glad you weren't there..." and so on.  I reassured her that Amsterdam is safe, and my friends and I are completely fine, but the overwhelming theme of the conversation was, simply, "are you really safe?"

And then, what seems to be the most prevalent question of the day today:

"Who is next?"

I'm not safe... none of us is really safe. We are not safe walking down the streets of our cities and hometowns without the weapons that would maybe protect us from AK-47s. We are not safe sitting at restaurants with loved ones without a lock on the door of the establishment and security in place to make sure those entering are not wearing a weapon. We aren't safe on our airplanes, our trains. We aren't safe in concert halls, losing ourselves so much in the music that we don't realize the shots ringing out aren't just a part of the show.

It doesn't matter if I am in Amsterdam, Paris, London, somewhere in Germany, NYC, or just back home to sweet little Delmar, NY. There is a threat to my security just for being alive, being human, and daring to walk out onto the streets unarmed.

I don't mean to be fatalistic or depressive. My point is this: we run this risk to our lives in order to actually live our lives. We have street smarts and learn how to take extra precautions, but the real tragedy is the fear we are learning to cloak ourselves in. No one can strap us into army gear and teach us how to defend ourselves against a bomb exploding outside a stadium where we were just trying to watch a football game. To really be ready for defense, we would have to be anticipating these types of attacks around every corner. And to really anticipate that, we would have to live every minute in fear of it occurring - watching like hawks for any potential criminal behavior, and sacrificing the moments of our lives entirely.

That's what I am most afraid of now. Not that I'll be attacked at Dam Square trying to take in the history of Amsterdam or buying Bitterballen from a street cart. I'm afraid of spending this time in Europe, with newfound and longtime incredible friends and colleagues, looking over my shoulder constantly or hiding from the world. Fear becomes a veil we all start wearing, darkening our view of the world entirely, forcing us to hide from the light.

I am devastated by what happened in the beloved city that taught me who I was 7 years ago. Paris taught me how to be free in my own skin; it was where I felt safest walking by the same streets that had so much bloodshed last night, all by myself. Never once did I look around for someone pointing a gun in my face - I never felt the need to. I am devastated for the lives lost, for the friends there who lost loved ones, and above all, for how this will (has already) change how people look at their safety in that city. But I realize that, as a civilian with very little power over most every day occurrences... there's almost nothing I can do to ensure I don't wind up harmed at some point at the hand of terrorism of ANY kind. There is simply no guarantee, and the best we can do is carry on in unity with the same goal of peace.

So, really, all we can do to survive (and overcome) this again and again is to keep living. For the sake of what it means to really live our lives to the absolute fullest while we have them, knowing that there IS no safe zone, we need to go to our restaurants anyway without armor; without guns and weapons to 'protect us.' We have to walk bravely down the street, taking in the world around us without the veil of fear obstructing our view. We must celebrate our friendships and family and loved ones openly, at stadiums, at concerts, by landmarks. Because to stop doing so, collectively, out of fear, would mean we've all surrendered our freedom and our lives to this monster.

Germany Audition

Last week was a completely new level of audition insanity when I fled Amsterdam to Munich for an audition in the midst of Bavaria. Like you do...

This is where performing becomes a little bit of a contradiction to the rest of my life so far: I have never loved to leave my comfort zone for anything. Suddenly, that is changing by leaps and bounds; nothing ever stays the same. One day I'm running around with toddlers, dancing to the Mulan soundtrack and baking three-ingredient cookies (these are some of my favorite days), the next I am on a train, a plane, another train and a cab to an audition in a country I've never even visited before.

It's by no means a complaint, but just a wee bit different.

So last Thursday I had an audition in Germany. I was one of four sopranos that day, which was terrifying and wonderful because not a single one of us was the same fach. There was a Despina soprano, a Wagnerian soprano, a full lyric (Governess) soprano, and me - a crazy one, who decided to bring Zerbinetta that day. For those of you who are not opera people, and therefore have no clue what any of this means, it basically just means we were not competing for any roles even though we were all technically sopranos. There are many reasons for this, but it took the pressure off a great deal and we were able to just support one another, no knives in backs (as far as I could tell).

I flew into Munich on Wednesday night, heart pounding through my chest, and checked into an amazingly swanky hotel (a recommendation from a friend of mine who is from Germany). I had originally "hemmed and hawed" over the price of this hotel, but had decided that my emotional stability was more important than attempting to navigate my way to a town an hour away from Munich at midnight after my flight. In hindsight, I'm glad I threw a little money at the situation for this place. I settled in, texted everyone that I was safe, put on the big white fluffy robe in my room, poured a glass of red wine (I don't normally drink before an audition), took a long-ass shower and then passed out in the king-sized bed. Obviously not one part of that was outside of my comfort zone.

I slept way TOO well that night, and woke up an hour later than I intended to (still early enough, thankfully), with an imprint of the pillowcase embedded in my cheek. I frantically got ready for life, anxious about the train schedule from the airport, and buzzing and warming up quietly in the room. Another cab ride and then two amazingly simple train rides later, I was in Augsburg, a city that resembled a beautiful New England town to me, and at the same time reminded me of absolutely nowhere I'd been before. It was a perfect fall day - every tree was orange or yellow, and it was warm enough to barely need a coat over my audition dress. But, now came the fun part: I knew I needed to speak German in this house. I've studied enough German to comprehend it easily, but formulating coherent sentences is not as natural to me just yet. I've been told many times that this is a deal breaker for most companies in Germany, so I had prepared what I'd say.

When I finally figured out where the stage door was, I walked in boldly stating "Ich habe ein vorsingen!" ("I have an audition", I think). The guy kinda blinked at me and then said "Wie heisst du?" I gave him my name, proud that he responded in German instead of switching straight to English (I must have sounded sooo German!) Then he handed me two lengthy documents to fill in... with every field in German.

Crap.

I started texting Philip, (said friend from earlier who is from Germany), random questions like "What does 'geb.' mean!??!!" (Geburtstag. Birthday. Duh). I launched Google translate from my phone, shielding what I was doing from everyone around me so they would not catch on...

Another soprano walked in and spoke a flurry of excellent German to the same guy, then sat down beside me. "If you need any help with this, let me know" she said, kindly. My impulse was to laugh and be all "ohh totally unnecessary, but thanks!" But instead I sighed in relief and pointed to three fields I needed her help with.

The rest of the time was amazingly pleasant. I'm used to the New York City audition circuit: everyone sizing you up, a feeling of emotional warfare in the waiting areas where everyone is mumbling to themselves or doing jaw/arm stretches and making burbling, squealing noises like an infant. I'm accustomed to feeling like cattle, being shoved into the audition room, singing for five minutes without saying anything about myself to the judges, and then being brusquely cut off and sent out again. Generally, it's a chilly, insensitive world I've gotten used to. This was nothing like that.

We rehearsed with the accompanists shortly before, reviewing tempi and discussing moments of artistic schmultz we wanted added in. I kept trying to speak German to these people, to which they responded in English, so I finally gave up on the mission (hey, if they're going to opt for English who am I to stop 'em??). Then, it was audition time, and I was last of the four.

I hate being last to go on in an audition setting with. a. passion. I stood back stage watching the three before me, enjoying their performances, while overthinking absolutely everything about my upcoming 15 minutes of fame on that stage. Was starting with the aria from Baby Doe really the way to go? My Mozart was much stronger that day... shouldn't I do that instead? But the pianist had said I should stick with Baby Doe, so I should do that... But then they're going to definitely ask for Zerbinetta, and we hardly had time to go over that...

Zo calm.

Then it was my turn. I was excited and filled with dread all at once (a common problem for me). Hopping on the stage and looking out over the dusty, guilded, gorgeous hall, I saw about four little heads out in the audience. "Ich heisse - " "Julie Norman? Shall we conduct your audition in English?" "Uhm... Okay! If that is comfortable for everyone!"

And so, all prepared German phrases out the window, we began. One thing I noticed was that the pianist was in the pit, where the orchestra normally is. This was troubling because I was way up on stage, singing out over his sound, hearing my own voice as LOUDLY AS POSSIBLE. The piano sounded very far away, and there was a delay. I'm sure this was on purpose, to see how the singers could handle the quirk. But, since we had hardly rehearsed and I was still not fully in my body in the space yet, it was more than a little strange. Still, I loved the space, and I felt as solid as I could in that moment.

As predicted, however, they asked for Zerbinetta's aria next. For those of you unfamiliar with this piece, it is a rhythmically, mentally, musically challenging role that requires you to be very tight with the accompaniment. It doesn't work if that isn't there. So, right off the bat, not being able to really hear the pianist was a ... challenge. We got off twice, at least, and then it was over. They thanked me, I left, breathed a sigh of relief, and then headed to the train.

There is never any way of knowing how these things go. So often the emotion or feeling behind the day is what you are left with as a singer, rather than any feedback or result. For me, I just felt glad to have done it, proud of myself for not getting lost in Germany or showing up hours late, and beyond grateful that this is my life lately. I found a little Bavarian restaurant near the train, got some sausage, a pretzel and a beer (of course), and then was off to my plane tipsy and happy. (And exhausted).

Oh hi, Bavarian food. Get in mah belly.

I look forward to more of this type of experience, but I think what sticks out most to me about this current phase of life is how much it is forcing me to loosen up. It would have been easy at any moment last week, for me to completely fall apart over the details. Finances are tight, I am very far from home, and I miss my voice teacher some days more than anyone else. But, then, at the end of the day, it is just another experience. Whatever comes of these things, what matters most is that I got to sing - something I love more than almost anything else - and I got to witness a whole new way of life in a totally new place. And that, for me, is the number 1 reason to tackle this profession if you have a dream to.