Between Airports and Auditions: A Violist’s Journey Across the Country
This year, I did something I never imagined I’d be able to do: I traveled across the country, from city to city, carrying my viola on my back and a purpose in my chest. After years of having to sit out of opportunities due to financial limits, fear, and then the pandemic, I finally took control of the narrative.
What followed was a tour of lessons, performances, missed exits, new mentors, long train rides, and a snowstorm I’ll never forget.
And underneath it all? A quiet question that traveled with me:
How do we show up in the best ways possible — even when challenges seem to overwhelm us?
A Bit of Backstory
I didn't grow up traveling for summer festivals or having masterclasses at conservatories. My first big trip for music was to New York, where I competed in the George Gershwin International Competition — and won the Critics Choice award. Aside from that, life kept me mostly rooted.
When it came time to apply to grad school, COVID-19 shut down nearly every in-person opportunity. I never really had trial lessons, campus visits, or in-room auditions. And though I made it work, I knew what I missed out on.
So for my auditions this time around, I decided it would be different. I traveled for every audition I could.
My 2025 Audition Trail
In-Person Auditions
University of Wisconsin–Madison
USC Thornton School of Music
Michigan State University (MSU)
CU Boulder
Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music (CCM)
Peabody Institute
New England Conservatory (NEC)
Indiana University Jacobs School of Music
Virtual Submissions
Manhattan School of Music (MSM)
San Francisco Conservatory of Music (SFCM)
Trains, Snowstorms, and Bow Hair
Much of my journey was by Amtrak. I booked overnight trains, pieced together hotel stays, and made solo treks through unfamiliar cities. I never thought I’d drive through a snowstorm, but when I had to make an 8-hour overnight haul from Cincinnati to Baltimore to make my Peabody audition the next morning — I did it. I had just gotten my driver’s license a few months before, after moving from Texas to Delaware.
Some lessons were forced. My bow lost all tension the day before my audition at CU Boulder, and I had to rush to a luthier in the morning to get it repaired — with zero warm-up time. I walked straight from the repair shop to the audition room and played. Was it perfect? No. But it was real.
I never expected how much logistical resilience this journey would demand. It made me question:
Why do we test musical potential through such unnatural environments?
And how can we better prepare students not just for excerpts — but for uncertainty?
The Rooms That Listened — and the Ones That Didn’t
Some auditions felt like a conversation. Others felt like a cold transaction.
At one audition, a professor asked me, “What have you been thinking about in your playing lately?” It was such a small but powerful moment — the acknowledgment that I had a mind, not just hands.
But in other rooms, I played for twenty minutes without a single question or word exchanged. Just a nod. “Thank you.” Exit left.
Those moments stayed with me. Not necessarily because they hurt — but because they taught me how much I long for musical connection, even in evaluative spaces. And that perhaps the audition room says more about a school’s values than its brochure.
Lessons Between the Lessons
More transformative than any audition were the conversations I had before or after. Lessons with renowned pedagogues gave me not just new techniques — but frameworks for living musically.
🎼 Ettore Causa, Yale
“What would you tell your students?”
That question hit me like a ton of bricks. It reframed my relationship with self-doubt. If I could teach with love and clarity, why couldn’t I offer myself the same grace?
🎼 Sally Chisholm (UW–Madison) & Sheila Browne (MSM, Temple)
They helped me see how my physical habits — tension, posture — were limiting my ability to truly sing through the instrument. With their help, I began to rewire my setup and trust that the body wants to play with ease.
🎼 Dr. Elias Goldstein, my mentor for the past two years
He gave me tools not just to refine my technique, but to reframe my mindset. He taught me how to care less about how others perceive me — and more about the joy and gratitude that comes from simply making music.
🎼 Atar Arad, IU Jacobs
Our first interaction left me stunned. It wasn’t about whether I had earned a place — it was that he immediately believed I had something to say musically, and that he wanted to work with me. I still find myself asking, Why? What did he see?
But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe part of this journey is learning to trust that others might see the light in us before we do. Maybe my next chapter isn’t about answering that question — but living into it.
Auditioning as Reflection, Not Rejection
I used to think auditions were about proving I was “good enough.”
But what if they’re actually opportunities to meet ourselves in motion?
Now, when I walk into a room, I’m not just performing. I’m remembering every student I teach. Every time I was overlooked. Every hour spent rebuilding my technique from scratch. Every teacher who gave me a chance.
Auditions are no longer a verdict. They’re a reminder:
You’re still here. You’re still growing. You still have something to say.
Let’s Reflect Together
If you’re a musician, teacher, or even a music lover — I want to hear from you. These stories don’t live in silence.
For Performers:
What audition experience taught you the most — and why?
Have you ever had to play under extreme conditions (travel, illness, burnout)?
What do you wish panels knew about you when you walked into the room?
For Teachers:
How do you prepare students for the emotional and logistical chaos of auditions?
What do your audition processes say about your studio values?
How can we balance rigor with empathy in how we assess talent?
For Listeners & Supporters:
What performance moved you because of its humanity, not its perfection?
What do you think is lost or gained when music becomes a competition?
Share Your Voice
Comment below or send me a message. I’d love to feature responses in future posts.
This journey isn’t just mine — it’s part of a larger, messier, more beautiful story of how we grow as artists.
Let’s keep the dialogue going.
Because the real audition?
It’s how we choose to show up — again and again.
