As I stepped out onto the dirt track in borrowed, black cowgirl boots, I felt like a fraud. An unfamiliarly heavy pendant bounced on my chest as I shuffled in front of two decorated horses whose equally adorned riders proudly gripped flags atop their steeds. I clutched the microphone in my clammy hand, clinging to my one comfort in the enormous, foreign stadium. I glanced up at the Jumbotron and I could see the back of a girl with pageant-worthy hair walking towards the center of the track. At first I thought it was a mere coincidence that we shared this same feature, but it soon dawned on me that the girl was me. 

I took my place in front of four military officers whose postures were stiff as pokers. As I centered myself in the track. I looked out to the crowd where thousands of Stetson hats gleamed in a sea of heads. One of the announcer’s voices -either Will or Wayne- echoed over the loud speaker: “Ladies and gentleman, with the Star-Spangled Banner, here is, Audrey Mustoe!”

Studies show that a person’s number one fear is public speaking. Death is number two. So if more people would rather die than speak in front of a large crowd, why do I crave the spotlight? Why did I willingly step out in front of 14,000 people to put myself in a position where audience members could judge and criticize me?

I’m a bit of an anomaly, since no one else in my family sings. Sometimes people ask me, “So where did you get your singing ability?” Truth is, my “ability” is self-taught, from watching Disney movies and YouTube videos. 

Following my cue, I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth. The words of our country’s National Anthem tumbled from my lips; the lyrics were second nature to me after endlessly practicing the song in the shower, in the car, and in my head. I searched the crowd for the faces of my friends and family, who looked at me with anxious yet encouraging expressions.

Before I had walked out onto the track, I reminded myself why I auditioned to sing in the first place. I hadn’t tried out two years in a row for a gig only to be miserable while I performed. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, so I better enjoy it.

Once I conquered the first few verses of the anthem, my nerves disappeared. A smile spread across my face. I relished my moment in the spotlight, and floated the high note of the song. The crowd started to cheer as I began the last verse.

Despite my nervousness before the performance, I realized in that moment my passion to perform trumped all other feelings. I am usually modest about my achievements or talents, but singing is an exception. The time I stand in the limelight is a time when I can let my guard down. Although vulnerability might be scary at first, I’m not afraid to show who I am. The adrenaline I feel in front of a crowd fuels my obsession, making me crave it all the more.

That’s why I grinned broader than ever when I belted out the words, “O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!”