As I stare at the wrinkled white gown stuffed into my purse, the idea of sneaking into the bathroom to put it on along with some makeup and a new hairdo feels daunting. The Italian bar where I've just spent 3 hours of my afternoon drinking tiny little shots of espresso and voting for a video of myself singing plays loud popular music, and despite my love for opera in all of it's glory, it's hard to imagine that I'll be belting out Puccini within the half hour.
Hopefully, I'll find a good spot on a public street this evening, where I can stay for a few hours and find a loyal crowd to sing to and take requests. I should have warmed up. God forbid someone important pass by during my first hour when my voice is still ever so rusty.
Despite the challenge of working as a street performer over the last year, it feels good to be paid by strangers every night and be living off of my voice. But, God, sometimes it is hard to rally and just get out there. Of course, my dream is not to sing on the street. I want to be an all out Diva. I want to hone my instrument well enough to perform at the best opera houses all over the world before the biggest audiences. And then after a long run of curtain calls, I want to pass on everything I've learned to the next generation's young aspiring singers, working until a ripe old age as a vocal teacher at a grand piano in my living room.
For now, I am here in Florence, Italy, living in a humble little apartment near Piazza Pitti. This must be where I am supposed to be. I'm going to go put on that dress.
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