Auditioning: what keeps me going. (2002 Auditions Guide).

I was sitting in my father's car, crying my eyes out, scared to go inside The Ailey School. It was the spring before I completed my senior year in college, and my father had driven me into Manhattan from Queens to try out for Ailey's scholarship program. I had auditioned earlier that year when the Ailey company was in residence at my college, and I was rejected. The tears came from the anticipation of being hurt again. But this time, just when I knew it was over and it would never happen, they called. It was as though the darkest cloud had been replaced with a ray of pure, exhilarating sunshine. That was my first life-altering audition and the beginning of many emotional roller-coaster rides to come.

Auditioning is a constant in a dancer's life. Whether you're part of an established concert company or are in the "gypsy" world of musical theater, we all audition for that solo, that role, that principal status, or that big Broadway show. How you handle the pieces of the auditioning process is a major factor in your longevity as a dancer. Whether auditioning for dance companies, musical theater, television, or film, I've found that the process is not much different.

The process begins with finding out about or getting an appointment for an audition, preparing, and then surviving the emotional highs and lows of a possible job or a possible rejection while maintaining a positive belief in yourself. Getting to and preparing for the audition involves determined work. You are constantly taking classes to improve your dance, vocal, and acting techniques. The point is always to be ready and to be that much better, each audition.

You can find listings in trade papers such as Back Stage (N.Y.) and Back Stage West (L.A.), through fellow dancers, agents and managers, bulletin boards in studios and schools, and also online at www.auditions4dancers.com, and elsewhere.

You get yourself to the audition site early, warm up, and become part of the mass of auditioners looking for one of a very few available jobs. Now, mind you, you've spent the night before choosing the right outfit to accentuate your good points and deciding on the hairstyle and makeup to complete the perfect package that will get you the job. While you wait for your time to shine, you survey the hopefuls, weighing your chances against theirs. You're speaking to friends you haven't seen in a while and to those you saw yesterday. You ask yourself, "Am I too short/tall? Do I look too young/old? Do they want us in heels, flat shoes, or barefoot? How many minority dancers will they take? How many dancers do they really need?"

Finally, you survive a full day and are asked to return another day to continue the process. You feel relief: You've got the chance to improve on a possibly mediocre performance or validate an impressive one. Either way, your heart settles for now, before it beats even faster at the callback.

There are no guarantees in life, real or onstage. You're flying high because you've been called back and even higher because now you've been kept to the end. They thank you for coming and you feel on top of the world. There's an ache in your bones that says, "This job is mine!"

I've auditioned for the role of Anita in regional productions of West Side Story a few times and, according to me, I was always the best choice for the show. I performed well at both the initial calls and the callbacks. The choreographers and casting directors were glowing with support and praise. But each time, as I waited for that call that didn't come, my heart sank to my feet. The doubts crept in. These are the times when you have to remind yourself about your talent and hard work and that there is no one else like you. Obviously, that was not your job to have because something even better is coming your way. (After several productions of West Side Story, I traveled to the other side of the world, to Taiwan, and finally got to play Anita, a dream come true.)

A friend who is a dancer, actor, and director recently emphasized to me that an audition is not a competition. It's more about being who you are and doing your best that day. After that, the result is out of your hands. You let it go and move on because there's another audition tomorrow. And so it starts again, hopefully with a different outcome that can be celebrated, not mourned.

I keep going because I know that when I'm working onstage, there is nothing, at that moment, as thrilling and satisfying as doing what I do for a living. The reward is the applause and my belief that my performance has somehow touched someone who is watching and awakened something in them. It's that give-and-get-back that keeps me showing up at the next audition. I love being onstage. So one more audition can't hurt if it helps to keep me there.

Greta Martin performs in musical theater as an actor, singer, and dancer and is an editorial assistant at Dance Magazine.