Carmen Rasmussen: 'Idol' hopefuls have nothing to lose, everything to gain

The scariest thing in life is taking chances. Following your dreams when you know the odds are seriously against you takes courage — and encouragement from those who believe in you.

My dad is one of those people. Courageous, yes, but extremely encouraging. He is the reason I took a chance and tried out for "American Idol" five years ago.

It was mid-November. I stayed home from school because I sprained my ankle the night before and was in no mood to go hobbling down the halls of my high school with a big black boot on. I was sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myself when the phone rang.

"Hey, Carmie!" said my dad. "Guess what? A nurse I work with here at the hospital gave me some information about the 'Salt Lake Idol' auditions. All you have to do is send in a tape of you singing a cappella by today at 5 to the Fox studios here in Salt Lake. And the winner flies out to California for a guaranteed audition for 'American Idol'! Do you want to do it?"

"Whoa. Hold on. What?" This was a lot of information to process. Try out for "American Idol"? I had only seen the finale of Season 1. True, it looked like an amazing opportunity, but how could I get ready and send in a tape to Fox by 5 p.m.? It was already 3:30.

"Dad, we don't own a video camera," I said. "And I haven't exactly attempted to drive with a boot on. How am I going to pull this off?"

I was just about to tell my dad "Thanks but no thanks" when he said something I'll never forget: "Carmen, what have you got to lose?"

I hung up the phone and called a friend to ask if I could borrow a camera. Miraculously, I made it over to her house. But as I was pulling up the driveway, she came running out yelling, "Carmen! I'm so sorry. I just realized we don't have any tapes left."

I took a deep breath, called another friend, and made it over to house No. 2.

Looking back, I can't believe I wasn't more embarrassed about how I looked on my audition tape. I had on pajama bottoms, my hair was in a ponytail on top of my head, I had hardly any makeup on, and I had an ugly boot on my foot. But I didn't exactly have the luxury of time.

I sang a goofy song I wrote about a boy when I was 14, and except for an awkward close-up of my nose, my friend didn't do too bad as a camera woman.

By the time we finished recording, it was 4 p.m. But as we sat down to transfer the audition to a VHS tape, she looked at me and said, "Uh-oh." She realized she'd left the cord we needed at another friend's house.