[Student Profile]
[Prompt & Essay]
Being a shy and quiet child, my parents threw me into music in hopes that performing would bolster my self-confidence. Oblivious to my parents’ intentions, I began to enjoy practicing and playing music, starting with the piano. But on the day of my first recital, I walked on stage, took one look at the crowd, and only felt butterflies. Their awaiting eyes, awaiting my entrance, made me freeze and then quiver. I could already feel their expectations, and I made sure not to fall while walking to the piano. While I made it without tripping, my music scattered all over the floor, forcing me to play the embarrassing game of 52-card pickup. The rest of my performance was just a blur of notes, filled with mistakes, and ending with what I assumed was pity applause from the audience. But the embarrassment that day didn’t stop me from performing. As a matter of fact, it motivated me. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t an embarrassment, that I wasn’t a nervous wreck. So I continued to practice.
Soon I began to explore new instruments—first the clarinet, then the saxophone—but none of them appealed to me. My parents eventually stumbled upon the bassoon, an instrument in the same family as my sister’s oboe. Inspired to perform alongside my sister, as well as hoping that duets would lessen my nerves, I soon picked up this instrument, and like always, was oblivious of the challenges ahead. From understanding the breathing patterns to exploring the confusing and painful fingerings, learning bassoon felt like learning music all over again. But I continued to practice.
During my bassoon recital, under the blinding lights in the small and constricting concert hall, I still felt those eyes from the front row of the audience and, as the intensity of the piece grew, so did my apprehension. The pace and pitch of the music began to increase, and with every successive note, every beat of my heart, and every shift of my fingers, the piece slowly inched to its climax. At the most intense part, there was supposed to be a single note of resolution and, to my dismay, I failed to produce that one note, leaving a crack in its place. All my hard work in producing a lovely tune seemed to fall apart from that single note. I swiftly wrapped up the piece and, thoroughly embarrassed, hastily rushed out of the concert hall. Although nervous about joining the audience afterward, all I received were congratulatory pats and reassuring gestures. Finally understanding that any performance presents the fruits of my labor, I continued to repeat this cycle of practice and performance, but with more confidence and excitement for each upcoming concert.
This revelation guided me through further challenges and new difficulties in music. In my performances with the California Youth Symphony, keeping the mindset of appreciating the process and power of practicing inspired me to persevere. Not only has this thinking process yielded fruitful results in music, but I’ve also applied it to many aspects of my life, education included. Initially, when I started computer programming, my focus tended to be on the final product, resulting in great frustration during the planning and bug-fixing phases. However, by enjoying the process, the planning, coding, and bug-fixing phases became exponentially more satisfying, making each step seem more like exploring uncharted territory than waiting in rush hour traffic.
I’ve begun to enjoy the process in other academic fields such as math and English. Through talking with friends about am specific math problem and working on countless peer edits for and from my classmates, enjoying the process proved to drastically improve my attitude towards learning and education as a whole. With this knowledge, I now understand that regardless of what lies ahead, as long as I enjoy the journey, I will always welcome new challenges.