Landscapes covered in vibrant colors, and the fresh crisp air wisping in the light cool
breeze. Bright beautiful clouds roll through the sky, towering overhead, while the winds pick up, losing its soft and crisp identity with every second as it screams through the lost tranquility of an unrecognizable land. Amidst these extraordinary images, my heart beholds the strong connection between my soul and music, a love so deep, and even more profoundly, the reciprocal affection music holds for my being.

Music is my outlet to tell my tale of victorious heroes, or land ruined by a vicious
midwestern storm. The possible tales that can be woven through the enchanting voice of a simple saxophone resemble an endless river of creativity. I would practice tirelessly, from the first light of dawn until the sun dips below the horizon, I practiced undeterred even when my neighbor’s filled my landlord’s ears full of noise complaints. The peace that overwhelmed my mind while I played was my secret to crafting the stories I shared with the world.

Naturally, I am consistently focused progressively crafting more elaborate storytelling
through my sound. This is the driving force behind my unwavering determination to achieve the goal of earning a coveted position in my school’s prestigious honors band. For at the time an underclassman to make honors band was rare, but I believed that my dream would be fulfilled if practiced more rigorously. My practices went from therapeutic singing of pretty harmony to constant repetition of minute details. Analyzing each minute detail like a detective on a mission to spot the smallest mistake by the suspect. A constant stress and comparison of me to other’s ability.

Monotonous practices, tearing away my playing personality, should have been my first
hint of playing my saxophone going from an expression of stories, to just another chore. It
dawned upon me that the realization of my dreams necessitated an appreciation for the intricate choreography of my journey toward fulfillment. I came to understand the tapestry of my aspirations could only be woven into reality if I found joy in each step of the process. While I did get better objectively as a player in my year of rigorously practicing to the point of undeniable perfection. I never once got better at what I focused my playing around before, which is laying out a story that anyone could imagine as they listen to me briskly through each note. My performances became an empty husk of emotion that is incomparable to the brilliant tales told from my brass voice, laced with gold lacquer. What value does a man who wields an instrument hold if he cannot orchestrate the symphony that plays inside his own soul?

I never would have expected that my boot camp-like practices would prevent me from
achieving my dream of being the best musician I could be. But it did. Falling short of the honors band felt like a discordant note in my musical journey, yet it harmoniously led me to a profound realization: in the relentless pursuit of perfection, I had muted my own melodic essence and goal. The thought of titles and awards next to my name, muddied my idea of what I loved most: telling stories through a simple saxophone. That no award can capture the depth of the emotion and resonance an audience member can experience during the delivery of a story.