I had once been excited about music, until this moment.
My throat burned, clenching back the tsunami waiting to overflow. My temples stung with growing tension. My eyes struggled to keep it at bay.
My fear had really just unfolded before me. I sat, my guitar balanced in my lap, witnessing my instructor graze his hand over his mouth and sigh. Witnessing him stare at me with pity, his head tilted and his brows creasing. Those sad eyes of that old man. A man with years of experience under his belt and who expected skill, or at least someone who could play chords without a distant twang. A man who expected more than me.
“And you’re a music major?” He had asked.
I nodded.
“The thing is, I teach students based off of that and…well the requirements I have students do for a music major are…” He trailed off. “I mean, we can certainly dangle your feet above the fire.”
Well, that just sounds dandy, doesn’t it?
Later on, he casually handed me simple sheet music. “Can you play that for me?”
The staff lines, the notes, they peered up at me with longing, waiting to be played.
Something I couldn’t do. Moments passed and time stopped. I was turning to cement, boring my eyes onto that page for eternity.
“I take it you can’t play that?” My ears rang and I envisioned walking out the door. This wasn’t even real.
The hour passed and I somehow made it through the lesson without crumbling to ashes. As I zipped up my guitar case, I heard him ask if I had anything going on after this.
“I have Jazz Ensemble.” A nervous laugh escaped me.
Eyes widening, he chuckled. “Oh boy…” The silence pierced the room. My head screamed.
“What are you thinking?” My voice didn’t feel like my own. I simply waited and waited for an answer I didn’t think I wanted.
He continued to laugh lightly. “You know, just check it out and see how you like it.” That gave me nothing.
The truth of the matter was; I knew what I was up against. I knew my competition. I was no where near as good as other music majors. So, why then, are you here, I wondered.
If you can’t read sheet music, if you can’t play notes, if you can’t make it through an hour guitar class without holding your breath, pleading yourself not to cry, will you ever be a musician?
But the world then stopped. I was already a musician. I had already made songs. I made songs without even publishing them. I had a book full of lyrics. I created music everyday.
There was no point in comparing myself to people who had been playing instruments in their mother’s womb. Neither was there a point in ditching all my progress and quitting music altogether, like I so wanted to do in the moment.
I did however, reevaluate my situation. I was bound to fail the classes I was taking, I knew that. Mainly because I knew I didn’t have the skills to perform professionally or learn at the level that was expected of me.
So I dropped two of my classes, kept the other two I knew I had potential in, and planned to take up private guitar lessons outside of college.
What I brutally realized is that there should be no shame in deciding what someone can or cannot do. You know who you are and what you are capable of doing. So do that.
There’s always going to be pressure to put yourself in a box and follow the requirements. It’s a constant fight to navigate the world, so why make it even harder by comparing yourself to others?
In the end, I may not be able to read sheet music rapidly or play notes on the guitar instantly, but that’s what makes me different. And it sets the example that you don’t need to be the best at something to do it miraculously.
Live outside the lines and you’ll notice that the world just makes up its own rules for the fun of seeing you crack and crumble.
So make your own rules in return. Create your own chords on the guitar. See what happens when you don’t conform to society’s demands.
Ultimately, life will somewhat seem just a little bit more bearable. Maybe even fun? It’s worth a shot, so make that shot.