Before that though, I started playing the piano, at age six, and it changed me. My teacher gave me challenges, she taught me to enjoy practicing and learning new songs and techniques. Piano stuck with me forever, it was always a friend I could turn to, and later became my avenue for learning to write my own music to express myself even better... but this isn't really a story about my love for the piano.
A few weeks before starting 9th grade, I had a recurring thought. I wondered if I could still play the viola at all. My younger sister still played it and it piqued my curiosity to the point where I actually pulled it out and began to play.
It was woeful.
The worst playing I've ever heard.
I was actually quite embarrassed. I didn't remember ANYTHING. Not from 4 years of string playing.
I set out to re-learn. I pulled out the beginning method books and started from scratch. I practiced feverishly for hours and hours, developing skills quickly as I played along to my old Disney Viola CDs and emulated the sounds as best as I could.
I decided with my mom's help to join the school orchestra that year. I elected to (with the conductor's permission) jump to intermediate orchestra.
The first day was terrifying.
I was such a poser. Every student in the room seemed to be at least a year younger than me and had at least a whole year more playing experience than I had. They were confident with their music and I was quite apprehensive. My normally cheerful, outspoken personality turned quiet, shy, and nervous. I had been playing for only a few weeks.
I remember having to force myself to not collapse in, to sit straight, to not shrink into a tiny ball--huddled in the corner. I forced myself to stand with composure, to sit confidently, to look like I wasn't afraid. I forced myself not to grimace and shrivel when the conductor pulled out new music for us that I hadn't had any chance to practice and perfect yet in the safety of my home.
When the first playing test was announced, I think my pulse quickened to the point where I almost couldn't function and I almost fell out of my chair in shock and fear. I set my jaw toward success and during the next two weeks, leading up to the test, I practiced during every spare moment. I practiced beyond being able to get it all right, I practiced until I knew that I couldn't possibly get it wrong.
In class, my hands froze and my whole body shook when the teacher called my name to perform the part. I steeled my nerves, confidently shoved my viola under my chin, picked up my head and pronounced that I was ready. I played the piece, completely absorbed in it, eyes closed to all that was around me. I played it to perfection.
The director, knowing my background, and actually having been my cello teacher who told me to quit because I was so untalented in years past, was stunned. The whole class applauded and I felt strange as I seemed to return to humanity. The relief I felt in that moment is as of yet still unparalleled in my life.
A week later, the conductor made the seating assignments. I was made first chair violist.
I CANNOT TELL YOU THE FEAR AND THE CONFIDENCE that simultaneously coursed through my veins at that moment. There was also dread though, I didn't know what I was doing, I had some skills, but I had virtually no experience. I knew that I could continue to work hard and prepare songs in advance, but I stressed over the new songs that would be handed out in class, that I couldn't prepare before our first practices. Additionally, my little sister was in the class as a violist herself. She was a year younger than the majority, and had shown excellence enough to push her ahead thus far, but now she was out-shined by the sister who had just started. The sister who practiced originally on her viola, the sister who she was excited to teach.
I felt like a fake for so long after that. I felt like a phony every time I took my place at the head of the section. I was so unqualified, but I did my best, and I tried to show confidence enough in myself to be able to lead my section. By the end of the first semester, I was feeling good with my position, but then I was moved to the advanced orchestra. I was dropped right in with my peers who were my same age, had been playing for at least two and a half years, but many of them much longer, and they were playing songs that they had worked on for months already where I was very much behind. Once again I had to employ my tactics of faking ( but still really working) 'til I made it.
These days, I don't have the opportunity of an orchestra to play in and I don't practice my skills and drum techniques like I should and like I did then, I've got other focuses in my life, but I'm trying to apply the life skills that I learned through my sudden birth into the music world to build on the rest of my life.
We have to decide who we are; it's not a passive thing. We have to declare to ourselves, to choose who we really are, and then we have to set our actions and our work to reflect that. We have to be that in all that we are capable and work as hard as we can at truly attaining, owning, and becoming what we have decided we are and then once we achieve that, we have to reach beyond and become more.
But I really believe that our actions, thoughts, words, and opinions of ourselves are crucially important. We have to believe in who we are and that we are truly capable of it. It shapes our lives entirely as it fundamentally changes who we are. When we believe in ourselves, limits fall away.
Amy Cuddy, Your Body Language Shapes Who You Are, TED talks
