It's that time of year again.
The week after band three auditions.
The week people are still buzzing with energy and people are frantically searching Mr. Landes' face for clues about whether they've made it or not.
It's also the week a new buzz begins.
The buzz about leaders.
Section leaders.
It's the time of year when people make that decision and try out for section leader - all of which really depends on your performance over the last few seasons, your attitude, your letter to Mr. Landes, and what kind of impression you've made on the big guys on campus; i.e. Mr. Landes, Mr. Sherrill, your upperclassmen, your peers, your section, and your section leaders.
Today I logged onto my computer with the intent of printing out my section leader letter for this year, and came across another document.
It was entitled "Dear Mr. Landes - 2009"
My letter from last year.
I thought twice about opening the file - did I really want to let my last year's thoughts affect me this year?
Did I want to remember that bitter disappointment I felt when my name wasn't on that list?
Wait.
This was the wrong train of thought.
It shouldn't matter. If anything, I should be encouraged by the fact that my passion this year is as burning and crazy as last year, if not more so.
In fact, I think it's grown.
I double clicked.
And what I read next was surprising.
It was almost like my freshmen-self gave my current sophomore-self that extra energy and extra confidence I didn't know I needed right now. Despite the somewhat bad writing, I feel like my old self taught my present self something I might have forgotten.
This is what it said:
"Dear Mr. Landes,
I have always been a band geek. Since the first time I held a delicate, charming saxophone, struggling to stretch my fingers across the wide-spread keys, I knew I had to play one. Because of my small piano background, I managed to quickly grasp the notes and learn my major scales. That year I hungered for music like nothing else - sheet music, music scribbled on scraps of paper - everything - and happily devoured any I could get my hands on. Three years later, I was part of the Foothills Marching Band. I discovered there was more to band than music - there was marching - and I enjoyed my two years of marching band there immensely.
However, no amount of practice, devotion, or energy could have prepared me for this year. With the help of my section leaders, peers, and fellow band members, I learned there was even more to band than music, and definitely more than marching - there was soul. There was tradition, passion, and the most charismatic people I could ever have hoped to meet. My eyes were instantly opened to new friends, new role-models, new opportunities, and the chance to belong to a life-changing organization, a team, and a family.
"Band will change you," he said, "It will make you a better person." I'll never forget those words Allen Yang spoke during summer sectionals. I was skeptical, but at the same time curious - I loved band, but how could this guy speak about it with sparkling eyes? That was real passion. But a handful of drill downs, some night rehearsals, and a field show later, I found myself in the exact same position as he had been in. I found myself endlessly obsessing over our band's effort, our mistakes, and our triumphs. I found myself subconsciously keeping in step with strangers in the hallways, and humming "Hempispheres" to myself. And I found myself preaching to my peers about my ideas, observations, and even frustrations band had inspired in me.
So although I'm a freshman, and I've only been here at Arcadia High for one year, one marching season, I sincerely believe I can help carry the tradition of excellence our band takes pride in. I know I can - and will - reach out to the incoming freshmen like my section leaders did to me and my peers. And while I'll be the first to admit I'm no Kenny G, and I'm no Miriam when it comes to push-ups, I know I have what it takes to be a great leader and role model of music, marching, and attitude. However, if a person other than me seems to be better suited for the position, I will happily oblige to call him or her my section leader, because I really do want what is best for this band. But I can honestly say in my heart and mind, I earnestly believe I am that person.
If you give me this chance, I'll prove to you I really love this band, more than words, and I'll do anything and everything to keep it one of the best in both performance and enthusiasm - whatever it takes.
Yours for three more years,
Jenny Earnest (a.k.a. Alto Sax Girl Who Sits in the Middle)."
(Haha, I remember using that phrase, "Alto Sax Girl Who Sits in the Middle" to identify myself once when Mr. Landes prompted me with the question, "who are you?"
What he meant was "Are you Mr. Earnest's relation?"
He knew a teacher named Mr. Earnest, and as there aren't exactly a million people with the name Earnest, he must have figured we were related.)
Anyway, the point is I realized something last year that I almost lost sight of this year.
What's best for the band.
That's the ultimate goal here.
I may think I'm what's best for my section, but obviously, I have a huge bias.
It's difficult to put yourself in another person's shoes when your eyes are blinded by passion.
And I guess this year I'm realizing that passion is what sets me apart - and that can be both a really great thing, as well as a setback.
This year and last year I did everything possible to prove myself as a qualified leader.
But it's out of my hands right now, so I'll continue to strive for excellence, but I'll try to let it go where it needs to.
I want this to be my year.
I'm really feeling it.
But if it isn't, next year will be my year.
And if for some reason, it's never meant to be, then I'll find solace in the fact that I led without the title "Section Leader" for four years.
A title doesn't qualify one to lead.
Nor does it come with a side of respect and command.
That's something you have to earn.
And if lack of recognition is all it amounts to, it's perfectly fine.
One shouldn't aim to be a martyr.
I feel it's better to live honorably than to die honorably anyway.
I would recognize the nameless soldier in the front line of fire, standing with his men, before the general shouting commands from afar anyday.
But anyway.
I'm getting carried away.
So I'll part with a final thought;
Someone extremely inspirational once told me that we are chosen not because we are qualified, rather, we qualify by being chosen.
I need to think about this statement.
I'll get back to you.
