Undergraduate /
Common App #2: Failure - I am well-versed in the poetry of orchestra [8]
Please give me brutally honest feedback, grammar and content-wise.
The lessons we take from failure can be fundamental to later success. Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?the poetry of orchestra
I am well-versed in the poetry of orchestra, from the Italian adjectives in sheet music, to the syntax of pre-concert bustle and antics, to the iambic beats of my heart moments before beginning a performance. Until freshman year, I had been living in the smooth
allegro pace of a concerto's first movement. I was chosen for the advanced orchestra in middle school, sat second-in-command of the first violins, and won regional awards. Buoyed by these easy accomplishments, I grew accustomed to the melody of success. However, after I auditioned a solo for an all-state orchestra, a dissonant tritone interval jarred my confidence. I didn't make it; I scored two points below the cut-off. Even more humiliatingly, because of my previously unchallenged path, failure never even crossed my mind.
Yet worst of all was that I had practiced a lot, just not enough. The judges didn't care about all the points I did get, only the two that I didn't. The tritone is just a half-step shy of the melodic perfect fifth, and in missing that small gap between mediocrity and achievement, I had rendered useless all that I did do. This revelation began the
adagio of introspection. I thoroughly examined my orchestra experiences and came to the damning realization that my proudest moments and the reasons I loved orchestra all came from being part of a bigger ensemble. From chamber quartets to symphonies with full orchestras, I was piggybacking off of the collective talent of my friends and peers. When my own ability was put to the test, with no one else to rely on for tricky rhythms or to muffle my imperfect pitch, my fraudulence was exposed. Not making all-state was only a minor blow; the true defeat was that I had deceived and failed myself.
To force the spotlight upon my innermost thoughts and examine my own psyche like this was daunting, but it granted me a broader view of my own motives and aspirations. I had lost sight of what it took to attain and keep my spot among other elite musicians, and this piercing self-analysis renewed my mindset and determination.
Months later, auditions for my school's symphonic orchestra were announced. This was the first test of my reformation, and this time, I would not negate the ninety-nine percent of effort I already put in by becoming complacent and leaving the last one percent up to chance. Every extra minute I practiced brought me closer to those two points, to resolving the dissonant chord and achieving a satisfying harmony. At night, my fingers played a phantom melody as I listened to the audition piece, Berlioz's "March to the Scaffold," until I fell asleep (it's really more relaxing than the name suggests). When the audition results were posted, I scanned the list apprehensively, vaguely aware of the other students crowded around me, nervous energy building and inferiority complex already rising up again, and then--!
Catharsis.Making symphony was like being struck by lightning. It jump-started the energetic
presto movement and awakened a hunger for achievement, especially when I found out my score was the highest of the five violinists chosen. I had never known what all-consuming hard work could grant me, and this realization of untapped potential thrilled me.
Like a concerto's theme and variations, the specifics of the all-state audition have faded, but the lyrical refrain of the wisdom I acquired endures in my being like muscle memory. To me, achieving success is not for recognition nor reputation, but something I owe myself. Introspection has become essential for me to critically assess my thought processes and actions with clarity, to block out background noise and elevate my mental focus. I have gained the work ethic and self-confidence to play the
cadenza, the virtuosic ending of a solo that cuts through the silence in self-affirmation and anticipation of exponential improvement in the future.
