Please be harsh on my writing, I really appreciate any sort of feedback. I chose the second prompt: Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
I gently trace the IV tubing bandaged onto my hand as I wait for the door to shut. Still staring at the lumps of my feet under the layers of blankets, I hear the final confirmation from the door that I am alone. Click. I slide my fingers past my boiling temples to the back of my head, doing my best to fix my blurring vision. Operating room in forty five minutes. I let the doctor's words repeat through my head, shocked and disappointed.
Two years ago I started having problems with my lungs. Because of my bean pole build and rapid-growth my lungs would develop holes, causing them to deflate and collapse. Though I became quite familiar with surgery and x-rays, most of my treatment and healing took place outside of the hospital. The problem made it difficult to stay active at first, holding me from things like swimming, traveling, and playing saxophone. Despite the initial setbacks it became clear that I could choose how the ailment affected me. I learned that I can be interrupted, but I will not be stopped.
I remember the first time my lung collapsed. I was in a History test when I stretched my back over the chair a little too far. The resulting chest pain put me in a rather chaotic visit to the hospital filled with x-rays, stitches, and scars. That fall I entered a five month recovery period, with strict instructions to avoid any strenuous breathing. I was immediately prohibited from playing the saxophone, causing me to lose my spot in the marching band show, miss concert performances, and fall behind on practice and improvement on the instrument. As I looked past my recovery I realized that I would miss the annual jazz auditions I had prepared for, going from fourth in the state my junior year to not competing at all my senior year. It was an awkward period of adjustment that threw off my routine, but, with the newly found free time, I decided to swallow my self-pity and adapt to the circumstance.
Consequently, I began spending more time with the piano and the guitar. They were instruments I had never really focused on and instruments that didn't require, well, air. Even though I was still playing music, it was a disappointment not to be a part of the marching show. That was until one morning I noticed the group of percussionists that stand at the front of the band: the front ensemble. The idea of playing percussion had been in the back of my mind since elementary school - It was the whole reason I had started taking piano lessons as a kid. After I suggested the change to my teachers, I eagerly took up the task to catch up on the percussion music. I spent time in class and after school practicing the instruments and gradually switched my role from playing saxophone to playing cymbals, drums, and piano in the front ensemble. It was foreign yet engaging and, despite the initial setback, the change allowed me to branch out while still practicing and developing my musicianship.
What brought me to make the change was not how I missed the saxophone; rather, it was the idea of being held back and the fear of becoming obsolete that motivated me the most. It is the idea of restrictions that really gets under my skin, especially as a jazz musician. The circumstance provided an excuse for why I don't play music. It presented itself as a barrier to make me turn around and give up, but I learned that is not the kind of person I am. I learned to push through the things that stack up against me, and that is how I choose to define myself: by what I do, not by my setbacks. I learned that I can be interrupted, but I will not be stopped.
I gently trace the IV tubing bandaged onto my hand as I wait for the door to shut. Still staring at the lumps of my feet under the layers of blankets, I hear the final confirmation from the door that I am alone. Click. I slide my fingers past my boiling temples to the back of my head, doing my best to fix my blurring vision. Operating room in forty five minutes. I let the doctor's words repeat through my head, shocked and disappointed.
Two years ago I started having problems with my lungs. Because of my bean pole build and rapid-growth my lungs would develop holes, causing them to deflate and collapse. Though I became quite familiar with surgery and x-rays, most of my treatment and healing took place outside of the hospital. The problem made it difficult to stay active at first, holding me from things like swimming, traveling, and playing saxophone. Despite the initial setbacks it became clear that I could choose how the ailment affected me. I learned that I can be interrupted, but I will not be stopped.
I remember the first time my lung collapsed. I was in a History test when I stretched my back over the chair a little too far. The resulting chest pain put me in a rather chaotic visit to the hospital filled with x-rays, stitches, and scars. That fall I entered a five month recovery period, with strict instructions to avoid any strenuous breathing. I was immediately prohibited from playing the saxophone, causing me to lose my spot in the marching band show, miss concert performances, and fall behind on practice and improvement on the instrument. As I looked past my recovery I realized that I would miss the annual jazz auditions I had prepared for, going from fourth in the state my junior year to not competing at all my senior year. It was an awkward period of adjustment that threw off my routine, but, with the newly found free time, I decided to swallow my self-pity and adapt to the circumstance.
Consequently, I began spending more time with the piano and the guitar. They were instruments I had never really focused on and instruments that didn't require, well, air. Even though I was still playing music, it was a disappointment not to be a part of the marching show. That was until one morning I noticed the group of percussionists that stand at the front of the band: the front ensemble. The idea of playing percussion had been in the back of my mind since elementary school - It was the whole reason I had started taking piano lessons as a kid. After I suggested the change to my teachers, I eagerly took up the task to catch up on the percussion music. I spent time in class and after school practicing the instruments and gradually switched my role from playing saxophone to playing cymbals, drums, and piano in the front ensemble. It was foreign yet engaging and, despite the initial setback, the change allowed me to branch out while still practicing and developing my musicianship.
What brought me to make the change was not how I missed the saxophone; rather, it was the idea of being held back and the fear of becoming obsolete that motivated me the most. It is the idea of restrictions that really gets under my skin, especially as a jazz musician. The circumstance provided an excuse for why I don't play music. It presented itself as a barrier to make me turn around and give up, but I learned that is not the kind of person I am. I learned to push through the things that stack up against me, and that is how I choose to define myself: by what I do, not by my setbacks. I learned that I can be interrupted, but I will not be stopped.