The prompt of this essay is to write about an influential person. Any help is appreciated, but I especially need to know what, if anything, I can cut out, as I'm about 100 words over the limit. Also, I'd like to know if any wording is awkward, or if there's something else I could say to better convey my friend's influence on me. As an aspiring engineer, writing is not exactly my strong suit, so I'm grateful for any suggestions. Thank you in advance.
I stared blankly at the audition results on the bulletin board. The list of names gazed smugly back at me, a statement that everything I had worked for for three years had been a waste of time, that I would spend my final year of high school sitting in a band class full of freshmen, tediously tapping out quarter-note rhythms. I pictured my future suffering through hour-long sectionals, stewing in my own boredom while my classmates struggled to play through our middle-school music. I scanned the rest of the list, demanding to know who could possibly have beaten me. My disappointment was mitigated slightly when I saw Sarah's name in the first-chair slot.
I met Sarah on the first day of band-camp our freshman year. From the beginning, she was better than me. I listened enviously as Sarah flew effortlessly up and down a scale, gliding over high notes, delivering resonant low notes as if it were nothing. She inspired me. We were the same age we had been playing the flute for the same amount of time, and, as far as I knew, there was no logical reason why I should not sound like her. I began practicing for hours every night, painstakingly perfecting every fortissimo and meno mosso until anything I played sounded like Sarah. We worked together and, eventually, I was even able to help her improve. I never expected to beat her, but the pressure to be on the same level as my friend made me push myself harder than I ever had before. At the end of the year, I won the award for Most Improved Freshman.
My envy of Sarah's musical ability blinded me to the fact that her talent did not necessarily transfer to other areas. Her struggle with math mirrored my own with music. During our sophomore year, Geometry threatened to make her academically ineligible. She seemed to spend nearly all of her time fretting over just passing something that came easily to me. I resolved to do for her what she had always done for me, and worked out problems with her every day before rehearsal. Soon, Sarah had a solid B in Geometry, and I learned to value my own talents in school, instead of berating myself because I did not have the same natural abilities as others.
Following our sophomore year, I was promoted to Honors Band, whereas Sarah, after what must have been an uncharacteristically bad audition, was moved back down to the lower band. As excited as I was, I lost my motivation to improve, and refused to practice more than the bare minimum for the first several weeks of school. The guilt accumulated as I noticed Sarah staying late every day, working out every note of her music until it was letter-perfect. I felt a stab of remorse every time I heard her play, noting the difference between her music and mine, which was painfully cautious, labored, and weak in comparison. Before long, Sarah had motivated me to start working again. Once December arrived, I had an audition that I could be proud of.
Sarah inspired me to throw all of my effort into coming back from my own disappointing audition. I have since become first-chair in Symphonic Band, and started taking extra flute lessons to further improve. At the end of this month, I plan to prove that I deserve to be in Honors Band again with a flawless Region Band audition. Like Sarah, I refuse to let one setback ruin my passion for music.
I stared blankly at the audition results on the bulletin board. The list of names gazed smugly back at me, a statement that everything I had worked for for three years had been a waste of time, that I would spend my final year of high school sitting in a band class full of freshmen, tediously tapping out quarter-note rhythms. I pictured my future suffering through hour-long sectionals, stewing in my own boredom while my classmates struggled to play through our middle-school music. I scanned the rest of the list, demanding to know who could possibly have beaten me. My disappointment was mitigated slightly when I saw Sarah's name in the first-chair slot.
I met Sarah on the first day of band-camp our freshman year. From the beginning, she was better than me. I listened enviously as Sarah flew effortlessly up and down a scale, gliding over high notes, delivering resonant low notes as if it were nothing. She inspired me. We were the same age we had been playing the flute for the same amount of time, and, as far as I knew, there was no logical reason why I should not sound like her. I began practicing for hours every night, painstakingly perfecting every fortissimo and meno mosso until anything I played sounded like Sarah. We worked together and, eventually, I was even able to help her improve. I never expected to beat her, but the pressure to be on the same level as my friend made me push myself harder than I ever had before. At the end of the year, I won the award for Most Improved Freshman.
My envy of Sarah's musical ability blinded me to the fact that her talent did not necessarily transfer to other areas. Her struggle with math mirrored my own with music. During our sophomore year, Geometry threatened to make her academically ineligible. She seemed to spend nearly all of her time fretting over just passing something that came easily to me. I resolved to do for her what she had always done for me, and worked out problems with her every day before rehearsal. Soon, Sarah had a solid B in Geometry, and I learned to value my own talents in school, instead of berating myself because I did not have the same natural abilities as others.
Following our sophomore year, I was promoted to Honors Band, whereas Sarah, after what must have been an uncharacteristically bad audition, was moved back down to the lower band. As excited as I was, I lost my motivation to improve, and refused to practice more than the bare minimum for the first several weeks of school. The guilt accumulated as I noticed Sarah staying late every day, working out every note of her music until it was letter-perfect. I felt a stab of remorse every time I heard her play, noting the difference between her music and mine, which was painfully cautious, labored, and weak in comparison. Before long, Sarah had motivated me to start working again. Once December arrived, I had an audition that I could be proud of.
Sarah inspired me to throw all of my effort into coming back from my own disappointing audition. I have since become first-chair in Symphonic Band, and started taking extra flute lessons to further improve. At the end of this month, I plan to prove that I deserve to be in Honors Band again with a flawless Region Band audition. Like Sarah, I refuse to let one setback ruin my passion for music.