Please let me know what you think... I also need to cut about 150 words... any suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks!
Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
I stepped into room 218, set my music on the stand, and glanced up at the wall of newspaper staring back at me. It was my senior year in high school. I remembered what I had been told about the judges being able to see only your shoes, so I planted my feet confidently into the floor. I raised my flute to my mouth and adjusted the warm metal to my embouchure. Then, after taking a deep breath, I floated flawlessly up to the top of my range and back down again. I looked down at the selected excerpt and let my muscle memory take over while my mind floated in and out of the audition room, trying to keep my nerves under control. I moved to the next room, where I also played about as well as I could have hoped for with all the adrenaline pumping through my veins. When I returned to the hall, though, I did what every musician does: "I messed up on this and that, and my tone was bad. I doubt I'll make it," and I got back the typical, meaningless, "No, that was so good! You'll make it for sure!"
My junior year, I became really serious about my flute playing. I had success that fall and winter, but from there things started going downhill. I was the only junior flutist not to get a I rating on her solo, and I did not qualify for state. I spent my next flute lesson being reminded about my less than perfect performance as I tried to hold back the tears. In less than a year, my flute teacher, Mrs. Stricklin, had gone from expecting me to get first chair, to appearing to have lost faith in my abilities. I spent the remainder of the year demoted to second part, and I couldn't help but feel that everyone, even my band director, Mr. Protzman, looked down upon me as a flute player.
I tried to hide my hurt, but in my heart I wanted nothing more than to prove myself to Mrs. Stricklin. From early June until the November 12th NEKMEA All-District auditions, I practiced Mozart's Concerto in G Major several times a week. At my lessons, I was so worried about impressing her that once my lip even began to quiver. But the last time I saw her, she didn't offer a single word of confidence in me. The best she had to say was "you never know with these things," and she admitted that my friend had a better chance of making it. I respected her opinion, and I wanted my best friend to do well, but at the same time I despised her for it, and that audition was my chance to prove myself.
After two hours of butterflies and anxious nail biting, a man walked over to the wall with pages fresh off the printer. There was already a mob formed whose heads I couldn't see over, and I stood back in an attempt to calm myself while I waited my turn to see the list. I stood on my tip toes and leaned in over the competition to see something I couldn't believe. I had made the All-District Band. I turned around with a beaming smile, and my school band director, Mr. Protzman, put his arm around me and said, "You made it."
Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
I stepped into room 218, set my music on the stand, and glanced up at the wall of newspaper staring back at me. It was my senior year in high school. I remembered what I had been told about the judges being able to see only your shoes, so I planted my feet confidently into the floor. I raised my flute to my mouth and adjusted the warm metal to my embouchure. Then, after taking a deep breath, I floated flawlessly up to the top of my range and back down again. I looked down at the selected excerpt and let my muscle memory take over while my mind floated in and out of the audition room, trying to keep my nerves under control. I moved to the next room, where I also played about as well as I could have hoped for with all the adrenaline pumping through my veins. When I returned to the hall, though, I did what every musician does: "I messed up on this and that, and my tone was bad. I doubt I'll make it," and I got back the typical, meaningless, "No, that was so good! You'll make it for sure!"
My junior year, I became really serious about my flute playing. I had success that fall and winter, but from there things started going downhill. I was the only junior flutist not to get a I rating on her solo, and I did not qualify for state. I spent my next flute lesson being reminded about my less than perfect performance as I tried to hold back the tears. In less than a year, my flute teacher, Mrs. Stricklin, had gone from expecting me to get first chair, to appearing to have lost faith in my abilities. I spent the remainder of the year demoted to second part, and I couldn't help but feel that everyone, even my band director, Mr. Protzman, looked down upon me as a flute player.
I tried to hide my hurt, but in my heart I wanted nothing more than to prove myself to Mrs. Stricklin. From early June until the November 12th NEKMEA All-District auditions, I practiced Mozart's Concerto in G Major several times a week. At my lessons, I was so worried about impressing her that once my lip even began to quiver. But the last time I saw her, she didn't offer a single word of confidence in me. The best she had to say was "you never know with these things," and she admitted that my friend had a better chance of making it. I respected her opinion, and I wanted my best friend to do well, but at the same time I despised her for it, and that audition was my chance to prove myself.
After two hours of butterflies and anxious nail biting, a man walked over to the wall with pages fresh off the printer. There was already a mob formed whose heads I couldn't see over, and I stood back in an attempt to calm myself while I waited my turn to see the list. I stood on my tip toes and leaned in over the competition to see something I couldn't believe. I had made the All-District Band. I turned around with a beaming smile, and my school band director, Mr. Protzman, put his arm around me and said, "You made it."
