On, Off, On, Off...

          The lights in the music hall flicker on and off, signaling that the concert will start shortly. Audience members take their seats, as the players warm up their instruments. The lights go out: Silence. The conductor delicately glides to center stage. I stand in the percussion section, waiting. Nobody moves; everything is quiet. Baton aloft in the air, he waits to build suspense… and finally with one swift motion—

I am off!

          The piece starts at a fast tempo: brisk but vigilant. The accompaniment builds to a harsh fortissimo, resounding around me as I hold my pace. I am a percussionist: the pace setter. It is my job to keep the entire ensemble in unison. One wrong decision, and the whole piece could collapse before me.

          My quick breathing pace matches my rapid drumming rhythm. I give a few sharp snaps of the snare, powerful and abrupt. My mind, however, is not on the piece; my thoughts travel elsewhere, delicately guided by the music being played.

          The piece slows down…

          The notes now move up and down, a gently rolling hill that I stride over, keeping pace. Harsh snare drum hits resolve into the serene ringing of a triangle and suspended cymbal. I am 12 years old, scampering up my street—pit pit pit—chasing down the morning bus, as I scold myself to be on time in the future. I recall standing in the middle of the woods during a thunderstorm—CRASH BOOM—telling myself that staying focused and paying close attention could have helped me remember the way home. I think about my parents, how they both worked countless hours, leaving my brother, sister, and I in the care of our grandparents, along with the sweet, heartwarming smell of a freshly baked batch of blueberry muffins, just so I could have the opportunity of being a part of the school and community that I live in.

          Each one of these moments is essential to my being. Each bout of adversity withstood by my family has made me a stronger and more determined person overall. These memories and experiences are what separate a good percussionist from a phenomenal percussionist. What I have learned from these experiences allows me to be a great leader; someone who knows just how they will play their part.

          There’s a pause in the piece…

          Back into focus, I look up anticipating my conductor with his baton raised and ready in the air. However, what I see is not my conductor anymore. In a fleeting illusion I see an open field and a race official at it’s end; a starter pistol raised, ready to fire. The cross country race is about to begin; my toes tickle the starting line.

          CRACK!

          The race starts at a fast tempo: brisk but vigilant. The roaring crowd builds to a harsh fortissimo, resounding around me as I hold my pace. It is my job to keep the entire team in unison. I am a percussionist: the pace setter.

          The races I run and the music I play blend as if one at this moment. Setting a pace and keeping that pace until the very end is difficult, but I have been taught to keep moving forward and improving with everything that I do until the very end. As the first movement of the piece fades away to a finish, I set down my drum sticks and smile…

          Although the first movement is complete, the piece has just begun. Whether it is the music I play, the races I run, or the life lessons I learn, I raise the bar to challenge myself and my peers; I set the pace in whatever I do and lead the way into the future ahead. I am the percussionist, the pace setter...

          ...and I set the standards high.

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