American society will always be jealous. In the past, the nerd looked in awe to popularity, or that fat girl stared at cheerleaders as they leapt around in lithe bodies. Not much has changed. Everyone looks at each other, and wishes for something that they don't have - particularly success. Think it's too cliche? Think you're different? When was the last time you saw a drink in someone's hand, and wished to have one, too? Or a car?
People ask me: How do you do so many activities? Why do you play the flute? How are you so passionate?
Simply, I'm not that cool or amazing. Instead of asking me some weird, envy filled question, why don't you try it out?
Passion is slippery. Passion does not click, and is not the best thing to happen to a person. You are not born with passion, nor do people suddenly become gifted with this gift from "God".
When I was in the 3rd grade, the school system still made it an option to take an extra band class, and my mom enrolled my brother and me because she wanted us to try out new activities.
An 8 year old puffing air, like a blowfish, through a clarinet is not the best sound. A group of 8 year olds with expensive musical instruments is not the best sight. For the first two weeks, I huffed and puffed and blew through the little wooden cylinder and could not make a sound. I complained to my mom, certain that I had no musical talent, and my brother was some God-send child who somehow was born to play flute, even though in reality- he sucked.
If it hadn't been for the persistence of my mom, I would have quit years ago. On the contrary, I was forced to work and work and work, until I grew to slightly enjoy that work. Sometimes I would switch instruments, shake my head, switch again. I finally ended with the flute, and with my horribly out of tune notes, my oblivious self would turn and grin widely at my mom.
"You're great, honey!" "Thanks, I know!"
It wasn't the end. Every turn of the road blocked by another looming monster.
Scales of terror, the great, ugly upper register monster of the music swamp rearing its As, Bbs, and C- learning on a whole different level. But slowly, ever so slowly, with each note I played, each breath I took, every time I synchronized with the beat, a tiny, itty bitty piece of passion would plop down onto my soul. So insignificant were these little raindrops, that only now I realize the important of my strangled notes in late night practices.
So now, people ask me: Why do you play the flute? Why are you in band? How do you have so much passion?
I say, because I like it. So why don't you try it, too?
