II. How the French Horn Saved My Life

(or at least my character)

I’m a flute player at heart. I love the flute, and I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it. Everyone in high school thinks they’re pretty good at what they do, be it sports, music, drama, student government, or whatever. But it’s really easy to get a big head about things. I met a kid at college this year who was fresh out of high school who thought he knew everything about his chosen area of study. He came off as crass and arrogant, and not at all cool to me. Maybe the reason for that was he reminded me so much of myself.
When I was a freshman, I could have been the same way. I was impatient, I was important, hold the presses, I’ve arrived. But when I came in to sign up for classes, the band director asked me to play french horn. Of course I couldn’t say no, but I had never played the french horn before. Never. My perceived level of ability was exceptionally low in that area. I spent a full year fumbling around on the wrong partials, trying to coax the right notes out of that labyrinthine instrument with varied levels of success.

So what. I suppose in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn’t even merit a second glance. And it wouldn’t ever had meant anything to me if I hadn’t met that cocky freshman this year. Because I was forced to do something I wasn’t any good at, I didn’t feel that I had to be the best flute player to be accepted into the community. I was just one guy, doing my best to better the band. It was humbling.

And that’s really what this is all about – humility. I learned that I don’t have to be anything special: I don’t have to be the next James Galway; I don’t have to play like a professional; I don’t have to expect outrageous things from others; and best of all, I don’t have to fake anything.
I’m free to be myself. I’m free to speak my mind without having to justify myself. I’m free to love again.

-One more step, one more step. Someday I’ll cross over. Someday.

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