In the fourth grade, my class and I were tasked with a project, requiring us to plan out our entire adult lives, ranging from our specific occupation to the type of car we drove and the place we lived. All of this in the fourth grade, at the age of nine. As outlandishly as the class reacted to this then, I can only scoff at the memory of that teacher seriously expecting us to plan our projected lives that early on. We were fourth graders for Pete’s sake, we could barely decide what we wanted in the lunch line without deep and considerable thought.
Most kids in my class wished to become the president or an astronaut; my dreams were far closer to Earth. My parents were very in realistic, instilling the gravitational pull of reality to my sister and I, bringing any otherworldly dreams we had into Earth’s orbit. So, I wanted to be a marine biologist. I was not involved with much, save recorder club and Spanish club. I thought fish were pretty cool, though. Thus, my lifelong career was decided. When my family announced that we would be going on vacation to the Florida Keys to snorkel, I was absolutely thrilled. Having never ridden a boat prior, my nerves built up with anticipation. The moment I stepped foot on the snorkeling boat was bound to be the first day of the rest of my life, just as I had planned in my project in the fourth grade. I would go to touch the pristine water, and something would click, surely. I would never want to leave its perfect blue mountain range, where my only limits were the horizons around me. Perhaps I would remain there, and become Aquaman. Regardless, my first contact with the deep sea would affirm my life’s purpose, and give me a goal to live for. As I stepped onto the boat, giddy filled every fiber of my being. The engine revved, and my excitement nearly burst audibly. As the dock became a distant memory, I began to feel an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. It grew and grew the farther we went, pain rolling in sequence with each wave. Pale as a ghost, I ignored my pain and entered the deep blue. It didn’t take long for snapper and tuna to swarm around me. This was not because my transformation into Aquaman had completed, however. They were attracted to that afternoon’s lunch I had spewed around me, dying the ocean water a sickly yellow. That was the day I found out I suffered from sea sickness. My dreams were crushed, my fourth grade life plan absolutely ruined. And I couldn’t be happier.
Middle school rolled in, and of course I needed to know what to do with my life. Not having a set career path in the wake my marine biological dream-crushing put me on high alert to find another interest, quickly. Everyone in my class knew exactly what they wanted to do, and if I did not I would surely live on the streets as a failure. Around this time, my brother co-created a wildly successful start-up in San Francisco. He went to Duke University for his undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford for his Master’s degree in business. He was Salutatorian of his class in high school. So from the moment he received a diploma, my twin sister and I had huge shoes to fill. Though my sister broke from his shadow relatively quickly, I couldn’t escape its looming pressure, so I indulged in it. I thought that he was an example of the only correct path in life that leads to success, and I therefore had to follow his every move. So I sought to be Ian. I would be interested and involved in Biomedical and Computer science, even if it didn’t interest me. I would end up happy and successful, just like my brother. I took classes relating to computers and biological sciences up until the tenth grade, because that was my path. In middle school, I knew that I would go to Duke University to receive an undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford to receive Master’s degree in business.
I had made a blunder in following my brother’s road map to success, however. I longed for a social life. My brother’s path dictated, however, that one’s social life must be nonexistent in their adolescence to ever reach true success-nirvana. Such trivial things did not matter in your eventual biography. Sinfully, however, I longed for social interaction more than anything.
My group of friends that carried through from elementary school into middle school had all joined band. Band had nothing to do with my brother’s path, so of course I turned it the cold shoulder on the course card I received between elementary and middle school. My friends murmured of a trip to Universal Studios of Orlando near the end of my sixth grade year, conquering my attention. The mention of any theme park to a sixth grader is enough to bring them on their knees, begging to go. So, that is what I did of course. My only obstacle was that they were going with the school band to be a part of an annual parade at the park. This was a minor oversight, however, as the middle school’s band director would certainly permit me membership to band a week prior to the trip, and near the end of the school year, as long as I begged. So that is what I did. I went to the forsaken band-room only “band-kids” could enter, mounted my knees, and begged my heart out to the 70-year-old band director. Of course he denied my request, though he did promise me membership the following school year on the condition that I attended a music camp over the summer to learn an instrument. And so, from that point on, I would devote my life to going to Universal that next school year. My brother did robotics and programming camps over his summers, so how could I go to a music camp? I broke from his path from that moment, in search of taboo social interaction.
This summer music camp was different to anything I had done previously. My parents and siblings lacked a single musical bone in their entire body, so I ventured through this camp as one would uncharted seas. I went into the camp wanting to play the trumpet, as everyone cool in my circle of friends played the trumpet. Though, during an exhibition, an instrument’s timbre and color caught my attention: the French horn. I had never heard of the contraption, but it’s perfect tone lied evenly between the register of a trumpet and trombone, and appealed to me as perfectly tempered porridge appealed to Goldilocks. Testing on various instruments followed, where I received the lowest possible marks on the trumpet and the highest possible marks on the French horn. Fate couldn’t have wacked me upside the head harder if it tried, so of course I chose the French horn. The teacher who exhibited the horn that fateful day became my private lesson teacher for the next seven years. From that day forth, though I didn’t wish to admit it, I had strayed from my brother’s path to success so far that there was no going back. From that day forth, I forged a path that led to something I seldom felt at that point in my life: happiness.
Years go by, and I continually lie to myself, convince myself that I can still follow my brother’s path from the point I was at. Being a part of music, however, slowly grew my circle of friends in a way studies in liberal arts never could. I met and played with such beautiful people and players. I was showered with praise from that middle school band director until the day I graduated eighth grade for my ability to match and even surpass the kids in my middle school band. It was easy, though. For my efforts to improve at my instrument, life provided me with the greatest Pavlovian reward to be forged by man: friendship.
Now of course, this wasn’t the end. My private lesson teacher sought to help me achieve in whatever way possible. She encouraged me as a mother would, but still regarded me as one would their best friend. This dynamic between teacher and student made the efficiency of these lessons skyrocket, allowing me to improve faster than I thought possible. She took me to new heights, first assisting me to audition and make the county wide ensemble known as All County. These were the best musicians in my area. And they were my people. Some of the bonds I formed in that ensemble in seventh and eighth grade still last today. But high school was on the horizon, and it was time to take things to the next level. I had auditioned for the state-wide ensemble known as All State throughout middle school, but I would never had guessed I would make it in high school. Though I thought I was fairly decent at my instrument, I would never had thought I could be counted among the best in the state. All these other kids lived and breathed music, and for me it was a mere hobby. How could I deserve to be there? Alas, someone listening to my audition tape in some ivory tower decided that I would have the honor of playing with the All State Band for three consecutive years. The level of musicianship of those I met through those years was immense, and inspired me to be a better musician and person. After a weekend of arduous work, we closed each weekend with a concert that never failed to blow me away. I recall being awestruck at the sounds we had just put out after every concert, and my happiness peaked.
The juxtaposition between these highly talented musicians, who would go on to major in some musical facet and play or teach music for a living, and myself, who was a musician secondarily, never ceased to bug me at any of these conferences, however. I had the sense of not fitting in or belonging there burrowed deep in my skull. Meeting all these brilliant musicians also implanted another thought: The possibility of making a career out of music. It had never computed that this thing that I was in love with could have the capacity to carry me through life. As I gained a wider scope of the world of music through high school, these facts became more apparent. All these interests I had leading up to this point were secondary to music; I was too blinded by expectation and conventionalism to see it. Music people were my people. Music brought me so many relationships I could never have dreamed of. The happiness that welled in my very being when listening to or playing music was unmatched by any hobby or study I involved myself with prior. I was music, and music was me.
My parents disapproved, of course, when I relayed my discovery to them. One cannot make a career out of music, it’s unacceptable. I had to study something meaningful, like anatomy, or chemistry, or psychology, or biology. But I would not - could not. I had to stick to my decision. I had spent all of my primary education searching for my one thing, and I refused to give it up. My brother also predictably disapproved. He scrambled to change my mind, encouraging me to take up a coding course, of come help at his company as an intern. I refused. I was over it. I was finished following his meticulously-perfect brick path. I was ready to create a dirt road from nothing. I didn’t have a musical gene in my genome, but I would go forward, against destiny, fate, what have you. It was certainly still in the realm of possibility to do what I love without my family’s support, albeit hard. I would have to fund my own trips to audition for colleges, as well as fund my secondary education independently. It would be arduous. But possible. I could never step back into the shadow of my brother’s success and my parent’s expectation. Forging this new road was my only option. Though the uncertainty was daunting, I can now remark that, after only a few steps in, I am where I want to be, what I want to be, and who I want to be. A musician.
Most kids in my class wished to become the president or an astronaut; my dreams were far closer to Earth. My parents were very in realistic, instilling the gravitational pull of reality to my sister and I, bringing any otherworldly dreams we had into Earth’s orbit. So, I wanted to be a marine biologist. I was not involved with much, save recorder club and Spanish club. I thought fish were pretty cool, though. Thus, my lifelong career was decided. When my family announced that we would be going on vacation to the Florida Keys to snorkel, I was absolutely thrilled. Having never ridden a boat prior, my nerves built up with anticipation. The moment I stepped foot on the snorkeling boat was bound to be the first day of the rest of my life, just as I had planned in my project in the fourth grade. I would go to touch the pristine water, and something would click, surely. I would never want to leave its perfect blue mountain range, where my only limits were the horizons around me. Perhaps I would remain there, and become Aquaman. Regardless, my first contact with the deep sea would affirm my life’s purpose, and give me a goal to live for. As I stepped onto the boat, giddy filled every fiber of my being. The engine revved, and my excitement nearly burst audibly. As the dock became a distant memory, I began to feel an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. It grew and grew the farther we went, pain rolling in sequence with each wave. Pale as a ghost, I ignored my pain and entered the deep blue. It didn’t take long for snapper and tuna to swarm around me. This was not because my transformation into Aquaman had completed, however. They were attracted to that afternoon’s lunch I had spewed around me, dying the ocean water a sickly yellow. That was the day I found out I suffered from sea sickness. My dreams were crushed, my fourth grade life plan absolutely ruined. And I couldn’t be happier.
Middle school rolled in, and of course I needed to know what to do with my life. Not having a set career path in the wake my marine biological dream-crushing put me on high alert to find another interest, quickly. Everyone in my class knew exactly what they wanted to do, and if I did not I would surely live on the streets as a failure. Around this time, my brother co-created a wildly successful start-up in San Francisco. He went to Duke University for his undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford for his Master’s degree in business. He was Salutatorian of his class in high school. So from the moment he received a diploma, my twin sister and I had huge shoes to fill. Though my sister broke from his shadow relatively quickly, I couldn’t escape its looming pressure, so I indulged in it. I thought that he was an example of the only correct path in life that leads to success, and I therefore had to follow his every move. So I sought to be Ian. I would be interested and involved in Biomedical and Computer science, even if it didn’t interest me. I would end up happy and successful, just like my brother. I took classes relating to computers and biological sciences up until the tenth grade, because that was my path. In middle school, I knew that I would go to Duke University to receive an undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford to receive Master’s degree in business.
I had made a blunder in following my brother’s road map to success, however. I longed for a social life. My brother’s path dictated, however, that one’s social life must be nonexistent in their adolescence to ever reach true success-nirvana. Such trivial things did not matter in your eventual biography. Sinfully, however, I longed for social interaction more than anything.
My group of friends that carried through from elementary school into middle school had all joined band. Band had nothing to do with my brother’s path, so of course I turned it the cold shoulder on the course card I received between elementary and middle school. My friends murmured of a trip to Universal Studios of Orlando near the end of my sixth grade year, conquering my attention. The mention of any theme park to a sixth grader is enough to bring them on their knees, begging to go. So, that is what I did of course. My only obstacle was that they were going with the school band to be a part of an annual parade at the park. This was a minor oversight, however, as the middle school’s band director would certainly permit me membership to band a week prior to the trip, and near the end of the school year, as long as I begged. So that is what I did. I went to the forsaken band-room only “band-kids” could enter, mounted my knees, and begged my heart out to the 70-year-old band director. Of course he denied my request, though he did promise me membership the following school year on the condition that I attended a music camp over the summer to learn an instrument. And so, from that point on, I would devote my life to going to Universal that next school year. My brother did robotics and programming camps over his summers, so how could I go to a music camp? I broke from his path from that moment, in search of taboo social interaction.
This summer music camp was different to anything I had done previously. My parents and siblings lacked a single musical bone in their entire body, so I ventured through this camp as one would uncharted seas. I went into the camp wanting to play the trumpet, as everyone cool in my circle of friends played the trumpet. Though, during an exhibition, an instrument’s timbre and color caught my attention: the French horn. I had never heard of the contraption, but it’s perfect tone lied evenly between the register of a trumpet and trombone, and appealed to me as perfectly tempered porridge appealed to Goldilocks. Testing on various instruments followed, where I received the lowest possible marks on the trumpet and the highest possible marks on the French horn. Fate couldn’t have wacked me upside the head harder if it tried, so of course I chose the French horn. The teacher who exhibited the horn that fateful day became my private lesson teacher for the next seven years. From that day forth, though I didn’t wish to admit it, I had strayed from my brother’s path to success so far that there was no going back. From that day forth, I forged a path that led to something I seldom felt at that point in my life: happiness.
Years go by, and I continually lie to myself, convince myself that I can still follow my brother’s path from the point I was at. Being a part of music, however, slowly grew my circle of friends in a way studies in liberal arts never could. I met and played with such beautiful people and players. I was showered with praise from that middle school band director until the day I graduated eighth grade for my ability to match and even surpass the kids in my middle school band. It was easy, though. For my efforts to improve at my instrument, life provided me with the greatest Pavlovian reward to be forged by man: friendship.
Now of course, this wasn’t the end. My private lesson teacher sought to help me achieve in whatever way possible. She encouraged me as a mother would, but still regarded me as one would their best friend. This dynamic between teacher and student made the efficiency of these lessons skyrocket, allowing me to improve faster than I thought possible. She took me to new heights, first assisting me to audition and make the county wide ensemble known as All County. These were the best musicians in my area. And they were my people. Some of the bonds I formed in that ensemble in seventh and eighth grade still last today. But high school was on the horizon, and it was time to take things to the next level. I had auditioned for the state-wide ensemble known as All State throughout middle school, but I would never had guessed I would make it in high school. Though I thought I was fairly decent at my instrument, I would never had thought I could be counted among the best in the state. All these other kids lived and breathed music, and for me it was a mere hobby. How could I deserve to be there? Alas, someone listening to my audition tape in some ivory tower decided that I would have the honor of playing with the All State Band for three consecutive years. The level of musicianship of those I met through those years was immense, and inspired me to be a better musician and person. After a weekend of arduous work, we closed each weekend with a concert that never failed to blow me away. I recall being awestruck at the sounds we had just put out after every concert, and my happiness peaked.
The juxtaposition between these highly talented musicians, who would go on to major in some musical facet and play or teach music for a living, and myself, who was a musician secondarily, never ceased to bug me at any of these conferences, however. I had the sense of not fitting in or belonging there burrowed deep in my skull. Meeting all these brilliant musicians also implanted another thought: The possibility of making a career out of music. It had never computed that this thing that I was in love with could have the capacity to carry me through life. As I gained a wider scope of the world of music through high school, these facts became more apparent. All these interests I had leading up to this point were secondary to music; I was too blinded by expectation and conventionalism to see it. Music people were my people. Music brought me so many relationships I could never have dreamed of. The happiness that welled in my very being when listening to or playing music was unmatched by any hobby or study I involved myself with prior. I was music, and music was me.
My parents disapproved, of course, when I relayed my discovery to them. One cannot make a career out of music, it’s unacceptable. I had to study something meaningful, like anatomy, or chemistry, or psychology, or biology. But I would not - could not. I had to stick to my decision. I had spent all of my primary education searching for my one thing, and I refused to give it up. My brother also predictably disapproved. He scrambled to change my mind, encouraging me to take up a coding course, of come help at his company as an intern. I refused. I was over it. I was finished following his meticulously-perfect brick path. I was ready to create a dirt road from nothing. I didn’t have a musical gene in my genome, but I would go forward, against destiny, fate, what have you. It was certainly still in the realm of possibility to do what I love without my family’s support, albeit hard. I would have to fund my own trips to audition for colleges, as well as fund my secondary education independently. It would be arduous. But possible. I could never step back into the shadow of my brother’s success and my parent’s expectation. Forging this new road was my only option. Though the uncertainty was daunting, I can now remark that, after only a few steps in, I am where I want to be, what I want to be, and who I want to be. A musician.
In the fourth grade, my class and I were tasked with a project, requiring us to plan out our entire adult lives, ranging from our specific occupation to the type of car we drove and the place we lived. All of this in the fourth grade, at the age of nine. As outlandishly as the class reacted to this then, I can only scoff at the memory of that teacher seriously expecting us to plan our projected lives that early on. We were fourth graders for Pete’s sake, we could barely decide what we wanted in the lunch line without deep and considerable thought.
Most kids in my class wished to become the president or an astronaut; my dreams were far closer to Earth. My parents were very in realistic, instilling the gravitational pull of reality to my sister and I, bringing any otherworldly dreams we had into Earth’s orbit. So, I wanted to be a marine biologist. I was not involved with much, save recorder club and Spanish club. I thought fish were pretty cool, though. Thus, my lifelong career was decided. When my family announced that we would be going on vacation to the Florida Keys to snorkel, I was absolutely thrilled. Having never ridden a boat prior, my nerves built up with anticipation. The moment I stepped foot on the snorkeling boat was bound to be the first day of the rest of my life, just as I had planned in my project in the fourth grade. I would go to touch the pristine water, and something would click, surely. I would never want to leave its perfect blue mountain range, where my only limits were the horizons around me. Perhaps I would remain there, and become Aquaman. Regardless, my first contact with the deep sea would affirm my life’s purpose, and give me a goal to live for. As I stepped onto the boat, giddy filled every fiber of my being. The engine revved, and my excitement nearly burst audibly. As the dock became a distant memory, I began to feel an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. It grew and grew the farther we went, pain rolling in sequence with each wave. Pale as a ghost, I ignored my pain and entered the deep blue. It didn’t take long for snapper and tuna to swarm around me. This was not because my transformation into Aquaman had completed, however. They were attracted to that afternoon’s lunch I had spewed around me, dying the ocean water a sickly yellow. That was the day I found out I suffered from sea sickness. My dreams were crushed, my fourth grade life plan absolutely ruined. And I couldn’t be happier.
Middle school rolled in, and of course I needed to know what to do with my life. Not having a set career path in the wake my marine biological dream-crushing put me on high alert to find another interest, quickly. Everyone in my class knew exactly what they wanted to do, and if I did not I would surely live on the streets as a failure. Around this time, my brother co-created a wildly successful start-up in San Francisco. He went to Duke University for his undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford for his Master’s degree in business. He was Salutatorian of his class in high school. So from the moment he received a diploma, my twin sister and I had huge shoes to fill. Though my sister broke from his shadow relatively quickly, I couldn’t escape its looming pressure, so I indulged in it. I thought that he was an example of the only correct path in life that leads to success, and I therefore had to follow his every move. So I sought to be Ian. I would be interested and involved in Biomedical and Computer science, even if it didn’t interest me. I would end up happy and successful, just like my brother. I took classes relating to computers and biological sciences up until the tenth grade, because that was my path. In middle school, I knew that I would go to Duke University to receive an undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford to receive Master’s degree in business.
I had made a blunder in following my brother’s road map to success, however. I longed for a social life. My brother’s path dictated, however, that one’s social life must be nonexistent in their adolescence to ever reach true success-nirvana. Such trivial things did not matter in your eventual biography. Sinfully, however, I longed for social interaction more than anything.
My group of friends that carried through from elementary school into middle school had all joined band. Band had nothing to do with my brother’s path, so of course I turned it the cold shoulder on the course card I received between elementary and middle school. My friends murmured of a trip to Universal Studios of Orlando near the end of my sixth grade year, conquering my attention. The mention of any theme park to a sixth grader is enough to bring them on their knees, begging to go. So, that is what I did of course. My only obstacle was that they were going with the school band to be a part of an annual parade at the park. This was a minor oversight, however, as the middle school’s band director would certainly permit me membership to band a week prior to the trip, and near the end of the school year, as long as I begged. So that is what I did. I went to the forsaken band-room only “band-kids” could enter, mounted my knees, and begged my heart out to the 70-year-old band director. Of course he denied my request, though he did promise me membership the following school year on the condition that I attended a music camp over the summer to learn an instrument. And so, from that point on, I would devote my life to going to Universal that next school year. My brother did robotics and programming camps over his summers, so how could I go to a music camp? I broke from his path from that moment, in search of taboo social interaction.
This summer music camp was different to anything I had done previously. My parents and siblings lacked a single musical bone in their entire body, so I ventured through this camp as one would uncharted seas. I went into the camp wanting to play the trumpet, as everyone cool in my circle of friends played the trumpet. Though, during an exhibition, an instrument’s timbre and color caught my attention: the French horn. I had never heard of the contraption, but it’s perfect tone lied evenly between the register of a trumpet and trombone, and appealed to me as perfectly tempered porridge appealed to Goldilocks. Testing on various instruments followed, where I received the lowest possible marks on the trumpet and the highest possible marks on the French horn. Fate couldn’t have wacked me upside the head harder if it tried, so of course I chose the French horn. The teacher who exhibited the horn that fateful day became my private lesson teacher for the next seven years. From that day forth, though I didn’t wish to admit it, I had strayed from my brother’s path to success so far that there was no going back. From that day forth, I forged a path that led to something I seldom felt at that point in my life: happiness.
Years go by, and I continually lie to myself, convince myself that I can still follow my brother’s path from the point I was at. Being a part of music, however, slowly grew my circle of friends in a way studies in liberal arts never could. I met and played with such beautiful people and players. I was showered with praise from that middle school band director until the day I graduated eighth grade for my ability to match and even surpass the kids in my middle school band. It was easy, though. For my efforts to improve at my instrument, life provided me with the greatest Pavlovian reward to be forged by man: friendship.
Now of course, this wasn’t the end. My private lesson teacher sought to help me achieve in whatever way possible. She encouraged me as a mother would, but still regarded me as one would their best friend. This dynamic between teacher and student made the efficiency of these lessons skyrocket, allowing me to improve faster than I thought possible. She took me to new heights, first assisting me to audition and make the county wide ensemble known as All County. These were the best musicians in my area. And they were my people. Some of the bonds I formed in that ensemble in seventh and eighth grade still last today. But high school was on the horizon, and it was time to take things to the next level. I had auditioned for the state-wide ensemble known as All State throughout middle school, but I would never had guessed I would make it in high school. Though I thought I was fairly decent at my instrument, I would never had thought I could be counted among the best in the state. All these other kids lived and breathed music, and for me it was a mere hobby. How could I deserve to be there? Alas, someone listening to my audition tape in some ivory tower decided that I would have the honor of playing with the All State Band for three consecutive years. The level of musicianship of those I met through those years was immense, and inspired me to be a better musician and person. After a weekend of arduous work, we closed each weekend with a concert that never failed to blow me away. I recall being awestruck at the sounds we had just put out after every concert, and my happiness peaked.
The juxtaposition between these highly talented musicians, who would go on to major in some musical facet and play or teach music for a living, and myself, who was a musician secondarily, never ceased to bug me at any of these conferences, however. I had the sense of not fitting in or belonging there burrowed deep in my skull. Meeting all these brilliant musicians also implanted another thought: The possibility of making a career out of music. It had never computed that this thing that I was in love with could have the capacity to carry me through life. As I gained a wider scope of the world of music through high school, these facts became more apparent. All these interests I had leading up to this point were secondary to music; I was too blinded by expectation and conventionalism to see it. Music people were my people. Music brought me so many relationships I could never have dreamed of. The happiness that welled in my very being when listening to or playing music was unmatched by any hobby or study I involved myself with prior. I was music, and music was me.
My parents disapproved, of course, when I relayed my discovery to them. One cannot make a career out of music, it’s unacceptable. I had to study something meaningful, like anatomy, or chemistry, or psychology, or biology. But I would not - could not. I had to stick to my decision. I had spent all of my primary education searching for my one thing, and I refused to give it up. My brother also predictably disapproved. He scrambled to change my mind, encouraging me to take up a coding course, of come help at his company as an intern. I refused. I was over it. I was finished following his meticulously-perfect brick path. I was ready to create a dirt road from nothing. I didn’t have a musical gene in my genome, but I would go forward, against destiny, fate, what have you. It was certainly still in the realm of possibility to do what I love without my family’s support, albeit hard. I would have to fund my own trips to audition for colleges, as well as fund my secondary education independently. It would be arduous. But possible. I could never step back into the shadow of my brother’s success and my parent’s expectation. Forging this new road was my only option. Though the uncertainty was daunting, I can now remark that, after only a few steps in, I am where I want to be, what I want to be, and who I want to be. A musician.
Most kids in my class wished to become the president or an astronaut; my dreams were far closer to Earth. My parents were very in realistic, instilling the gravitational pull of reality to my sister and I, bringing any otherworldly dreams we had into Earth’s orbit. So, I wanted to be a marine biologist. I was not involved with much, save recorder club and Spanish club. I thought fish were pretty cool, though. Thus, my lifelong career was decided. When my family announced that we would be going on vacation to the Florida Keys to snorkel, I was absolutely thrilled. Having never ridden a boat prior, my nerves built up with anticipation. The moment I stepped foot on the snorkeling boat was bound to be the first day of the rest of my life, just as I had planned in my project in the fourth grade. I would go to touch the pristine water, and something would click, surely. I would never want to leave its perfect blue mountain range, where my only limits were the horizons around me. Perhaps I would remain there, and become Aquaman. Regardless, my first contact with the deep sea would affirm my life’s purpose, and give me a goal to live for. As I stepped onto the boat, giddy filled every fiber of my being. The engine revved, and my excitement nearly burst audibly. As the dock became a distant memory, I began to feel an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. It grew and grew the farther we went, pain rolling in sequence with each wave. Pale as a ghost, I ignored my pain and entered the deep blue. It didn’t take long for snapper and tuna to swarm around me. This was not because my transformation into Aquaman had completed, however. They were attracted to that afternoon’s lunch I had spewed around me, dying the ocean water a sickly yellow. That was the day I found out I suffered from sea sickness. My dreams were crushed, my fourth grade life plan absolutely ruined. And I couldn’t be happier.
Middle school rolled in, and of course I needed to know what to do with my life. Not having a set career path in the wake my marine biological dream-crushing put me on high alert to find another interest, quickly. Everyone in my class knew exactly what they wanted to do, and if I did not I would surely live on the streets as a failure. Around this time, my brother co-created a wildly successful start-up in San Francisco. He went to Duke University for his undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford for his Master’s degree in business. He was Salutatorian of his class in high school. So from the moment he received a diploma, my twin sister and I had huge shoes to fill. Though my sister broke from his shadow relatively quickly, I couldn’t escape its looming pressure, so I indulged in it. I thought that he was an example of the only correct path in life that leads to success, and I therefore had to follow his every move. So I sought to be Ian. I would be interested and involved in Biomedical and Computer science, even if it didn’t interest me. I would end up happy and successful, just like my brother. I took classes relating to computers and biological sciences up until the tenth grade, because that was my path. In middle school, I knew that I would go to Duke University to receive an undergraduate degree in Biomedical Engineering, and to Stanford to receive Master’s degree in business.
I had made a blunder in following my brother’s road map to success, however. I longed for a social life. My brother’s path dictated, however, that one’s social life must be nonexistent in their adolescence to ever reach true success-nirvana. Such trivial things did not matter in your eventual biography. Sinfully, however, I longed for social interaction more than anything.
My group of friends that carried through from elementary school into middle school had all joined band. Band had nothing to do with my brother’s path, so of course I turned it the cold shoulder on the course card I received between elementary and middle school. My friends murmured of a trip to Universal Studios of Orlando near the end of my sixth grade year, conquering my attention. The mention of any theme park to a sixth grader is enough to bring them on their knees, begging to go. So, that is what I did of course. My only obstacle was that they were going with the school band to be a part of an annual parade at the park. This was a minor oversight, however, as the middle school’s band director would certainly permit me membership to band a week prior to the trip, and near the end of the school year, as long as I begged. So that is what I did. I went to the forsaken band-room only “band-kids” could enter, mounted my knees, and begged my heart out to the 70-year-old band director. Of course he denied my request, though he did promise me membership the following school year on the condition that I attended a music camp over the summer to learn an instrument. And so, from that point on, I would devote my life to going to Universal that next school year. My brother did robotics and programming camps over his summers, so how could I go to a music camp? I broke from his path from that moment, in search of taboo social interaction.
This summer music camp was different to anything I had done previously. My parents and siblings lacked a single musical bone in their entire body, so I ventured through this camp as one would uncharted seas. I went into the camp wanting to play the trumpet, as everyone cool in my circle of friends played the trumpet. Though, during an exhibition, an instrument’s timbre and color caught my attention: the French horn. I had never heard of the contraption, but it’s perfect tone lied evenly between the register of a trumpet and trombone, and appealed to me as perfectly tempered porridge appealed to Goldilocks. Testing on various instruments followed, where I received the lowest possible marks on the trumpet and the highest possible marks on the French horn. Fate couldn’t have wacked me upside the head harder if it tried, so of course I chose the French horn. The teacher who exhibited the horn that fateful day became my private lesson teacher for the next seven years. From that day forth, though I didn’t wish to admit it, I had strayed from my brother’s path to success so far that there was no going back. From that day forth, I forged a path that led to something I seldom felt at that point in my life: happiness.
Years go by, and I continually lie to myself, convince myself that I can still follow my brother’s path from the point I was at. Being a part of music, however, slowly grew my circle of friends in a way studies in liberal arts never could. I met and played with such beautiful people and players. I was showered with praise from that middle school band director until the day I graduated eighth grade for my ability to match and even surpass the kids in my middle school band. It was easy, though. For my efforts to improve at my instrument, life provided me with the greatest Pavlovian reward to be forged by man: friendship.
Now of course, this wasn’t the end. My private lesson teacher sought to help me achieve in whatever way possible. She encouraged me as a mother would, but still regarded me as one would their best friend. This dynamic between teacher and student made the efficiency of these lessons skyrocket, allowing me to improve faster than I thought possible. She took me to new heights, first assisting me to audition and make the county wide ensemble known as All County. These were the best musicians in my area. And they were my people. Some of the bonds I formed in that ensemble in seventh and eighth grade still last today. But high school was on the horizon, and it was time to take things to the next level. I had auditioned for the state-wide ensemble known as All State throughout middle school, but I would never had guessed I would make it in high school. Though I thought I was fairly decent at my instrument, I would never had thought I could be counted among the best in the state. All these other kids lived and breathed music, and for me it was a mere hobby. How could I deserve to be there? Alas, someone listening to my audition tape in some ivory tower decided that I would have the honor of playing with the All State Band for three consecutive years. The level of musicianship of those I met through those years was immense, and inspired me to be a better musician and person. After a weekend of arduous work, we closed each weekend with a concert that never failed to blow me away. I recall being awestruck at the sounds we had just put out after every concert, and my happiness peaked.
The juxtaposition between these highly talented musicians, who would go on to major in some musical facet and play or teach music for a living, and myself, who was a musician secondarily, never ceased to bug me at any of these conferences, however. I had the sense of not fitting in or belonging there burrowed deep in my skull. Meeting all these brilliant musicians also implanted another thought: The possibility of making a career out of music. It had never computed that this thing that I was in love with could have the capacity to carry me through life. As I gained a wider scope of the world of music through high school, these facts became more apparent. All these interests I had leading up to this point were secondary to music; I was too blinded by expectation and conventionalism to see it. Music people were my people. Music brought me so many relationships I could never have dreamed of. The happiness that welled in my very being when listening to or playing music was unmatched by any hobby or study I involved myself with prior. I was music, and music was me.
My parents disapproved, of course, when I relayed my discovery to them. One cannot make a career out of music, it’s unacceptable. I had to study something meaningful, like anatomy, or chemistry, or psychology, or biology. But I would not - could not. I had to stick to my decision. I had spent all of my primary education searching for my one thing, and I refused to give it up. My brother also predictably disapproved. He scrambled to change my mind, encouraging me to take up a coding course, of come help at his company as an intern. I refused. I was over it. I was finished following his meticulously-perfect brick path. I was ready to create a dirt road from nothing. I didn’t have a musical gene in my genome, but I would go forward, against destiny, fate, what have you. It was certainly still in the realm of possibility to do what I love without my family’s support, albeit hard. I would have to fund my own trips to audition for colleges, as well as fund my secondary education independently. It would be arduous. But possible. I could never step back into the shadow of my brother’s success and my parent’s expectation. Forging this new road was my only option. Though the uncertainty was daunting, I can now remark that, after only a few steps in, I am where I want to be, what I want to be, and who I want to be. A musician.