Music

When I was eleven, I found “The Cannonball Adderley Quintet in Chicago” in my parents’ vinyl collection. When I set the needle down, I was overwhelmed with a desire to emulate Cannonball’s sultry but aggressive saxophone sound and complex melodies. I realized that I wanted to sound just like that, no matter how much work it took. In a few years, I held one of two spots in the Florida All-State Jazz Band, performed in Carnegie Hall, played all over the country with a nationally acclaimed performing arts high school, and learned to play three wind instruments. Music gave me a sense of identity and I finally felt that I was fulfilling a purpose every day; I had discovered a passion for the first time.

I began to appreciate art differently when I understood that it is the finest demonstration of humanity. Art is dependent on allowing yourself to be vulnerable, even in the face of failure. The defenses that I built to protect my ego inhibited the authentic interactions that creativity demands. I learned to welcome the challenges and to stop obsessing over my mistakes. Alone in the practice room, I abandoned the idea that my worth was dependent on my perfection and realized the true value of myself and my abilities.

I stopped playing to prove that I belonged beside those around me, and instead played to complement them. That Cannonball record sparked my passion because those musicians did not play as individuals, instead they used their abilities to create something meaningful together. When I had genuine connections with my bandmates, I began to experience the energy and creativity that I heard from the small speakers on my record player. 

I express my creative side when I am authentic and vulnerable with myself and with anyone else in the room. These are the moments I enjoy creating music the most, because they are the moments I am the most human.