Life is made up of lots of definitive moments that allow us to become who we are. Sometimes these moments are huge and unmistakable. Sometimes they are much less noticeable, and we may not even recognize such a moment until days, months or years after the fact. I came to such a realization this weekend.
When I went to college, I was a very shy and quiet girl. In high school, I had my group of friends, and I didn't like to be on my own outside that group. My first college roommate was a friend I had known since elementary school, so I got to escape that first dreaded "new friend" experience. I followed those I knew and joined clubs that they were in. I stuck close to my roommate and did many of the same things she did. I absolutely did not like being thrust into a group of people I did not know, and avoided it as much as possible.
I've grown up quite a bit since that time, have embraced the idea of meeting new people, and am more comfortable with being in a group of unknown faces. It's still not necessarily my favorite thing to do, but I am much more at peace with that type of situation than I had been when I was younger.
Recently, I was asked to play with a band that included some extremely talented musicians. I knew that my level of talent was not close to the level of some of these other players. Some of the music I had played before, many times before. No problem. It was the 5 songs that I was looking at for the first time that scared the living daylights out of me. They were tough. I had 3 weeks to learn them, and I needed to play them well. To say that I was nervous was the understatement of the year.
My Very Dear Friend, and mentor, offered to help me practice, which I gladly accepted. Fast forward to the rehearsal and day of the gig. I survived, played well, received lots of compliments, and was quite surprised and happy with how relaxed I was and how well I played. I had "stepped in it," as my friend says, and succeeded.
After the gig, a small group retreated to a friend's house for snacks and drinks, and to await the weekend's fireworks. It was rainy, and I decided to skip the short-lived but colorful display that I have seen so many years prior. At this moment in time, I needed to sit and talk with the friends I was with. There were 4 of us, sitting on a back porch, reminiscing about past bands that we had played with, trips taken with those bands, people from those bands, all the while laughing.
My friend and previous college professor began talking about how he had recruited certain players, by going to NYSSMA competitions and finding the best high school players that he could, then bringing them to his college music program. As he spoke, I retraced in my head various steps of my life, like a movie who's back story was unfolding. And I came to a huge realization.
When I was freshman in college, I saw a sign for an open rehearsal for a jazz band, and decided to go. The comfortable path was to stay in my room, to not put myself out there, to not insert myself into an unfamiliar situation with unfamiliar people. After a very stern one-sided conversation, I forced myself to take my sax and walk the short distance from my dorm to the music building.
Because of that rehearsal, I met a very nice guy, and we became instant friends. He was one of the first true friends I made during my 5 years at that school. That friend convinced me to join another jazz band on campus, and introduced me to a music professor who I would play for in various capacities for 20 years. That friend and I were also instrumental founding members of a co-ed music fraternity on our campus that still exists today. That fraternity was largely responsible for shaping the person I was through the rest of my college life, and subsequently, who I am today. The music program and the music fraternity also allowed me to meet many people, including one who would become my Very Dear Friend and mentor.
This particular weekend, I sat on the back porch with my 3 friends - the first friend I made in college, my former college professor, and my music mentor - and I realized that everything pointed back to one definitive moment: my decision to go to that rehearsal. It was completely out of my comfort zone, out of my realm of normalcy, but I went anyway.
Everything happens for a reason, although it may not be obvious at the time that the actions are being taken.
When I shared my grand epiphany with my other back porch companions, the sarcastic response was, "And where did that get you?" I answered, "Look at me now. It got me here."
