As I previously mentioned, I’ve been following the Seed & Feed marching band on Facebook for quite awhile and trying to work up the courage to step into that world. I kept coming up with barriers-to-entry in my mind though (traveling to Atlanta, frequency of performances, need to buy an instrument, lack of training, etc.) It’s hard to stand on the precipice of something, feeling like everything points to why you shouldn’t take that next step.
While scrolling Facebook one night, someone posted under a Seed & Feed post noting that Callanwolde Concert Band was still in desperate need of more percussionists. I jokingly commented “What about wannabe percussionists?” which led to some discourse and, ultimately, a link to an online interest form. The online banter was fun, but looking at the form brought me to a sinking reality as I suddenly felt like these desires were ludicrous. I knew no one was going to want my lack of skills, but I filled out the form anyway. I wrote everything with stark honesty:
- My primary instrument was flute but I wanted to play percussion.
- The last time I performed in an ensemble was over 30 years ago when I was in high school.
- For the instrument I wanted to play, my experience level was none.
- What I could bring to the band? Nothing–I could only offer the desire to learn and eventually play.
I knew I wouldn’t hear back from anyone, as I didn’t have anything they needed. However, I got an email the next day from the flute section leader thanking me for the form, copying in the percussion lead, and telling me they had a desperate need in percussion. I thought, well that’s nice, but there’s no way the percussion head is going to be desperate enough to take me. So, imagine my surprise when the percussion lead called me later in the day to chat…ultimately asking me to come to the next rehearsal in a few days.
It was both exhilarating and terrifying to know I was diving into these unknown waters for real. I couldn’t believe they called me back, much less invited me in. I also had a certain amount of dread. What if I was terrible at this? What if they turned me away after seeing that I truly had zero experience? What if I didn’t actually enjoy percussion? The what-ifs took over my brain those few days before the rehearsal. It was a ridiculously busy week at work, so at least I had some distraction from the never ending worries. When the day finally arrived, I felt sick to my stomach all day. I even developed new worries, like what if some of the other band members would be angry that someone would dare walk into their group without proper experience. Was I inadvertently making a mockery of all the years and efforts of these true musicians? Would my (certain to happen) mistakes make things harder for those around me? I’ve always struggled with imposter syndrome, but it was smacking me in the face constantly now.
I got home from work and pretty much had to head straight out to ensure that traffic didn’t make me late (as I was heading all the way from Kennesaw to Decatur). I was so anxious that my stomach was in knots the whole drive. As I pulled into the parking lot, I fought the desperate urge to just keep driving and bail out of the whole thing. I’ve spent a lot of my life forcing myself into uncomfortable situations, in an attempt at personal growth. I tried to remember that this initial difficult moment wouldn’t last forever. So, I parked in a spot, took a deep breath, and walked through the doors into the unknown.
The people I had talked to (over email or phone) weren’t there yet, so I nervously went up to the percussionists who were there and introduced myself. They were busy setting up, so I promptly found myself awkwardly standing there not knowing what to do. Panic was knocking at my door, so I texted Brandon. I offloaded my stress and he fed me positivity.
Each second felt like eternity, but soon enough the head percussionist showed up and took me around for some introductions. It was quick and intimidating, but put me a tiny bit at ease. It also helped me realize that what I read as unfriendly was simply busyness in setting up. Then the conductor stepped up to start the rehearsal and one of the percussionists handed me a sheet of music saying “This should be super easy.” He handed me a pair of mallets and a whole new level of panic hit me like a wall of bricks.
I hadn’t even imagined that I would be thrown into playing right on the spot. I looked at that sheet music (which might as well have been hieroglyphics) and at the instrument in front of me (that I’ve never played), and I knew there was no way I was playing along with the band in a few moments. I also knew I couldn’t just stand there doing nothing. So, I decided to pull out a pencil and start deciphering the music at whatever level I could. Thankfully, some of my ancient music knowledge came back to me as I stared at that page. I recalled the good old acronyms of Every Good Boy Does Fine and FACE, so I started writing note names under each note. I somehow remembered the key signatures and remembered the flat order of BEADGCF and started writing flats next to the appropriate note names I’d written. I started circling repeats and dynamics. I was perplexed by the time signature (which I had never seen before) and texted Brandon who gave me a quick response about Cut Time. I sent him a picture of my quick transcription to get confirmation that I was on the right track. We also had a quick photo exchange where he helped me get straight all the different instruments. Brandon was a life saver in these moments.
I was able to recall the layout of a keyboard and started tapping a few notes of the music with my hands before the band was done with that piece and ready to move on. I took a breath of relief that only lasted a moment, as I was then handed another piece of music and told to play bass drum. And this is how the evening progressed–sight reading to music I didn’t know, playing on instruments I’d never touched, and realizing how hard it was to count the rests (with all the changing tempos and time signatures). It was an emotional roller coaster of anxiety with each new piece and brief relief at the end of each song. By the end of those two hours, I had been given five pieces of music playing on bells, bass drum, suspended cymbal, chimes, and xylophone. I tried to play where I could, but it was super messy at best. It was an exhausting experience that was a true trial by fire.
At the end of the evening, I was invited to join in their tradition of Fellini’s pizza and drinks after rehearsal. I was mentally spent and had a long drive home, but I said yes. Driving over to Fellini’s, I was certain I’d be told “thanks for your time but this isn’t a good fit”. Surprised again, the head percussionist told me that he wanted me to join them. I told him that I was worried about how long it would take me to get up to speed, but he just said I was going to be fine. I left Decatur with a mixture of exhaustion, excitement, bewilderment, and worry. I got one moment of clarity and realized that my next step had to be percussion lessons, so I started sending emails to anyone I thought might be available to teach me. As I crawled into bed that night, I knew this was a huge mountain to climb, but a tiny part of me felt like it might actually be possible. Thus the journey truly began.
Standing Strength 