I remember the first concert I went to. As a violin player, I had been to many, but never a real concert with professional adult musicians. It was quiet. I tapped my finger as I waited with great anticipation for the soloist to come out. The darkness of the theater made it all the better as the young soloist walked out gracefully. Her thick black locks trailed behind her, almost touching her but. There she came, with her violin in hand. As she rested it on her shoulder, the red wood of the violin seemed to shine due to the fresh polish. She gracefully set her bow on the violin.

Then came the note.

That one note.

The first note she played sent something flowing through me. It was as if the note filled my soul when I didn't even know it was empty to begin with. The notes flowed together, each one singing its own song. It was like I could fly. The notes told a story so mesmerizing, it was as if you could hear the words themselves.

I knew that's what I wanted to do. The next day, I got my opportunity. On the daily news board at school was a poster that read: MUSIC AND ARTS TALENT SHOW: AUDITIONS NEXT MONDAY, 3:00 PM. This was my chance. The minute I went home, I practiced my audition song. I decided to play Colors of the Wind, since it was a song I already knew. I practiced.

And practiced.

And practiced.

But it didn't sound right. It didn't feel right. Why wasn't I feeling that same high that I felt when the soloist played? Monday was just around the corner, and I felt that I wasn't ready. I grew depressed. I stopped practicing. I had nothing to motivate me anymore. My mother saw my sadness and told me something I'll never forget. "Don't play to please others. Play so that someone might be moved. Play to make a difference."

Play to make a difference

I went to the audition on Monday. The week after, I got an email reading: 

DEAR JASMINE,

WE'D LIKE TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN EXCEPTED TO PERFORM IN THE TALENT SHOW. PLEASE BE AT THE SCHOOL THEATER ON MONDAY, OCT. 7, AT 4:00 PM.

I almost passed out. Emotions filled my mind as I re-read the email. I had been excepted. Monday came before I knew it. There I was, in my blue, satin floral dress, with my violin in hand. My heart raced. My mind wandered. My eyes were forced to adjust to the dark theater. The thick curtains opened, and I walked out with grace, my heels clicking on the hard-wood floor. Everything was quiet except for the small whispers coming from the audience. I could feel their dark eyes staring as I lifted my violin. Play to make a difference. I placed my bow, and out came that beautiful first note...