I feel weightless. Hundreds of people watch our steel drum band perform under the golden auditorium lights while we play our favorite song, “The Hammer.” As my bandmates smile, a million different rhythms clash and crescendo, building up to a sudden stop; then, all eyes fall on me. With the drum rolling in the background, I begin to do something that I once feared: improvise a solo. As I glance at my friends in the band, my pulse slows to the beat of the song, and I start. Instantly, my hands create never-before-heard melodies on the spot. I connect different notes, building rhythms that slice through the 4/4 beat and sound like an arrangement of twinkling stars, like I am the one spinning rather than the earth. All control belongs to me as my hands fly through bouquets of notes, my lungs swell with joy, and my hips sway back and forth, the ever-changing melody ingrained in my bones. Then, I roll a final B-flat, and it ends. In this moment, a grin spreads across my face as I continue playing with the rest of the band, energy bubbling through my veins. 

            A year ago, I never would have spontaneously created a solo in front of an audience. In fact, I had no intention to do so when, in ninth grade, I joined my school’s steel band – a group of high school musicians playing steel drums for hours upon hours. Too anxious even to play, I swayed in the back, inching away from the spotlight. However, after learning from my band directors that soloing can be more than reading and memorizing sheet music, I was captivated. I learned how to improvise, and ever since then, soloing has been the most freeing sensation. My teachers taught me that it’s about telling a story: I introduce characters through rhythms, crescendo to a climax, and then blend it back with the song, having complete faith in my hands. When my body adapts to the music and my thoughts disappear, I feel as if, for a few moments on stage, I can conquer anything.

If I had the courage to solo freely, then what was I not capable of?

            Through performing music without restriction, I have grown to be more confident in myself. Now that I can effortlessly play sixteenth notes in front of an audience, soloing has given me a voice – a voice I have used outside the panyard. For instance, one of my friends had always undermined my intelligence; he had convinced me that I was not worthy enough to be successful in life, no matter how hard I tried. With shattered self-esteem, I had believed him – what was so great about me anyway? Then I remembered how I felt when I soloed: radiant and inspired, but above all, fearless. I deserved to feel in control like that in all aspects of my life. Standing up to that friend had been the most groundbreaking thing I’ve done, and I owe it to the steel pan. Since my scarred confidence has healed, every expression of my opinion has been its own solo, its own argument filled with a passion that reassures my dignity. 

            Beyond the thrill of soloing, I have grown into a strong-spirited person who speaks up for her value and who seeks to help others do the same. Although steel band is temporary, my love for building confidence is timeless; I wish to become an educator in the future to help children find their own passions, because ever since my teachers taught me how to improvise, my world has transformed. Letting go of insecurities, speaking up, and restoring confidence have been life-altering for me, and that is what fuels me to teach; everyone should learn how to feel weightless while doing what they love.