As I crashed my fingers violently on the strings, echoes of vibrating sound absconded from the luxurious, mahogany-stained delicacy of wood, leaving an aura of sharps and flats out in the open atmosphere. I focus intently on the music, trying my hardest to focus on every note and every position and every movement. My poise, sharp as an obsidian blade, is no match for the poise of a swan which is in front of me. My bow, though situated exactly how I need it to be, still is not as close or precise as the bowing of the person adjacent to me. My vibrato, though pleasurable in the eyes of a non-musician, seems terribly mediocre compared to the beautiful pulsations to the left of me. Suddenly, this chronological, inverted movement of the body, swaying back and forth with an instrument and rapidly pacing fingers, becomes a contest for perfection: the perfect notes, the perfect bowing, the perfect stance, and the perfect articulation. The art of violin drives a need to be impeccable, and even one, slight mistake is a travesty. In general, being a violinist requires brutal tenacity and relentless focus. Without it, one may feel as if they are setting themselves up for failure. This system may be perhaps why violin is one of the most competitive in earning high positions throughout the orchestra. Though playing the violin is surely a rewarding experience, there is always a moment in which a player does not feel as if they have reached their greatest potential, even if that player is the concertmaster of the orchestra.

   When I was younger, I was never interested in the violin. I always thought the violin was uninteresting and only for classical geniuses who have basically been playing since birth. From my adolescent perspective, looking at people play extremely fast and so delicately without having thoughts caused unnecessary anxiety in people and a shame that they cannot possess such a magnificent sound. It seemed as if it were the work of a cyborg that was artificially engineered to be flawless in playing a violin.  Even though my two older sisters played the violin and played beautifully, I was still apathetic about it. However, when I turned ten years old, my mindset completely shifted. I went to a symphony concert in which I saw a violinist play one of the most beautiful pieces that I have ever listened to. It was so devastatingly gorgeous that I remember an elderly woman sitting next to me shed tears. In that moment, I knew that I wanted to be able to play something so phenomenal that it would awe an audience.

Beginning in the summer of sixth grade, I worked on getting a violin and learning to play. As most classical geniuses would probably buy a Stradivarius, a Knelling, a Cremona, or another type of violin in the plethora of expensive brands, I decided to buy an old-fashioned violin from an old-fashioned music store. Buying the violin was the easiest experience because my role consisted of agreeing with my mom on an item for the instrument and getting that particular item or disagreeing and still getting the item. The hardest part, evidently, was learning to play. In a series of holding the instrument upside down, sounding like a cat that had been ran over by a truck, and having a disgraceful bow hold, I was about ready to give up and go back to sitting in a crowd looking at more cyborgs play a repertoire that I could not even fathom into one single note. However, something inside of me propelled me to keep trying and to keep learning the instrument. An odd intuition in my mind kept telling me that I could and would get better. Surprisingly enough, that intuition was right.

By practicing each day for years, I became a better violin player. I learned to master notes, rhythms, and control the types of sounds I produced on my violin. Though I became satisfactory at playing, being in an actual orchestra was an extremely different experience. Practicing in a room by myself for a couple of hours was very converse than playing with random people that I had never met before. I was surrounded by Perlmans and Paganinis who ate, slept, and breathed violin. I was noticeably in awe of all the amazing violinists that were around me, but the feature I was really taken aback from was the blatant lack of diversity among the orchestra. I was among three African-Americans in the entire orchestra. Naturally, I felt as if I was the outcast, having little experience with playing the violin and being among the very few of my race to play. However, the orchestra community was very welcoming and open to new players and people of different backgrounds and ethnic groups. I felt at home knowing that I made new long-lasting friends, but I still struggled with the ongoing concern of being a perfect violin player and being one of the best players.

In orchestra, a player’s ability to play in an audition at that particular time is defined in a concept that is called “chair placement”. In a chair placement, the highest chair is called first chair. Whoever sits first chair is the principal or leading player of the section and has played the best in a particular audition. Naturally, the chairs that come after first chair are in descending order (2nd, 3rd, 4th, etc.). Every violin player’s dream goal is to become first chair; it is the ultimate objective. Violinists practice for hours and hours to perfect their intonation and gorgeous playing to be awarded the victory of “first chair”. Due to this drive of becoming first, many practice in order to achieve a high chair and not simply for the enjoyment of it. I, too, was grasped in this strangely inverted philosophy. All throughout middle school, I sat first chair of my orchestra and practiced every day to maintain my spot. I began practicing simply to prove that I was the best and not simply to prove that I loved the violin. As I reached the high school phase, I was no longer first chair, and was later moved down to 3rd chair or 2nd chair on a regular basis. When this strange reality hit me, I felt as if I was doing something wrong, as if my violin playing had escaped my grasp, and I was running around, desperate to catch it back in my hand.

I wondered endlessly: what could I be doing wrong? I was still among the top five violinists in my class and the district, but somehow every time I pushed to become first chair, I only was pulled back further from my goal. Not getting first chair was a pest that needed to be swatted immediately: the longer it flew around, the longer it would harass me. I tried a private violin teacher and practicing more frequently, but every time I tried to reach the finish line, the destination would get farther and farther. At this point, I thought to myself that I was the girl in the Geico commercial in which a fisherman held a dollar with a fishing rod and yelled, “You have to be quicker than that!” as the girl jumped to obtain the dollar. Instead of jumping to obtain a dollar, I stood, attempting to try to even lift one of my feet off of the ground. I felt like a failure and that my goal was nowhere to be found and that I couldn’t reach it.

 For some time, I was irritated about the fact that I could not become the best violinist, but what irritated me more was the fact that I wasn’t taking violin for what it is worth and not using the skills that I had to focus on making a beautiful sound. I was taking violin for granted and believing that one had to be “perfect” in order to achieve a gorgeous tone from the violin. However, I found that to be proven incorrect because what constitutes as “perfect” is not coded in the human gene. Even in violin, mistakes will be made and that exemplifies the beauty of it all. Violin isn’t made for a robot that knows everything about it and how to play it extremely well, but for the insanely enthusiastic individual that is unusually curious and passionate about playing. Being obsessive or unmotivated will not help one to move from a lower chair to the next but display a fake sense of self-esteem and practical skills needed to play the violin. Being eager to know how to play and to learn from your mistakes constitutes a good violin player from a great violin player. Instead of looking at which chair I may be assigned, I have shifted my view on how much better I can become. I know I will have to face complications being one of the only African-Americans and only playing for four years, but I know that I will become better as a violin player and have an amazing journey going through it.