While the internship is going to play a huge role in helping me gain training in a field where my experience is limited, I am still on the lookout for more jobs and opportunities to help me make that exciting change from Educator to Public Affairs and Communications. With limited resources, I cannot take certificate programs or extra community college courses. Without money, I must make-do with free ways to improve myself and my marketability. Things are feeling good lately, but I am starting to run out of ideas on how to keep myself motivated and productive when I am not in the office. Looming over my productive mode is that scary little man called, Mr. Doubt. He pokes my shoulder with a rapt little jab, and won't let me forget the Current Job-Hunting Stat:
"Endless applications submitted (it feels like almost 100, though is likely around 50): 0 Interviews granted for paying jobs," he whispers.
To push him back and remain productive, I go to spin class, cook interesting things (palak paneer kept ol' Mr. D away last week), and think of positive ways that I can improve my chances of landing a good interview. Many people say that to look back is to prevent moving forward: And for those who tend to look at the bad things in their histories, that is the dire truth. However, looking back to gain a little self-confidence is an exception. To think of previous success and to analyze how you got there can provide a tool for you to use getting to where you still want to go.
And so now I am thinking back on one of the most pivotal times in my life: The month that I won my first major music competition, and the way in which this came about...
*Fades out with Wayne's World Flashback sound* (Yeah, I am that old... ha-ha)
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| Who am I? |
Enter Story Time:
...It all started when I popped into Jan Popper auditorium -breathless- with a large shopping bag filled with my concert black outfit for a gig, my instrument, and book bag all in tow. I slipped into the dark theater towards the tail end of my friends' junior music recital before heading down to The Dungeon (aka, practice rooms in the basement of the music building) for my regular evening practice session. For my friends' grand finale, one of them whipped out an accordion and the other played along with her on her clarinet. The audience went mad for it, and the applause was loud. Just as I went to sit back down to gather my things, someone leaned forward and started talking over my shoulder to me: "This applause is nothing, compared to what you will get when you win the concerto competition." I started in surprise, and just as he went to join the crowds filing out into the aisles, I turned and thanked my quiet self-esteem benefactor: He was my chamber music coach and the music professor for one of the girls in the recital.
With those insane words of encouragement, I rushed to the music office to find that it was the last day to enter the competition. I signed my name up, then checked out a CD and score of the concerto that was assigned to my instrument. . I sat, mouth agape, listening to the flutist on the CD: The sound of dark string basses; of strings bickering with the flute; strings moving in bold, sweeping gestures balanced by the throbbing of tympani under the flailing, virtuosic flute line.
My heart fell: I had never played a song like this before -nor had I ever competed in a competition like it, nor had I ever memorized a song. As I listened, I was in awe, and was befuddled by the complexity of the score. But my professor's words had lit me afire. I Knew that I could do it. As insane and illogical as it was, I somehow knew that, because he knew this about me, that it must be true.
As a novice classical musician, I think that I had learned how to break some of the rules in the right ways -and the way in which I learned how to apply this knowledge is what I am starting to think is the key to what sets me apart from other candidates in the communications field.
Classical flautists were not supposed to emulate the virtuosic styles of Itzhak Perlman, diva sopranos, or the rock star musicians that I so admired. So, when I played my passionate, almost wild and unstable rendition of the Nieslen Flute Concerto, it was to mixed reviews from my coaches and colleagues: One friend even laughingly advised to me to, “Play more like a flutist; less like Lucia of Lammermoore”. (i.e., a madwoman) I sought to play the piece for anyone who had ears and the willingness to listen: I sought impromptu audiences and critics from my best friends, professors, and even to my neighbors and some of the music department maintenance crew. The advice of all of my friends and mentors was rich and valid on many points -but I knew that my most valuable creative tools were my originality and passionate artistic vision and the choice that I had in picking which feedback to heed and apply, and what to discard as unhelpful to achieving my goal.
At the onset of that remarkably brief period of just three weeks, I had secured a CD of the performance and heard the song for the first time; I then managed to learn and memorize this classic flute piece; next, to perform it with technical mastery and innovative creative style, memorizing the last page of the music the day before the competition. Finally, when the day to perform came, I won the competition to a resounding ovation from the judges. I did this all in the midst of keeping up-to-task with teaching gigs, rehearsal schedules, and my quarter term final examinations. It was with this confidence that I set out to win UCLA’s Atwater-Kent concerto competition with style. Looking back, I now think that I was like what that barefoot little kid artist in Catfish was supposed to be; An unknown person with some talent, creating things that were beyond what they should have been able to, given their experience and the skill set that was theirs at that time. (Then again, this may be a bad analogy, as I was not the figment of a mad woman's imagination and sociopathic social media-manipulations... lol).
Even as the youngest and most inexperienced competitor, I demonstrated the ability to simultaneously carry an original, unconventional vision to success within an extraordinarily short time frame, while still meeting the demands of other projects and deadlines. I was able to discern which feedback to listen to and collaborate with, and what to pass on. I had only been receiving private lessons for the past two years, and had never even played in a school orchestra before that point. I had also been overwhelmed previously with the technical aspects of studies as a music student: My background had been lacking entirely, sans the traditional involvement in my high school marching band, I was ignorant of the world of music.
Three months later, as I stood before the orchestra and was performing the piece to a live audience, I thought it was interesting that I would solo with an orchestra before I ever had the chance to sit with one to perform as a group. And so, as a musician and creative planner, I achieved something that seemed absolutely insane; is beyond the capabilities of most (if anything, because of their own definition of their ability glass roof); and which archetypes the creative and collaborative processes with which I approach projects.
From looking back at that experience, I can see a strength that I can take with me to my next career: Though I lack the years of experience that already-established candidates might tout, I am original and have the drive, passion, positive attitude, adaptability, and communications field potential that will enable me to become a valuable public affairs and communications associate -if only given the opportunity by someone who will take a chance and believe in the potential that lies within me and my capabilities.
Ha-ha... and I must confess that I started writing this as a sort of eclectic cover letter for a much-coveted position. At least, it started that way! And it has now blossomed and become a gigantor blog entry. Doh. ":D
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