<p>I've applied already, so I can't really fix anything.</p>
<p>But I'm bored and have nothing to do</p>
<p>5c. Recall an occasion when you took a risk that you now know was the right thing to do. </p>
<p>Late Friday afternoon: the time of the week when everyone is in a good mood because his weekend is about to start. Not for me though; until my violin lesson is over, my weekend would not start. Truth be told, the only reason I kept up with my violin was because of the music scholarship or so I convinced myself. It was therefore almost humorous when my teacher suggested that afternoon that I should perform at the school concert this year. I replied that I wasnt sure, and he told me to think about it. An hour and a half later I was back home with the music for Vivaldis Spring in my hand. </p>
<p>My replying that I wasnt sure was a tactic I had used frequently before; whenever I was confronted with a task that imposed a burden I would initially react with uncertainty, then come up with a lame excuse later that would prevent me from committing to the task. I was planning to say that I didnt have time to prepare for the concert, or that it clashed with an important extracurricular activity, but then I found myself asking, why am I coming up with these lame excuses? What did I have to lose? Was I so unmotivated that I wouldnt even have a shot at an opportunity that some people never get in their lives? Was I so vain that I wouldnt take up a challenge due to what other people may think of me (violin isnt exactly the coolest extracurricular activity for a high school student to pursue)? Not wanting to regret losing such an opportunity, I replied that I would play at the concert, although I had to feign great disinclination to my friends (yeah I dont want to play, but its required for the continuation of the scholarship!). </p>
<p>A couple of months later: although I had become comfortable with most parts of the music, there was a particular section in the piece (the Storm section of the first movement for those familiar with the music) which, no matter how many lessons were devoted to, did not improve over time. When it came time to rehearse with the orchestra, things did not change; the rapid notes of the Storm still eluded my fingers. About a week before the concert there was a small recital for an audience of around forty people, and I played the piece as practice for the real performance but I completely flopped that particular section. I was on the verge of giving up; I had tried at least hadnt I? What more could I do? My teacher however, insisted that I nearly had it, and with a little more practice I would eventually master the stormy notes. I am proud to say that instead of giving up, I practiced even harder and I was able conjure the perfect Storm at the school concert. What compelled me to try again? Well, losing face in front of hundreds of people was an obvious factor. But it was also a matter of overcoming this seeming barrier of impossibility. I realized after that the barrier was mental as much as it was technical; I had been telling myself that it was impossible to play these rapid notes, instead of realizing that these notes were just like any other notes fast but playable nonetheless. </p>
<p>Before this experience I had never truly realized the cliché no pain, no gain. Sure, my fingers were aching and calloused from spending too much time sliding up and down the metallic strings of the violin, but I knew that I had achieved something through hard work, and there was no feeling sweeter. On the ride back home, replaying the performance in my head, I knew that I had made the right choice.</p>