<p>Hrm, after the negative feedback from my first essay I whipped up another one, answering the question, "What is your greatest achievement?" It's still my first draft so if you could make any suggestions with regard to sentence structure/flow then feel free to do so.</p>
<p>I would appreciate any feedback/comment, and names have been changed for anonymity.<br>
My current concern is that the subject of my essay might be a little trite, and that it is a bit too long.</p>
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<p>Late Friday afternoon. Its the time of the week when everyone is in a good mood because his weekend is about to start. Hey Andy were going out after school to catch a movie, you coming? (Slaps his head in exaggerated motion) Oh thats right, you have your violin lesson then, a friend teases with obvious Schadenfreude. 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 asked that afternoon, So, I know youve got your AMUS exams (a performance exam for musicians given by the Australian Music Examinations Board) this year. I think itd be a great help to your playing if you performed at the mid-year school concert. I replied almost immediately that I didnt think so, but being one of the most stringent teachers at the school (his orchestra rehearsals were famous for their never-ending finishes), he dismissed my protests, Nonsense. Ill talk to the music director. Now lets see which piece you should prepare for the concert An hour and a half later I was back home with the score for Vivaldis Spring in my hand.</p>
<p>Couple of months later. As the date of the concert approached I kept thinking of new excuses which would prevent me from playing in the concert: a severe paper cut, a sudden illness, a sprained wrist from lunchtime soccer. I probably spent more time coming up with plausible excuses than actually practicing for the concert. In addition, two months of familiarizing with the music meant that I was relatively comfortable with most parts of the piece. If worst comes to worst and I actually have to play in the concert, I thought to myself, I can just play it as it is now. My teacher however was far from satisfied, especially with my stagnant progress. 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 in the Storm section still eluded my fingers. After several weeks of no improvement I resigned to the fact that I was simply going to make a mistake on the day of the concert. </p>
<p>Two days before the concert. It was my final lesson, and although the other parts were almost perfect (through Spartan repetition), the technically advanced Storm section still did not allow itself to be controlled by my fingers; although there was some improvement, it was far from a perfect storm. My teacher, frustrated at my resignation, said with exhaustion, Maybe its a mental thing. Every time you know that section is coming, you tense up and tell yourself that you cant do it. Youve practiced enough, and this piece isnt that much more difficult than other pieces youve played. I replied that its just a small section of the piece, and it wouldnt matter too much if I made mistakes just in that section. Every section, every note is important, he responded with obvious annoyance, you cant just ignore a particular section and expect to say that what you played was Vivaldis Spring. I refuted by saying that there was nothing more I could do, that I had tried at least. Can you honestly say that youve really tried? I had no answer.</p>
<p>Great accomplishments are realized through achieving something something that isnt necessarily extraordinary through truly trying. I can say that during those two days, I truly practiced (not the mundane repetitive finger exercise that I had called practice before), taking each note apart and practicing slowly at first, gradually building up to the desired tempo. No one was more amazed than myself when things finally clicked into place, and I was able to project with clarity each of the storming notes, at whatever tempo I wished. Before the performance and during the leading sections of the performance I knew that I could perfectly play that section and I did. I did make one mistake on different section however, during a relatively easy part near the end, on which I had never made a mistake previously. It wasnt a huge mistake, but enough to prevent the performance from being a perfect one. After the performance, my teacher was the first to congratulate me, and his proud smile said much more than mere words. I told him about the mistake I made, but he questioned with genuine surprise, what mistake? When I insisted that I was sure that I had made a mistake, he replied that sometimes performers unconsciously learn to cover their mistakes, so the audience never notices it. Indeed, my mother said that she did not hear any mistake, nor did anyone else I asked. Later when I listened to the video-recording of my performance, I could definitely hear the mistake. I pointed this out to my mother (who was a musician herself) but she said that during the performance my playing was so confident that it did not seem like a mistake at all, and she was right. I could definitely hear the mistake, but I couldnt see it. Seeing myself perform not just play in front of hundreds of people, seeing myself achieve something, I knew that my performance had been perfect.</p>