Aster Byrd

The moment I realized how success and failure can coexist allowed me to feel real humility for the first time. In my junior year of high school I had my first solo piano recital. When it came time to perform, I wasn’t focused on my music and I had a massive memory slip. My recital was at a tumultuous time in my life. I faced challenges due to the passing of my previous piano teacher. My focus was divided between many different areas of my life; it became harder to dedicate myself to practice and keep up the same discipline I prided myself upon. I had spent so much effort preparing music for my recital, but I didn’t feel prepared. It seemed as if everything was breaking apart around me; I was grieving the loss of my teacher and I had very little time before my recital. I dreaded my recital so much that I couldn’t see the opportunity I had.

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My anxiety was concentrated on the second of three multi-movement pieces I performed. I was preoccupied in thinking of all the ways my performance could go wrong. It did go wrong; I had several noticeable memory slips during my second piece. I pushed through the piece and tried to refocus my energy, but I already felt depleted. When I returned for my final piece, I concentrated on the present moment more than I was able to in the previous pieces. I improved my playing when I expressed musical ideas rather than focused so much on myself. Despite this change, I couldn’t help but focus on the mistakes I made. People congratulated me for my performance but it was only until I had two classmates come up to me and show me how I had inspired them to create poetry and art that I could view my success. Performing is an opportunity for an audience as much as it was an opportunity for the performer. My definition of humility has changed. It doesn’t mean eliminating your self worth; it means stepping outside of yourself to realize both your strengths and your weaknesses.