As a freshman, high school for the most part didn’t intimidate me. The classes weren’t too hard and all the other people were freshmen as well. It helped that I was already pretty much fully grown as a 14-year-old so everyone around me was the familiar 3-5 inches shorter than me from middle school. It made for a very comfortable experience. That is until I got to the advanced orchestra class. I was one of the three freshmen in the orchestra and my 3-5 inch height difference was now flip-flopped onto me. Every day I drooped my shoulders walking in and every day I got to my seat, cello in hand, as fast as I could. When we begin rehearsal with the entire group, everything went smoothly, I did my part and kept my head down. It was when the teacher introduced our sectional performances that I really quivered in my boots. He explained that every year, by March, each section (violins, violas, cellos, and basses) had to perform a piece they had practiced together outside of class. The idea paralyzed me. I would have to sit once a week with 7 scary juniors and seniors, working with them to finish the Bachianas Braserlies No. 1. I wasn’t totally petrified about messing up in front of them, it was more that I had to speak to them. In the full ensemble, I could hide behind 30 other bodies and a teacher. Now, it was me, 7 other cellos, and the scary juniors and seniors that inhabited them.
At our very first rehearsal, we all took out our music and read through the piece for the first time. There were lots of horrible-sounding parts and we had to stop a couple of times through to regroup ourselves, but other than that, I really liked the piece. I was playing the 4th cello part and couldn’t be more excited to perform it months later. However, when we started actually rehearsing and fixing problems, I froze. I knew there were parts to clean up that our section leader hadn’t mentioned, but I was way too afraid to say anything.
Rehearsals continued like this. We all listened to our section leader and never said a word. He told us everything we were supposed to do and we listened. One day, he recommended that at Rehearsal F in the music, we start further out in the bow to create a bigger crescendo. My friend, the only other freshman, spoke up and said that maybe we could try it a different way that would work better, but the section leader said that his way would work better and moved on with rehearsal. My friend never said another word and I never even thought about saying anything ever again.
When the performance finally came, we played the piece and had fun, but I couldn’t help but think that when we got to Rehearsal F in the music, my friend’s suggestion would’ve been better.
Starting as a junior, I became the cellist in a student-formed quartet group called the Cherry City Quartet. At that point in time, I had a lot of experience as a cellist in ensembles big and small and was extremely excited to work with three talented musicians to make music in our free time. In our first rehearsal, I was very smiley and tried to be as inclusive as I could to the two sophomores and one freshman. We read through the music, making a few jokes, laughing in between our mistakes. Ultimately, it was a very positive, fun environment. We loved playing through the pieces, but when we really started rehearsing, there was a problem. All of us were afraid to speak out and say what we thought was wrong or what could improve about the section we had just played. I commented about how I thought the tempo was too slow so we played the piece again faster and it sounded much better. Initially, I was very proud of myself for stepping up and suggesting something that ultimately helped the group. A thought still plagued me, however, about my old section leader as a freshman. I couldn’t become like him. If I only ever gave my input, we could only ever be as good as the ideas in my mind. The other members couldn’t possibly feel empowered either to play as well as they can or speak up when they notice something the other group members or I didn’t. So, to combat this, I talked to my dad about how to involve and engage people to their fullest potential. He recommended that I lighten up my tone and suggest solutions rather than tell people what to do. A “hmm, maybe we could try this?” rather than a “let’s do this,” mindset. He also told me to ask questions. Even if I think I had the answer, ask someone else the question and make them answer.
At our next rehearsal, I took my dad’s advice and asked questions. And you know what? They answered! They thought of things I had never thought of before in the music and when we played our pieces again after their suggestions, I heard our piece in a whole different, beautiful way.
A year has passed since then, building our confidence in the group and ourselves. We are all so comfortable with each other. There were definitely some arguments and there still are, but we have reached a place of total confidence. Not the entitled kind of confidence where you think your opinion is the best, but the pure confidence and trust in your peers that you don’t have to remind yourself to admit you’re wrong, you just do.
I used to look back at that freshman among juniors and seniors and congratulate myself for growing out of that uncomfortable skin. I could finally speak out and respectfully add my opinion. However, the more time passes, I can’t help but think that I’m actually more proud of something else. I’m proud that my quartet and I have surpassed the confidence of my freshman section leader. We are able to admit our mistakes and point out others' mistakes not to be right or to claim divine leadership, but for the good of the group.
For future projects, I will always remember to include each and every opinion in the room, pooling all of our minds together to create something special. This realization has ultimately changed how I view the film industry and the roles of every person in the process. I used to think that Steven Spielberg and James Cameron were the smartest people in the world, controlling every little detail of their movies when in reality, they’re smart and successful because they trust everybody to job their job to the fullest. They have the highest confidence in not only in themselves but in everyone else on set and behind a computer to do their job. And they aren’t afraid to be called out in a scenario where they undoubtedly have been wrong hundreds of times before. So the more I think about my place in the industry, directing and making visions come to life, I realize I am never the most important person there. Nor are any of the producers, actors, artists, or crew. Everyone creates the vision and it’s my job to give everyone the confidence to contribute their share, justifying the credit to their name.
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