Shed The Noise

Rehearsal was going to start in 15 minutes. School just ended and I was making my way down into the dungeon know as the Band Room where we’d have our full-band rehearsal to prep for the SCBOA festival later that month. Full band. That meant all 90 of us, plus chairs, stands and instruments packed in a room barely suited to fit 30 people in any given day. 90 high schoolers armed with an instrument of their choice, all fighting to be heard. Even before I entered the hallway leading to the room, I hear my band members warming up: saxes swinging to "In the Mood", trombones sliding their slide through a blurred chromatic scale and a piccolo shriek through the runs of "Gravity Wave". I opened the metal door and instantly the volume ramped up as the cacophony engulfed me. Unfazed, I tip toed around cases scattered on the floor, ducked under open locker doors and shimmied around the flutes until I reached my seat in the middle of the first row. I finally put together my clarinet and joined in the cacophony as I waited for our director to start rehearsal.

Nine years of marching band and wind ensemble

For anyone not in the band, the noise would’ve been unbearable. But after nine years of wind ensemble and marching band, this was my norm. I was used to my sound blending into the entire band. Used to the not sticking out (or else I would break the glorified Pyramid of Sound). Used to listening to others instead of myself.

I was used to the noise.

And this was true for other aspects of my life. The people at Roadmap define “Noise” as "the cacophony of voices, advice, and expectations that drowns out our individual expression". I was so used to all these outside Noise that it never really bothered me, just like how I was accustomed to the extreme volume of warm-ups before rehearsals. In fact, I welcomed the Noise and viewed other’s expectations as a challenge to improve and longed for the pride of seeing what I was truly capable once I had met that expectation.

The Noise didn’t bother me too much because I didn’t lose sight of myself. I have a twin sister. Even though we were fraternal and looked very different as little kids, people would still put us under the umbrella of “identical twins”,asking if we wore matching clothes, behaved in a similar manner, enjoyed the same things or if “Twin Telepathy” was a real thing. In reality, Sophia and I were very different— she had big round eyes and mine looked closed whenever I smiled, she sings and I play guitar, she's been wearing glasses since fourth grade and I asked for contacts just to be different.

Left: Sophia and I in a baby photoshoot. Right: The two of us at our high school graduation in 2019.

All those questions made it seem like we were one half of a whole and it became very important that we both found out who we were as individuals (and sure the simplicity of elementary and junior high school fostered a fearlessness from the shame of failure, allowing me to try new things and view mistakes as a stepping stone to success).

It wasn’t really until sophomore year of high school that I first recognized the Noise. Things were serious now. I was in my first AP class which meant this marked the year colleges would start to look at how I spent my time. I had also started my own club for music therapy and would “perform” a new solo arrangement on my ukulele each week in front of my peers. This was the first time I really felt like people were watching me. And all that fearlessness and “mistakes as stepping stones” wisdom? Yeah, out the window. Expectations had driven me so much growing up and this was the first real time that I felt I couldn’t meet those expectations. I was genuinely scared and no matter how hard I tried, how many times I woke up at 4am to read my Euro textbook or how long I practiced my instruments I always felt like I’d still be a few inches short.

When Lent came around that year, I was over how I treated myself and decided to give up stress. What started out as a religious tradition became a pivotal moment that shaped my view on success and transformed how I approached the pressures of the world around me. I stopped worrying that the final goal was too far out of reach by writing down steps that would break down that gap. I used my Passion Planner religiously and filled it with quotes and song lyrics that inspired me to put my best foot forward day in, day out. Now as I reflect on those 39 stress-free days (I will admit that I broke down one of those days while studying for AP Euro), I realize that the outside Noise was never really loud for me. But when I internalized the whisper, the noise became 10x louder. I realized that those expectations I was battling were self-inflicted. And honestly, I’m wondering if other people even expected these things of me or if I just thought they did.

But my stress-sabbatical helped me turn from what School of Life calls self-flagellation to self-compassion. And the key, though cliche now, was transformative in the moment: define success on your own terms. And it doesn’t have to be some goal far out in the future. Sure it’s good to have a plan, to have goals, hopes and dreams (if you saw my Passion Planner, you’d know how much I plan things out). But one of the ways I define my success is by approaching each day with the intention of being a better version of myself.

This helped me shed the noise and pressures of having a set plan for the future in two ways:

1. I focused on myself and what I thought would make me a better student, person, daughter, friend, human being

2. I re-assessed on a day-to-day basis to avoid getting lost in goals that seem too daunting or distant.

Entering college as pre-med has definitely challenged this definition of success. All the “I started volunteering”, “GPA is extremely important if you want to get into med school”, “I’m in a research project that’s going to cure cancer” is a Noise that I’ve never encountered before, not even at a marching band rehearsal. Because the pressure's real. I hold my future in my hand and it’s mine to mess up.

But at the same time, I hold my future in my hand and it’s mine to make great. And sure becoming a physician is YEARS away. But remember the “mistakes as stepping stones” that I threw out the window? How ‘bout “putting your best foot forward”? And seeing each day as an opportunity to become “a better version of [your]self?” Over the years, my definition of success has changed, but gotten stronger each time because I shifted the focus from how others see me to how I see myself.

In my senior year, I was honored to be the soloist for our band’s field show. And for 30 seconds of every competition, everyone heard my clarinet. After three years of blending into the band’s sound, I thought I would be scared to stand out. But, surprisingly, I was rarely nervous before the performance because I made it my own and I knew that I tried to make it better each time I played it. College is difficult because we have to find our voice again. Where do I fit in this huge university? And moving forward, how do I find my voice amongst the most prestigious scholars and academics in the field/industry I hope to join? I’m starting to learn that shedding the noise is essential for discovering your own voice. There will always be some external pressure, someone better, someone louder. But take that time to learn, to improve and to find your voice. And when you’re ready, speak up.