Dear 13-Year-Old Robyn,
Eighth grade is coming to a close, and you're getting pretty nervous about high school. You have a solid group of wonderfully nerdy friends, but you would love to meet some new people in the fall. Making friends has never been your strong suit, so you were counting on at least having band up your sleeve to help you out. Unfortunately, you realized around December this year that you are a terrible percussionist. It's ok. We're both mature enough to admit it. Your good friend Molly wants you to go to audition for the high school colorguard with her today. She went yesterday and had a blast. Go with her. I know you know nothing about it, but you will learn. You will get to a point in your life where you know more about this activity, and about yourself because of it, than you do about anything else (except maybe Harry Potter). Here are a few things you should know.
You will go home crying the first night. You will want to give up. Over dinner at Sonic, you'll tell your mother you don't want to go back again. She will make you invite Molly over to practice that night and go back to auditions the next day. Thank her for this.
You will be pushed out of your comfort zone. The other girls are mostly outgoing and older. They will make you dance and laugh and engage with them when all you want to do is sit in the corner and watch. Thank them also because you need that. You need to be a little uncomfortable now, so all of this gets easier later.
Don't quit after band camp. I know you will anyways because you feel like you're not getting better. You don't really know what it's like to be bad at something. School always came easy to you, and you never put yourself out there enough to really be bad at anything else (except maybe drums, but you quit that too). You'll come back after the weekend is over and a few of your friends call and convince you. Way to be dramatic. You'll wish you had just listened and not quit in the first place.
You will cry. You will cry hard and often. You are not strong, but you do get stronger. Remember sometimes to take a step back and look how far you have come.
Thank your instructors often. This is not an easy job. You know this because your are one yourself now. Sometimes you will meet a child who reminds you of yourself, and you will smile. Other times, you will see a child who reminds you of yourself and want to cringe. Be someone who you would want to teach. Be willing to learn and take critique. Try everything and don't talk back.
Sometimes you will hurt yourself. Your thumb is jammed right now as you are typing this. You have a bruise the size of a small island on your tricep. You have been to the hospital four different times because of your (or someone else's) equipment. You will learn that you are stronger than your bones. They will break, but you will not.
You will go to your first winterguard competition and scream the loudest for your favorite group. You will watch them for four years straight and go hoarse during their performances. You will be terrified, just like you are now, to go audition.
If you do not read anything else I have written, read this. Go audition. No matter how frightened you feel, no matter how many nervous hives pop up on your face on the drive over, no matter how much you think you are not good enough, go audition. You will learn more than you ever imagined. You will grow in ways you can't fathom. You will meet people who will become your family. You will find your strength and your courage and your beauty in the people on the floor next to you.
One day, you will be 22 years old, and you will realize that your time performing is drawing to a close. If you are lucky, you have one more season left in you. You will wish that you had appreciated it all just a little bit more.
So practice longer. Leap higher. Reach just a little farther to catch tape. Hug Scottie and Hope and Kris and Ro and Kevin more often. (Kevin will fight you, but do it anyways). Raise your release hand, your tosses are usually a little low. Stop before every performance, every rehearsal run, and remember why you do this. Then, take a breath, set your sabre, and show everyone how much love you have for the activity that has made you into the person you are.
Love forever,
Robyn
