Everyone loves music; it connects people from all countries, cultures, and backgrounds and acts as a universal language that we all understand. But while we all enjoy listening to music, not nearly as many people have the ability to create it. The aptitude for making music is a gift, but it is definitely an “assembly required” one. It demands years of dedication, sacrificed time, and patience in order fully utilize this talent, and is a journey that often begins when you’re very young.

For instance, I remember sitting in the backseat of our car on my way to my first piano lesson when I was seven years old; I had a music bag full of piano books on my lap that I didn’t know how to use, and I didn’t have a clue what would come out of this situation. My seven-year-old brain thought that I would be made to play difficult music right away and that I would just all of a sudden know how to play music really well.

If there’s one thing I’ve discovered since my first piano lesson, it’s that being a musician doesn’t work that way at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

When I first started playing the clarinet in 5^th grade, it quickly became apparent that the only way to play the music at a decent caliber was to practice. I’d have my clarinet and my little music book and I was required to play each one-line song between five and ten times before I was allowed to pass on to another song.

But you don’t play out of little books forever. Eventually, you’re given sheet music, solo pieces, audition materials, and parts to play within an ensemble. For me, this onslaught of stuff I had to play required weekly lessons with a private teacher and, you guessed it, hours of practice. I’d have to sit down with my metronome and tuner and go over a difficult portion of the piece a countless number of times, starting slowly and gradually speeding it up. Then when I thought I had everything straightened out, I’d go back and try to play my solo or my part again, usually to find out that the area I practiced over and over didn’t sound nearly as good as I thought. This process happened over and over again until the clicks of the metronome were stuck in my head, my lips were chapped, and my mouth was dry and aching. It is only after months of hard work that I was able to take what I had been practicing and audition for an honor band or take my solo to contest.

Being successful on an instrument goes well beyond the literal sweat, tears, and even blood of practicing. In order to have any hope of sounding good, I have to spend hundreds of dollars on the best equipment, including reeds, mouthpieces, and cleaning supplies, not to mention the money spent on instrument repairs, private lessons, the fees to be in a band at all, and original copies of your solo to bring with you to contest.

When you consider all that it takes to play your instrument well, you might wonder if it is worth it to go to all that trouble. Speaking from experience, I can say that the rewards you reap for all your hard work far exceed what it took to get there. It is the best feeling in the world to receive a superior rating on your solo at contest, to earn a seat in an honor band, to hear the sound of applause at the end of a phenomenal concert, or even just to be able to show somebody your music and say, “I can play this!” As any musician can agree, the end result is truly priceless.