Everyday, I stare at the clock during fifth period, dreading the bell that will release us to sixth period, because for me, that means going to Orchestra. From 6th grade to now, I’ve said many variations of the same seven words nearly every school day: “I don’t want to go to Orchestra.” I’ve said it so often that now my friend cuts me off before I even finish the second word, and frustratedly bursts out, “You never want to go to Orchestra!” You might be wondering why I’m even still in Orchestra, seeing as I dislike it so much. Trust me, so am I. Why am I still in a class in which I find a new way to make a fool of myself every single day?

I really don’t hate being in Orchestra, per se, otherwise I wouldn’t still be in it, but the moment rehearsal begins I regret my decision. Of course, there are many aspects of Orchestra that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Had I never been in Orchestra I never would have discovered that hugging a string bass is actually a pretty comfortable resting position, almost like hugging a giant stuffed animal, albeit a wooden one whose strings rub my fingertips raw after repeated practice. However, as with everything else in life, there are always downs to the ups. It just so happens that the downsides of Orchestra are slightly more taxing than, for example, math. A bombed test might be a slight blemish on an academic record, but a botched performance is a whole other story. The only people who know when you’ve failed a test are you and your teacher, but when you hit a wrong note, everyone knows. The slightest error is can be instantly recognized by anyone and everyone.

I live in fear of being the one to do any of those things, but it happens regardless of how prepared I am. The result of trying to avoid self-imposed humiliation is simultaneous hot and cold flashes, cold sweat, and shaky, clammy hands. Not exactly the best condition to be in for daily practice and pre-performance morning rehearsals. My self-esteem takes a beating each and every day, and I leave school all sorts of exhausted, relieved that today’s session is over, but dreading the thought of tomorrow’s.

However, when I take a moment to think about it, I realize humiliation, or rather the desire to avoid it, has been my motivation to pour time and effort into Orchestra. Had I not cared about maintaining face I probably would not have stayed to practice when I did or fretted over little details that others in my section just ignored. Painful to my ego as it may be, humiliating myself in Orchestra everyday is a humbling experience, one that reminds me that I always have much more to improve on, even on days when I feel nothing can go wrong. Even if I’ll probably never wrestle down a low F successfully or slide up and down the strings without grimacing in pain, I can still attempt to chase perfection, and if I make a fool of myself in the process… well, I’m not exactly a stranger to that.

Humiliation may make me want to disappear into thin air or crawl in a hole and die, but repeated humiliation makes the sight of improvement that much more satisfying. Being able to play all the way through rehearsal without the feeling of a weight in my stomach is a wonderful feeling that instantly banishes weeks of hanging my head in embarrassment. So I may complain incessantly, but the reward after the hardships is what always hooks me back in. Self-imposed though my humiliation may be, I wouldn’t get rid of it because it allows me to see how much I’ve accomplished, and how much further I still have to go.