Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in graduate school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play as loudly as they could, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in grad school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday. Music is the foundation of every society through the ages. It connects others and joins them together in celebrations of all kinds. It can even be a political statement. Music invokes many feelings whether they are comfort, anger, happiness, heartache or sadness. Music is like salt on food, the world would be bland without it, so it plays an immense part in our lives and in society.

My middle school band teacher has had the biggest influence on my life. In sixth grade, we finally got to choose elective classes. Mr. Ackroyd the middle school band teacher was so enthusiastic about teaching that almost the whole student body gravitated to take his classes. He was super upbeat, fun-loving. To grab the attention of new music students, at the beginning of sixth grade, he always had an instrument choosing ceremony, almost like the sorting hat ceremony in Harry Potter. He would choose an instrument or two for you try. When it became my turn, he chose the tuba for me. My parents were not as excited about the tuba as I was, and one it is huge and too large even to be taken home on the bus, which meant they always had to pick me up from school when I brought it home. The other reason they weren't happy with the choice was because they are expensive instruments. I informed them that I was really happy with Mr. Ackroyd's choice, so I stuck with it. Little did I know the gift of choosing that instrument for me would change my life.   Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, we were allowed and encouraged to attend a high school football game and play with the high school band in the fall of our 8th grade year. Hearing the marching band play and carrying a sousaphone (the marching tuba) for the first time, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. My teacher was always there with an encouraging word and pushed me to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band and my tuba became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to challenge myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician. I know now that the tuba is the foundation of any band or orchestra, just like my teacher was the foundation of my musical journey. Mr. Ackroyd taught me what matters is that I keep moving, growing, and creating to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. It is because of him that I am pursuing a degree in Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in graduate school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance Degree for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in graduate school. My ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday. My biggest worry is disappointing my parents while in college. I am working on becoming less reliant on my parents as I have probably depended on them too much. I would love to make a positive impact by speaking up for youth who feel they are limited in any way. I am a testament to going above and beyond my own limitations and knowing that you can always do more and go farther than you think.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in grad school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday. I am a testament to how music can change the world for the better. I would love to speak up and motivate any up-and-coming youth who feel limited. Music can break boundaries and limitations.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a secondary autistic congenital trait causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be in concert band, a solo or ensemble, an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. I am a testament to overcoming the label of limitations. I believe that I could inspire and mentor others who feel like me. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. Autism along with music have catapulted me into my next chapter in life, where I will be pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Music Performance for Tuba. I know that my ASD will continue to influence and push me at the University level and at the next chapter beyond that which will hopefully be graduate school. My ultimate goal as a musician is to secure a Principal Tuba position in a professional orchestra or wind band.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be in concert band, a solo or ensemble, an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. I am a testament to overcoming the label of limitations. I believe that I could inspire and mentor others who feel like me. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. Music has catapulted me into my next chapter in life, where I will be pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Music Performance for Tuba. I know that it will continue to influence and push me at the University level and at the next chapter beyond that which will hopefully be graduate school. My ultimate goal as a musician is to secure a Principal Tuba position in a professional orchestra or wind band.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be in concert band, a solo or ensemble, an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. I am a testament to overcoming the label of limitations. I believe that I could inspire and mentor others who feel like me. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. Music has catapulted me into my next chapter in life, where I will be pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Music Performance for Tuba. I know that it will continue to influence and push me at the University level and at the next chapter beyond that which will hopefully be graduate school. My ultimate goal as a musician is to secure a Principal Tuba position in a professional orchestra or wind band.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. I am a testament to overcoming the label of limitations. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in grad school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. I am a testament to overcoming the label of limitations. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in grad school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday. Over the past two years, I have mentored two younger tuba and trombone students with free lessons as lessons can be expensive for families who cannot afford a private tutor. It was very fulfilling to give knowledge back and seeing their growth.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co-curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Autism Spectrum Disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder, Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. I am a testament to overcoming the label of limitations. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. I am pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba at a four-year university (still waiting on my music school acceptances) and hope to continue with that same degree in grad school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday. Over the past two years, I have mentored two younger tuba and trombone students with free lessons as lessons can be expensive for families who cannot afford a private tutor. It was very fulfilling to give knowledge back and seeing their growth.

Going into high school, I had many anxieties and fears of continuing along the music pathway, as I did not believe I had the ability to meet the physical or mental demands of the now required co curricular marching band due to my diagnoses of Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD) and Hypotonia. Hypotonia is a congenital condition causing low muscle tone and DCD is a medical condition that describes delays in fine and gross motor skill development, motor planning, as well as difficulty with memory and spatial awareness—all of which are imperative abilities needed to successfully march and play. However, after going to my first high school football game in the fall of my 8th grade year and hearing the marching band play their war chant as loudly as they could after a home field win, I fell in love and decided to sign up for band camp in the summer before my freshman year. I was ready to embrace the immense challenges I was about to face going forward. During the last two weeks of July before beginning 9th grade, underneath the unforgiving and sweltering heat of the Florida sun, I worked tirelessly for eight hours a day marching and learning drill, playing and memorizing music, all while carrying a twenty-five-pound instrument that left me with bruises and calluses. After band camp, I socially grew out of my shell and realized how fun marching band can be, as I made connections with some of the most genuine friends I have ever met. Unbeknownst to me, the marching band became a form of occupational and physical therapy that allowed me to work through my disabilities. After seeing how much I accomplished in the first three short months of marching band, I decided to push myself at every opportunity I could, whether it be an audition or scholarship, as it was an opportunity to do what I love most and grow as a musician, even if the result ended up disappointing. One lesson I will never forget about music is how it taught me the importance of letting go of failure because of how dangerous it can be to hold onto simple mistakes. The Christmas of my sophomore year, my hard work manifested itself into the form of an affectionally decorated present, the 60-year-old vintage Bb King tuba, which my parents gave me after seeing my passion for music continue. I challenged myself to become a better musician with an almost constant practice schedule. Today, this instrument sits in my room with dignity and pride, having been passed down from a range of musicians, one of whom I know was a professional recording artist. I am often inspired by the tuba’s wounded exterior: it reminds me that every journey worth taking involves some battle scars. What matters is that we keep moving, growing, and creating through the discomfort to manifest something uniquely beautiful, personal, and triumphant. Music has allowed me to form amazing friendships and bonds and molded me into who I am today. It has helped me conquer my fears and anxieties. I am now pursuing a Music Performance for Tuba degree at a four-year university and hope to continue with that same degree in grad school and my ultimate goal would be to secure a Principal Tuba position in an orchestra someday.