My American Dream: A Personal Analysis

When I was six years old, my youngest brother went to college. I was born 13 years after him, 15 years after my older brother, and 16 years after my sister. As a kid, I idolized my siblings. They were all amazing at music, got into amazing schools, on top of an amazing list of accolades. Being the children of working class immigrants, they really embodied the American Dream. Growing up with my role models around me, I felt it was extremely important to be like them, to be the best in every endeavor. This attitude instilled a sort of immature and arrogant pride in me when I was young. Competitiveness flowed through my veins from day one. The same year my youngest brother left for college, my mom signed me up for violin lessons. Two small violins
It didn’t make me want to improve. Rather than absorbing the kind of awe and passion such an instrument can evoke, I just disregarded it as having no relevance to myself. I still viewed playing violin as a boring chore. Actually, I only did orchestra for one more year after that. I could never be as fast as him, so why even try. In the same decision, I stopped playing violin entirely.
How good would I be by now if I hadn’t quit playing? What if I attacked each rehearsal as if I was Luke? What if I studied every single mark on the page and understood the composer’s intentions, turning them into my intentions though the wood? It doesn’t matter.
I now play the alto saxophone. When I play the saxophone, I feel. I don’t think about Luke, or how much better everyone else is. I’m not on autopilot, waiting to finish. I’m breathing my soul through my instrument. My mind occupies each groove, I connect with every melody, and I perform every run. I’m in the moment, placing each flick of the tongue against the reed. My mind isn’t worried about what my brothers would play it, or whether I’ll ever be proficient enough. It doesn’t matter. This is my