The Truth in the Circle

Neil DeGrasse Tyson once said, “The difference between a scientist and a great scientist is the one who is considered great just asked the right question.”

I sat with that thought for hours and eventually asked myself a simple question: Am I working hard enough?

As I let that thought sink in, I felt compelled to pull out my old high school yearbook from my sophomore year. Inside the front cover was a message from an old friend:

Maisen, it was awesome getting to know you this year. Marching band was fun! I know that you will be a great sax player one day! I loved our talks in band (and all the pot jokes). I hope high school is good to you. You deserve it! Love you always, E.

Before I ever thought about putting pen to paper, I had another dream. I wanted to be the greatest jazz saxophone player ever. A huge dream, I know. But my senior year, I wanted it so badly that I ended up taking three band classes: wind ensemble second period, orchestra fourth period, and jazz band sixth period.

Without a doubt, my favorite time of the day was that sixth-period jazz band. Though it was my fourth-period orchestra class that gave me the answer to my question.
A typical day in orchestra was simple: come in, grab your instrument, and get ready for warmups.

My teacher was understanding and encouraging, so my routine was different. While the five other students followed the usual drills, I was allowed to practice sax, study theory, and work on composition. I’d spend those periods tucked away in a side room with my sax, a music stand, a theory book, and a piano. building skill after skill, note by note.

Senior year also meant senior features in jazz band, a chance to pick a song of our choice and perform a solo at the last concert of the year, and I knew exactly what I wanted to play.

During one of those fourth-period sessions, I discovered The Pat Metheny Group. Then I heard the sweetest composition I had ever come across: "The First Circle". Its syncopated rhythms, unusual time signatures, and complex keys made it the ultimate test to see if all those long hours of practice had paid off.

The day finally came to submit our song choices. When the basket came around, I quickly wrote mine down and dropped the slip in. My teacher started reading the choices out loud, nodding in approval to most of them, until he reached mine. He looked down at the slip, then up at me, and let out a deep, roaring laugh.

When he finally caught his breath, he said flatly, “No.”

Being the stubborn student I was, I immediately launched into my arguments. And one by one, he shut them all down.

For weeks, I kept sending him subliminal messages, clapping out that notorious intro rhythm every time I saw him. He’d smile, chuckle, and repeat our running joke: “It’s not you, it’s the band.” So, I turned my focus to convincing my bandmates we could pull it off. Still, days turned into weeks, and the idea started to feel impossible. I was crushed.

Then, one afternoon, just when I’d given up hope, I walked into sixth-period jazz band, and my teacher walked in holding new sheet music. He handed it out, looked right at me, and said, “We’re going to give this a try. No promises.”

My grin nearly split my face when I saw the title at the top: "The First Circle".
With the wave of his hand, we started. The first run-through was a disaster. We kept at it for weeks, trying to bring the piece to life. Eventually, my teacher admitted it just wasn’t possible for our skill level. I felt defeated. Like all that work had been for nothing.

In the end, I chose a different piece for my senior feature, one I truly enjoyed and could execute well. That concert still holds a special place in my memory.

Now, thirteen years later, I understand the lesson hidden in The First Circle.
It wasn’t meant to be played back then. It was meant to be a moment, a memory I could carry with me. A story I could tell.

Proof that even when you don’t get the outcome you want, the work you put in still shapes you into who you’re supposed to become.