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Sophie Ngo

Josie Price

AP English Language

24 February 2019

The Cost of Hard Work

When people think about “hard workers,” they usually imagine studious students with

notebooks filled to the brim with brilliantly detailed notes, agendas packed with strict study

times, and straight sparkling A’s, all hard-earned. They’re probably right. As easily inferred from

the name, hard workers work hard. If one wants to excel at anything, he or she needs to work

hard to achieve such a goal. This is quite easy to understand. So, why do some people achieve

greatness without even having to lift a finger? Some try their hardest and achieve, at best,

average results. Is it just their natural talent?

Unfortunately, many students find it exceedingly easy to, instead of trying hard and studying

to lock in what they’ve learned, rely on their ability to grasp a concept the first few times they

are exposed to it. It can be a very useful skill and is definitely no hindrance, but once it becomes

an unhealthy habit it is difficult to break. The student, believing he or she is already above

average, will not have had enough experience or motivation to learn how to keep up with the

demanding assignments as they become increasingly strenuous. Sadly, I was, and still am to an

extent, one of those students— and it cost me. Although not detrimental, an experience I had not

too long ago was punishing enough to grant me an opportunity to reflect on my work ethic.

Since middle school, I was always a few steps ahead of the others in my orchestra class. I

managed to audition for the Tri-DAC Orchestra, the SC Youth Philharmonic Symphony, and the
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SCMEA Region 3 Orchestra, and I was accepted. However, despite my success, playing the viola

remained a difficult endeavor. Becoming fluent requires precise fingers, precise arm angles,

precise counting, precise posture— however precision was never a strong trait of mine. I liked to

do activities the way I was used to doing them, which unfortunately made it hard for me to

wriggle my way out of bad habits; one of them being nearly as ancient as time itself:

procrastination. I seldom practiced, I rarely attempted to iron out my errors, and (almost literally)

once in a blue moon I tried reading a new piece of music of my own accord. However, my

ambition always persevered, and with my successful auditions in the past, there was one more

notch I aimed to equip on my belt: All-State Orchestra.

For a bit of information, one is only eligible to audition for All-State if he or she performed in

the Region Orchestra for that year. I did perform in the Region Orchestra, this particular time

being my fourth. I’d attempted the All-State Audition the previous year and did not make it in, so

I was hoping I’d succeed this time. About a week after the Region concert, All-State registration

began and the audition excerpts were posted online. I hastily submitted the registration papers

and printed the sheet music as soon as I was notified. I was so sure I’d get in this time! After all,

I was pretty close to succeeding the last year. I’d certainly improved since then.

Now, I’d been attending private lessons every Thursday with a talented violinist for a while.

She helped me fix my posture and control my volume, among other things. I also had her help

me practice the All-State excerpts, and in each lesson we went over the most challenging parts.

This way, I could have an easier time knowing how to practice them, while I was expected to

practice the simpler ones on my own time. But as I mentioned, I procrastinate. I procrastinate a

lot. I barely practiced until the last week before auditions, when I actually managed to force
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myself to get out of my lazy habits, even if for a short time. However, at that point, I felt it was

too late— and I was starting to lose hope.

Lucky for me, auditions were only a 30 minute drive to Lexington High School. The small

chance of being late allowed me to breathe a little. I didn’t know why I was nervous; I was

almost confident I wasn’t going to be accepted. One week for actual practice obviously wasn’t

enough. Why worry? Well, I was always taught to try my best, and that was what I intended to

do. But it was hard to be confident yet doubtful at the same time. My best just wasn’t good

enough, I believed.

My mother accompanied me as I walked into the spacious cafeteria which acted as the warm-

up area, and as I absorbed my surroundings I began to feel hollow. Filling the room was the

sound of maybe a hundred talented musicians from all over the state, bursting with confidence,

were practicing their hearts out— unlike me. I picked a table to set my things upon and began to

warm up, my mother quietly sitting and reading a book and occasionally mouthing words of

encouragement in between my songs. They didn’t help at all. I knew I should’ve practiced, and I

felt lazy and discouraged at the fact I barely bothered. My weekends since registration began

were filled with a few video games, heaps of Christmas candy, some Netflix here and there, and

maybe about a trillion “I’ll do it laters”. All that was left to do now was to face my rightful

punishment.

After about thirty minutes of warming up, the announcers called my name. Oh great, I

complained. It was my time. My mother sent me off with a kindly “Good luck!” and with my

instrument an anvil in my arms, I trudged by the other musicians still warming up; they had still

enough time. I followed the person who led to the audition rooms, and he happened to be
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someone I often saw: he always made Region Orchestra, he was in my same SC Youth

Philharmonic group, and he’s made All-State in the past— at least, from what I’ve heard. I’ve

never been in All-State. I assumed he must be a very hard worker and someone with drive, and

how I craved to have that. He greeted me and led me along with a few other viola players to wait

in line with me, and we ventured down the chilly halls. Its reverberant tile floors caused each of

our anxious footsteps to echo across the painted white brick walls. Each little tap was like a

droplet of rain hitting a tin roof on a cold, depressing day.

We arrived. While we were all waiting for the previous violist to come out of the audition

room, I began to attempt to clear my head. I wanted to feel no nervousness of course, but also no

excitement, peace, or... anything. I had a strong feeling that the only way I could have a chance

of doing any good was to not feel pressured to do my best, because unfortunately it had always

been a tendency of mine to take everything slow, ironically, when I was under pressure. About a

silent minute or two later of staring at the lifeless floor tiles and breathing in the cool air, we all

heard a small creak. The door was opening, and out came and left the previous violist. I did not

care to think about how he may have performed, like a normal, nervous and self-conscious me

might have. But while I was distracted, the other violists had moved behind me in line and there I

was— next to go. But I didn’t really care. I guess it’s time to get this out of the way, I thought to

myself.

“Be sure to not speak at any time, or you will be disqualified,” politely reminded the intern,

who led me inside the audition room. It was quite small and appeared to be a classroom of some

sort (the whole building being a school, after all), but the desks were moved about the room to

accommodate the judging area. The judges were hidden from me behind a black fabric screen,
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where I could not see them and, more importantly, they could not see me; this was to avoid any

bias from the judges as they scored my performance. The intern then instructed me which

excerpts to play and told me when I could start playing. Then, he left, and a grave silence

overcame the room. I took a quick deep breath and allowed my eyes to skim the content of the

first excerpt. It began relatively fast, but then it was followed by a slower, more lyrical part. A

very tricky combination— but I was not worried. Not nervous or confident either. The only

emotion I was harboring was indifference. I took a casual breath and placed the tender hairs of

my bow onto my viola’s cold string... and played.

I had to play four of the excerpts in total, and I played about as well as I expected: below

average. A couple dead seconds after I played my final note, one of the judges muttered, “Thank

you,” a signal that I could leave, and I briskly but calmly walked out of the room. The intern

offered me a few audition forms to sign, so I signed them and returned to the warm-up area. I

exhaled. All I felt now was relief: finally, it was over! I walked past the musicians still warming

up and felt pretty glad I wasn't one of them. My mother greeted me with a smile as I began to

pack up my instrument swiftly, not wasting a moment. I thought almost nothing of the audition

on the car ride home. I wasn’t excited to see the results or anything— I was pretty sure of my

ranking— but I was filled with relief to have climbed over this mountain at last. As soon as we

arrived home, I plopped onto my welcoming bed and relished my sweet peace.

About a week later, preliminary results came in. I had made first alternate (meaning if a violist

wasn’t going to come, I would take their place), which actually caught me by surprise, as I

thought I had done terribly. I was disappointed because this meant I had missed getting into All-

State by just a few points. A brief reflection led me to realize that I could have very much
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achieved my goal and avoided all of my hardships if I had just worked a little harder. Maybe I

could’ve kept a practice schedule or worked on techniques every day to make myself feel

confident enough in my ability to not feel pressured to sound good. However, my inability to

perfect the excerpts within the shortest time possible frustrated me and caused me to hit a wall in

my practicing, killing my motivation in the process. I fear that if this bad habit continues it may

cause me to lose interest and desire to pursue the things I love doing. For far too long I’ve been

used to my natural abilities granting me success, but I believe I’ll be able to drill myself into

becoming motivated instead of discouraged when I find myself unable to overcome a challenge.

After all, from here on out, life will only get more and more rigorous.