The Note That Changed Everything: How A Single Choice Composed My Future
“Well, what do you say?” He asked. Should I do it? I don’t know! I panicked. With everyone staring at me, I raised my hand hesitantly, trembling ever so slightly as I held it aloft, surrounded by strangers with whom I’d started school only days before. Jazz felt like a daunting oddity, yet curiosity compelled me. Mr. Londgren, the high school band director, smiled warmly at me. He glanced around at the seven other underclassmen he’d offered this invitation to. “Anyone else for Jazz Club?”
Raising my hand wasn’t just about joining a music club, it was a choice that set a new course for high school, one that would ripple through every area of my life. Maybe it wasn’t about jazz itself but what jazz represented: a creative challenge that required me to step outside the structured world I had known. The choice was not just about music—it was about finding beauty in unpredictability. In that first moment of uncertainty when I raised my hand, I unknowingly embraced change and growth.
First rehearsal: I can hardly read the score, let alone play it. 200 BPM? Every note an accidental? I thought I was good at the trombone! The other fresh meat and I were a mess. The music was impossible to read, with incomprehensible rhythms and unexpected notes. Band was supposed to be an easy class, I thought impatiently. Why am I not getting it!? Mr. L must’ve read the frustration right off my face. “It’s normal. Don’t worry.” Drumming his fingers on my music stand, he added, “And if you play a wrong note, remember: there are no wrong notes in jazz.”
What do you mean there aren’t any wrong notes, I was barely able to play anything on the score for the whole piece! Every instinct in my body was telling me this was wrong; only an hour before this, I’d sat through a 30-minute math demo with a singularly correct answer – I’d been taught to regard gray area as alien territory and mistakes as things to avoid at all costs. Why did I sign up for this? I couldn’t stop asking myself.
The way school hardwired my brain, where everything was supposed to have a single "right" answer, was about to be replaced with the ambiguity that jazz demanded. That first rehearsal marked a profound turning point. I realized that the value of that single choice was not in learning a new genre of music, but in the flexibility it introduced to my thinking. Through jazz, I wasn’t just getting better at the trombone. I was learning to make peace with the gray areas of life—those moments when answers are not easily found and choices are not so clear-cut. These were ideas that align directly with improvisation, a cornerstone in Jazz.
Where I had once been tied to rigid formulas and expected outcomes, I began to embrace the value of exploration and adaptation. The chaos of jazz—the messiness of it—was about letting go and being open to wherever the music takes you, like an improvised solo. It was about learning that progress doesn’t always come from perfection, but from the drive to keep playing, even when the score seems overwhelming.
When I was first asked to try to “solo” (to improvise a musical section on my own), I was terrified. "Groove with the groove,” Mr. L suggests as I nervously stand, knees shaking, palms sweaty, and a knot tightening in my stomach. My heart races and my hands tremble as I grip my trombone, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a stone on my chest. Over time I learn to relinquish control, letting myself flow on a detour of an unexpected hit or along the gentle current of a beautiful melody.
"No wrong notes”. It's a phrase that grabs my attention like a grace note, permeating my perspective. In math, instead of settling on one “correct” answer, I experiment with alternative methods to graph logarithmic equations; in debates from MUN, I embrace differing viewpoints, discovering how diverse perspectives can harmonize like chords in a melody.
As I reflect from that hesitant hand raise to the fluidity I feel today, I realize that the single choice to join jazz opened up a completely new dimension for me. Jazz, in its spirit of improvisation, showed me that there isn’t always one right answer. Sometimes, there are as many possible answers as there are notes in a scale. The repercussions of our choices can also be deceiving. That hand raised to join the Jazz Club didn’t feel monumental. I was just exploring something new. But looking back, I see how that seemingly small choice altered my worldview, teaching me to embrace the unexpected—whether it be debating in MUN or the initially hesitant, improvised notes of my first jazz club solo. The power of choice lies in its ability to shape who we become in ways we can’t predict.
I now realize that Jazz teaches hearing beyond what's taught, seeing the life around printed notes. An "error" in one context uncovers meaning or sparks counterpoint in another. Thanks to jazz, I chase challenges without fear of falling short. I relish the counterpoint of ambition and humility, harmonizing between imagination and exploration, each choice adding a layer to the melody, one beat at a time. My life is no longer a score to recite perfectly; it's a composition of my own making.