My participation in the Husky Marching Band (HMB) was short-lived, but nothing short of growth. As my senior year of high school came to an end, I could sense the displacement of the identity I developed that sought comfort in the familiarity of that campus for so long. I was fearful that who I was would be stagnant and, in my attempt to ease into college with some sort of familiarity, I auditioned for the Husky Band. I hesitated to audition- the idea of being a good enough musician to be accepted into such a respected band challenged me. I debated even auditioning for months, pleading for someone to tell me “yes, you can do it,” or “no, don’t even try.” I think I knew that being in the HMB wouldn’t provide the familiarity I was trying to cling onto, but in my true fashion, I felt obligated to prove I could do it- that I was good enough for it. After receiving an abundance of encouragement and validation, I decided I would go for it. Don’t get me wrong- I was excited and thought it would be an amazing experience- but I think somewhere in the weeks of practicing I put in before my audition, I realized that I was clinging onto the idea of playing music like I did in high school. I was hoping that my passion for it would translate into the new environment, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t. While I waited for my audition results, I remember hoping I would be rejected so that I wouldn’t have to decide to do it or not. And then I got in. I got into the Husky Marching Band! I reckoned with, rationalized, ranted to my mom, and ruminated on what that meant; ultimately, I accepted the invitation into the band.

​Flash-forward to moving into McMahon for preschool drills and hiding my nervousness with pigtails on the first day of band camp, I tried desperately to love it. I thought it was nerves beckoning me to quit, so I brushed them off. But they didn’t budge, instead, they persisted. I eventually found myself dreading coming back to camp each day, and I realized it was wrong. I should be excited, I remember thinking, but I wasn’t. And I didn’t want to start college with a commitment I couldn’t authentically give my all to. I wanted to start putting my own wants first, for once in my life, so I did. Accepting the anxiety that comes with quitting something bigger than myself, I communicated to my band directors that I knew in my heart I couldn’t go on with the band. With kindness and understanding, the situation went better than I expected. I was so relieved when I was officially done, and I knew that relief meant I made the right choice.

Maybe I should have gone with my gut after my residual hesitance to even audition. I would’ve saved the premature goodbyes with my family before college, I would’ve saved the handful of long days of practice, I would’ve saved the guilt and embarrassment and disappointment I felt. If I had not tried, I would not have quit. However, if I had not tried, I would not have learned. I would not have made friends who supported me in my decision to quit and wanted to continue our relationship outside of that setting. I would not have registered for concert band this quarter to hold onto that musical outlet. I would not have learned that my priorities are different than what I thought they were. Sometimes, though, I can’t help the feeling of what could’ve been  while I watch the band perform in the Husky Stadium and wonder about the experiences I’d have if I didn’t back out: awkwardly thrusting with my saxophone to “Louie-Louie” at rallies, frantically learning pre-game routines week after week, being celebrated by the crowd after halftime. But then I think about the experiences I’d have lost if I stayed: getting a truly long Thanksgiving weekend to spend with family instead of going to Apple Cup, having the time to participate in completely new activities, being able to celebrate my seven-month anniversary with my boyfriend after 119 days of long-distance. Those things mean more to me than playing music, and I know that now. I was told by Jack, my saxophone section leader, that I am welcome back in the band anytime, and that invitation makes my decision to quit feel less finite. For now, though, I am letting go.