For readers who don’t know me very well, I play the cello. I know you’re probably thinking; out of all the possible instruments, why the would you pick the cello? There’s a multitude of instruments to choose from, but what made you want to play the cello over any other instrument?

My answer: my parents made me. I know, it’s a boring answer. It began after an annual physical at my pediatrician. I was only three at the time, but my doctor thought I was more emotionally mature than the other kids she’d treated, and found me to be very curious. She thought I would be bored in Kindergarten, and recommended to my parents that I start a musical instrument.

Soon afterwards, my mom called a local violin teacher to see if she would teach me. However, she refused because she thought I was too young (she typically started teaching kids at age five or six). However, the cello teacher from the same school said that she would be happy to take me as a student, and that was that.

Most people will tell you that they remember exactly what made them want to begin playing an instrument: maybe they heard a piece on the radio, and felt so inspired that they chose to begin playing. I was too young; I don’t remember the first time I held the cello, or the first noise I made with it, but I remember how it made me feel. Simply put, I hated it. Hated that, while my friends were outside playing, I was stuck inside having to practice thirty whole minutes (!!!) per day, which seemed like five hours to my three-year-old brain. My mom and I got in daily screaming matches when it came time to practice. One day, during a particularly frustrating practice, I even pointed my bow at my mom, and told her that she was “an evil mother,” for making me practice.

Me, age 10, with my cello teacher, Sally

I struggled with the cello for years. My teacher could have been programming a robot to play for all the passion I showed. I played the notes and learned the fingerings, but couldn’t play the music.

Something magical happened in seventh grade (yeah, that’s right, it took me ten whole years playing the cello before I started to like it). Maybe it was that I finally began taking my lessons to heart and wanting to improve rather than feeling like I had to improve to appease my parents. Maybe I grew more mature. Maybe it was the fact that my “friends” I’d thought so highly of found me no longer worthy of their time. Whichever it was, I began taking cello seriously for the first time. I joined Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra, which gave me my first taste of the orchestral world, along with Cellissimo, an advanced, all-cello ensemble. For the first time in my life, I was playing music. And suddenly, I loved it.

Me, age 13, my first year in Cellissimo

I upped my game, practicing more consistently and longer. My fingers blistered, but both my resolve and passion grew, and they’ve only continued to grow.

The cello has been both my best friend and my worst enemy. It taught me patience, and that if I want something, I need to work for it. It has become such a constant in my life that I don’t think I could stop playing, even if I tried. Fourteen years ago, a lifetime ago, I picked up the cello for the first time. I’ve made friends through the countless hours of orchestra rehearsals, Cellissimo practices, and school ensemble meetings. My cello career has taken me to Canada, Denver, and even the field of Lucas Oil Stadium. In slightly less than a month, I’ll be auditioning at colleges, hoping to be accepted as a part of their orchestra program. The cello has opened doors for me that my three-year-old self never would have imagined.

Me, age 17, with my cello