“Yeah… he…um- definitely has some…potential,” the music store employee gingerly observed after I laid down my very first sick beats on a real drumset.

The only problem was, my 12-year-old beats were not sick. At least not in a good way. I had no coordination and no idea how to hold my sticks. I actually remember just hitting everything I could as fast as I could in my nervous excitement. After all, I didn’t know when my next opportunity might be. Getting a drumset was way out of my reach. I was already pretty involved with playing piano, which I’d been learning since 3rd grade. My parents weren’t eager to sign me up for a second instrument, and I doubt they wanted the noise around the house either. Playing the drums and becoming a drummer was a very, very far-off dream at the time. Getting a drumset wasn’t going to be a quick and easy process for me…

Everybody dreams of something. Maybe you dream of retiring so you have...

The envelope sat on the kitchen table, staring up at me. This was it. This moment would decide my future. What was about to take place would set into motion the course of the rest of my life… what friends I’d have, what kind of music career I’d have, where I’d live…who I’d marry. All of this would be determined by one of two words: …pleased… or …regret… Which would it be?

Hundreds of emotions coursed through my unemotional persona on this spring afternoon my senior year of high school. Would my dream college accept me? Will plan A work? I had worked so hard for this. I had practiced like crazy all through my senior year, preparing for a music school audition I honestly had no business attempting. I had never played percussion before, yet I had signed up for a percussion audition. I had never played jazz drumset before, yet I auditioned for the drumset program. My high school drum teacher had put me through a crash...