what makes a winner
6:22 pm - November 24, 2003

This is my latest essay that I wrote for a scholarship.

I couldn�t believe I was there. It wasn�t a particularly extraordinary place, but the promise it held sent chills down my spine. Ashland, Oregon. Population: approximately 20,000, and home to the 2001-2002 Solo Music State Championship of Oregon. A relatively small town, but one with plenty of charm, and plenty of potential for the contestants coming in from all over Oregon.

I had been gifted with a remarkable bit of luck at the District Solo/Ensemble Contest in Portland, Oregon that March. My adjudicator happened to appreciate my voice, and decided to send me to the State Competition. With her scores, I placed third in my district as a mezzo-soprano. I was a sophomore, and my choir director told me repeatedly how rare it was for a sophomore to go to State, especially a sophomore girl. I was one of six people from my high school who would travel the 231 miles from Portland to Ashland.

On the night of the spring choir concert, I performed one of the songs I would sing at State and as I looked around the dark auditorium, filled with faces looking expectantly at me, it really began to sink in. I had always considered myself as more of a pop or even folk singer, so to be recognized as a classical singer was a bit of an oddity. That night as I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come, I let my thoughts wander and pictured myself performing at State. I even allowed myself to fantasize that I might win at State, but immediately after that thought came the rational voice in my head that scolded me for even thinking such a thing. I was not a classical singer, it told me, and it was merely just a fluke; a miracle, that I had managed to place third in the district competition. Yet as I closed my eyes, I wondered if perhaps there wasn�t room for another miracle to occur.

I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a group of friends I had known and loved for years. I had a handful of girls I could turn to for anything, at any time, and every time I realized that, I felt more and more lucky. High school is not a forgiving environment. From the tangible elements (the harsh lighting, the ugly floors and walls) to the nearly intangible (the cruelty that students can inflict upon each other, the pressure that is a constant threat), it seems as though high school can almost swallow a person.

Considering how much my friends usually supported me, it was a painful shock to see how little interest they took in the recent events. Every time I mentioned the upcoming competition, I received bored looks and comments like, �Oh, you haven�t done that yet?� I asked at least three of my friends to come along to Ashland with me for the weekend, and all of them declined, providing me with various excuses, all of which made my heart sink.

Finally Jill, a new friend who I didn�t know very well agreed to come. Her boyfriend was another one of the students who would be competing at State, and we made plans during the six hour drive to surprise him at the competition.

That night, Jill and I sat on a porch swing in the courtyard of the motel where we were staying, letting the cool evening air wash over our skin. I confessed that I was hurt over the disinterest of my other friends and ranted that I had always been there for them, and why had they decided to stop caring now? Jill listened very attentively and when I was finished, nodded and sighed. She gave me an explanation that was probably comforting and logical, but because I was so emotional at the time, is no longer in my memory. I went to sleep still feeling angry and hurt, but there was nothing I could do.

The day of the competition dawned and we drove through the small town for breakfast at a restaurant across the street from a hotel. I felt jittery, my nerves racing as I tried to sip my coffee calmly so as not to spill it. Without warning, I felt a hard shove between my shoulder blades. I lurched forward, narrowly managing to avoid the sting of hot coffee as it splashed across the table. With my nerves already high, I turned around slowly, ready to start yelling.

When I turned, my breath caught in my throat. Filing into the restaurant from behind me was a seemingly endless line of familiar faces. Eight of my dearest friends were lining up next to our table, beaming at me. I could feel the blood rushing to my face and the tears pooling in my eyes, a stupid half-smile plastered on my face. As if it were a movie or a dream, time seemed to stop and then start again. The busy sounds of the restaurant filled my ears and I stood up, stumbling forward into the open arms of my friends. While we hugged, a few waitresses quietly appeared to rearrange tables so that we could sit in a huge group, nearly taking over the restaurant. We ordered breakfast, and as I scanned the menu, I found myself looking up every few seconds, laughing with giddy delight.

They had driven for nearly six hours in cramped cars, and kept up the facade for the weeks before the competition to throw me off track. Jill had kept a perfect straight face the night before as I ranted and raved, which could not have been easy to do. Through my happiness, a small wave of guilt swept over me for doubting that they wouldn�t be there for this important experience.

To have true friends is a genuinely sacred thing. Friendship is one of the most essential bonds in the world because it provides a middle ground between soaring highs and gut-wrenching lows. It provides a sense of security in a world where little is actually secure and a source of love when love is hard to come by.

I looked around the table again, taking in the chatter and laughter. These girls, my friends, my sisters, were everything to me. It was in that moment that I realized it didn�t matter whether I won or even placed at all in the competition. It didn�t matter because I had already won in the game of life. What makes a winner is not necessarily what they can stretch themselves to achieve, but who they are surrounded by, and what they are made of. I am a winner because I am made of love and laughter; of loyalty and light, and because I have people who care about me just as much as I care about them. As I leaned forward to involve myself once again in the activity around me, a beam of sunlight spread through the window, illuminating my own little miracle.

Alright...enough procrastinating, now to get down to my history outline...ugh!