Villanova - describe a metamorphosis or changing experience


Sometime around seventh grade, a good three years since the brass keys of a tenor saxophone had graced my fingers, I decided to join the jazz band. Up to this point, I knew little about the music other than a Count Basie album I received for Christmas. Panting from lugging the disproportionally weighted instrument case halfway across my school, I entered the rehearsal room and tentatively assembled my saxophone. A piece entitled “Ja-Da” was placed on my stand by the band’s conductor. Provided for the band, which consisted of a saxophone, bassist, guitar player, and trumpet, was a set of scales to use as a basis for soloing. Having never soloed before, as my time was approaching the tapping of my foot increased in tempo. The keyboardist nods at me; I stand up and play the most liberating notes of my life. As I wandered through keys and measures, taking my time and letting random inspiration guide me, I realized that this kind of effortless ease must bear some correlation to life on a larger scale.
	The core of music is chords, and their development throughout a piece is labeled chord progression. These provide the basic tones and foundations that melody is built upon. The rules of society, law, and upbringing become life’s chords; as I undergo the turbulent flow of life, I will pass through good times (major keys) and more melancholy periods (minor keys). I am the melody, and my friends and relatives are harmony. I had come to the realization that just like my favorite pieces of music, moods and themes will never stop evolving. Like my first jazz rehearsal, I have to continually adapt to the ever-shifting rhythm of life. I will not always be fully prepared for every situation, and I must apply the skills I have worked on in order to create something impressive. What makes music work most of the time is the connection between those playing it. A true connection generates an energy that improves every aspect of the performance, and some of the most successful musical groups made up for lack of technical skill with pure playing experience. Because of this, it is important to build strong relationships with others, as what they produce can only become a benefit in the long run.
	Each of our lives is a piece of music, and we are the living composers. Every decision is a new note on the staff, each experience a new measure. Our storyline makes our very own melody, while the interactions we have with friends and family provide the harmony; on our own, we can shine brightly, but only with accompaniment will we reach our true potential. The people we choose to form our friendships with accentuate our best parts, much like a harmony brings out the strongest features of the melody. We are also open to interpretation. Countless orchestras have performed the music of Beethoven, each with slight differences that makes them unique. As we encounter more people, more opinions are formed about us. We cannot please everyone we come across, as fine music is not always agreeable to everyone who listens to it. 	








The University of Chicago has a venerable tradition of seminar-based learning, in which students and professors gather around the classroom table to discuss ideas. Less venerable, but no less valuable, is our tradition of conversation around another table-the dinner table. Indeed, on any given night you will find members of our student community breaking bread together, discussing everything from The Symposium to The Simpsons. We in the admissions office would argue that a community can be defined by its table-by its shaper, by who finds a seat there, by what transpires there, by what is inspired there. Tell us about your table.
Please respond with an essay equivalent to one or two typewritten pages.


	My table, the seven foot long, four legged fixture in my dining room, is home to many things. It’s most common visitors are centerpieces, tablecloths, and silverware. However, it’s true purpose lies in giving me and my family a place to converse, debate, and learn. 
	The primary purpose of the table when I was younger was for school projects. Elementary school teachers are quite fond of assigning things like “dioramas” and “posters,” which translate to enormous undertakings involving copious amounts of shoeboxes, oak tag, and trips to crafts stores. As me and my mother completed these projects, it helped me realize there are few better things to do with another person than to create. The maple surface of my table is wantonly marked with pen and marker, reminding me of the unbridled creativity of childhood. In my younger years I was an artist, and every one of my creations was birthed from the flat surface of that table.
	The table has also provided me with a place to express and form my beliefs as I got older. The news of the week has as much a place there as my family does, and no topic goes uncommented on. Whether political, religious, or economic, any issue mentioned is dissected and argued upon by all members of the table. This opportunity allowed me to hone my debate skills outside of school, helping me to become the strong public speaker I am today. The table was also a plane on which our family could ignore the siren-like lure of the television for long enough to engage in a healthy game of Scrabble or Monopoly. These family games also hewed my competitive spirit.
	When not in use by my family as a whole, my table provides for me individually as well. The rays of the sun, allowed in by large dining room windows, illuminate the pages of a newspaper on Sunday morning, or the pages of a novel on a lazy afternoon. The words of Kesey, Thompson and Wolfe have accompanied me with a mug of hot chocolate or a glass of ginger ale. During those meals where other family members are busy, I indulge while flipping through the pages of Time magazine or Harper’s weekly. I have also enjoyed the single panel comics of Gary Larson’s Far Side, transforming a coffee table book into a dinner table book.
	Music, an integral part of my life, also finds its place on the table. Before I owned a stand, the sheet music rested on my table. Saxophone in hand, the notes emanating from its bell traveled through the indented grains of the aged table as I blew over the chords from classic bebop heads and tunes. The basic ideas of Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis and all the jazz greats provided me with a foundation to expand upon, the improvisation in my dining room opening me up to the possibilities of music. These impromptu performances drew the attention of my family members, and I enjoyed giving small concerts as they listened from the living room couch. The dining room’s close proximity to the living room allowed me to further expand my family’s musical horizons, using the living room speakers to play music ranging from Beethoven to J.J. Cale over dinner. I have even made the members of my family fans of music they wouldn’t have otherwise heard.
	My table has seen its fair share of elbows, spills, paints, and accidental carvings. The slightly disfigured surface has allowed me to improve myself and interact on many levels with my family, amongst the cups and the crumbs.