It’s official. The thing I’ve been agonizing over for the past week has finally been resolved. I’ve made my decision.

It was a hard choice. I’ve been in band for six years. For six years, which is a little less than half of my life, I have been playing trombone.

Playing trombone has been the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me. My first boyfriend was a trombonist, who I never would’ve met without band. My best friends are in band. I found a family within the trombones. Those boys are like my brothers. They make me laugh, they make me cry, I watch over them like a big sister would. Even the ones who are older than me. I’ve never had more fun than I have had with the trombones.

That’s why this has been so difficult. When I told them I was thinking about quitting, they all got really sad. Especially the sophomores. They know me best. They’re the ones I love the most. It makes me feel like I’m ripping a family apart. A rowdy, silly, sometimes stupid family, but a family no less.

I think of all I’ve done in band. I’ve played six solos, been part of three first division rated ensembles and part of several first division rated UIL concert band contests, marched in two award winning shows and pushed props in another. I’m a 2012 State Champion, a Grammy winner and a 2013 Grand National Finalist.

I’ve spent 12 hours everyday for a month for three summers marching outside in 100° weather during band camp. For three semesters after school, I’ve marched for two hours and I’ve spent months on audition music. I’ve been to every football game. Ever. Every weekend for two months I’m marching in competitions.

It’s been so rewarding. I’ve never felt more accomplished than I have during marching season.

But something changed this year. I realized I wasn’t having as much fun. The breakup was part of it. But I also found something I loved more.

Writing.

When I was feeling down in the dumps because I literally had been dumped, I’d write. When I was exhausted from a rehearsal in the freezing rain wearing the water-absorbent ponchos, I’d write. When we were on the noisy bus ride home from an all-day contest or a double-overtime game, I’d write. When I was so angry at my directors that I wanted to scream, I’d write. When all I wanted to do was rip off my uniform and throw my trombone off the conductor’s tower, I’d write. To survive, I’d write.

Lately, I’ve come to understand that the only reason I got through this year was because I could write. And I realized something else. Why am I writing to survive band when I could be writing to be happy? There comes a point when you have to decide what’s best for your own happiness. There’s a point when you have to make a decision, cut your losses, and decide not to worry about what anyone else says or thinks and just move on.

I’ve come to that decision.

I don’t want to say that I’m quitting band. The word ‘quit’ has such a negative connotation to it. Plus, I’ll always be a band kid at heart.

I’m simply moving on.