I began playing the trombone when I was 10. I remember gazing at the shiny new instrument my parents had purchased and feeling surprised.  I couldn't stay up past 9:00, but they were entrusting me with this? 

After a couple of weeks, the novelty faded. There was the unpleasant task of lugging a large awkwardly-shaped case to school one day a week, and my peers quickly let me know what they thought of my new habit. Most important to me, I just wasn't good. Why would I spend time doing something that wasn't fun and that I couldn't master? (I still am thankful to my parents--not only for their financial investment in my invisible talent, but also for their refusal to allow their bleeding ears to mute their encouragement.)

As I moved into junior high and high school, the feelings of insecurity, the monotonous exercises and scales, and the stinging lips slowly morphed into a recognition that this was something worth doing. For the first time I was committing to a long-term endeavor that was simultaneously challenging and fun. I took private lessons and played in community bands over the summer. I connected with people four times my age--including my saxophone-playing great-grandmother, whose musical inclinations I inherited--and developed additional layers of appreciation for what I was doing. I learned I could take the very tool my parents provided me years before and use it to let the world know how hard I had worked (and ultimately play myself into a new, better trombone, also purchased by my parents). I also began to feel a connection with the music I was playing. In addition to mastering the mechanics of operating a trombone, I learned terms like legato, adante, and fortissimo, and began to see music as art. I also used music to connect with people my own age; nearly all of my friends during that time were in band. 

Despite all that I took away from the experience of playing the trombone, I haven't opened my trombone case in several years. I didn't exactly make one grand decision to quit, but it was more a development that took place over time. After my undergraduate experience, other activities--job-hunting, moving, graduate school--filled the void in time. Every now and then, I will nostalgically listen to music I've played and think about the personal memories and lessons ensconced in those harmonies. As I begin a new movement in my own life (I am getting married next month), I am hopeful that I might soon find ways to re-engage this lapsed piece of my identity. 

What about you? What talents or aspects of your identity have fallen by the wayside that you may wish to recapture? 

Co-Create UMBC is a blog for and about UMBC, written by David Hoffman and Craig Berger from the Office of Student Life. Join the Co-Create UMBC group on MyUMBC. Like Co-Create UMBC on Facebook. And follow David and Craig on Twitter.