Reflection Essay
"Legacy, what is a legacy?" The quote stated before was taken directly from the Broadway hit "Hamilton." This question runs rampant in Alexander Hamilton's mind as he is face to metal and gunpowder with Aaron Burr's bullet propelling from the chamber of a gun like an agitated bull in a rodeo. When confronted by this question I knew I couldn't evade this question from the inner machinations of my own inquisitive mind. It is as if my very soul yearned for the answer to this very broad question. In short and all you have time for I am sure, I had to know. I decided I would have to self–reflect and answer this to escape the imprisonment that is the fact of never knowing an end to this puzzle of my own definition of what's to come after, well, me.
As I look back on my earlier elementary school days, when life, for me anyways, was nothing but a sea of juice boxes and Lunchables. Back in the earliest days of my life, I was very active in sports. I loved baseball. I would stay up to date on games and practiced in the backyard every Sunday. The smell of the leather catching mitt, mixed with the odor of the dirt and sweat would suffuse my nose. The feeling of the steel of the bat in my hands and the incineration of my lungs would seem to char them for hours after a spun out and wearisome game would linger on my skin. The sound of a "ting" when the bat hits the ball sending it into what seems in the moment, orbit, and the roaring of the crowd would hover on my ear and send endorphins to my brain. Everything about the senses I had just described to you all had a siren–like affect. I was entranced by the thought of it. After time I was forced to quit because I am a girl. I unwillingly had to make the decision between quitting and softball. The games in softball did not have the same allure, Sports wasn't going to be my legacy.
After a series of rounds with my two old friends trial and error I found one thing. Sure, other things such as volunteer work, astronomy, and languages had caught my endearment but nothing quite like music had seemed to make me have a certain enchantment with that subject. It is quixotic to think that something so simple as a series of runes on lines written down on a piece of parchment can make an
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