The Power of Encouragement

By Summit Now Contributor Marc Lee Shannon

In the spring of 1979, I was twenty years old and away from home, really away, for the first time. Six months prior, I was surprisingly accepted to an up-and-coming music/technology school named G.I.T., which allowed 120 students per semester. Looking back, I am confident I was #119 on the musical training and education ranking scale. Today, 45 years later, I realize how lucky I was to take the school entrance test and subsequent phone audition interview, as apparently, the examiners heard something I was unsure of at the time:  

Talent.  

The first part of the school's curriculum focused on sightreading music, harmony, and composition. I struggled with these areas of study, so in my apartment at the corner of Hawthorn and N. Orange, across from Hollywood High School, I made my bedroom closet into a practice den and spent every possible moment away from classes, trying desperately to catch up to the rest of the students, all of whom seemed better suited for this school than me.   

I barely came up for air for the first 6 months.  

In the second half of the year-long program, I had a breakthrough. In one of my first performance classes, I was assigned 2nd guitar, bass, drums, and keys and was tasked to arrange and perform a Jazz standard. I had always leaned towards more blues-based music, so I picked "All Blues," a Miles Davis tune that first appeared on his landmark Kind Of Blue record from 1959. I worked up an arrangement I thought was decent, laid the charts before my bandmates, and called the downbeat. I took the first and last solo, giving everyone their due, and after the tune finished, the class softly and politely clapped.  I had a sinking feeling that I had blown it and, once and for all, should accept I was not good enough; I would not cut it at this level of talent and competition. The teacher, whose last name escapes me but was appropriately nick-named "Kimbo," began his critique by mentioning the flaws in my arrangement composition and then suggested some improvements. He was stern but fair and kind, where he did not have to be. I remember it all after all these years, especially the last thing he said. Something I will never forget.  

"And kid, you were right out there (pointing to the edge of the stage in front of my classmates, some of the best budding guitarists in the world), and you were bringing it!" 

His smile and that one moment of encouragement, that single compliment, were enough music-soul food that this musician needed. I knew from that moment that I could do this. I could make it with the right amount of never-give-up effort, and I would survive in L.A. and someday make a name for myself. A spark in the single encouraging sentence ignited a new trajectory for me. It infused the hope I needed to keep going and striving for my dreams.  

I often think of this moment when faced with a younger, bright-eyed newbie to the game. I remember what it meant for a kid from Akron to be recognized and given the nod of approval. You never know when what you say will make that kind of difference for someone with an ambition. It might be their turning point built on the back of your uplifting, kind words. This is the power we all hold to inspire others.  

That day in the performance class was a turning point, all due to a few kind words. It was the light of the fuse of my music career, all because of a compliment at the right time. All these years later, it is still something I remember, cherish, and try to pay forward. Because of that day, I will never underestimate: The Power of Encouragement.