I Am Not Defined by My Failures Despite the Trombonist Who Follows Me Around Making the Womp-Womp Sound Whenever I Fuck Up

No single bad moment, setback, or misstep in our lives gets to determine the sum of our worth or the whole of our identities. I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve certainly let myself down from time to time, but I am not defined by my failures, even despite the trombonist who follows me around making the womp-womp sound whenever I fuck up.


I still remember the day I didn’t get into my first-choice college. The rejection stung, but so did the “womp-womp-wooooomp” sound from the trombonist who was reading the letter over my shoulder. At least my parents heard from the other room and knew before I even had to tell them. My first choice was Bowdoin; they both went there. Double legacy and I still didn’t get in. Anyway! I went to a different college and I’m no worse off for it. I just can’t go to Maine now without hearing that trombone sound in my head.


And that’s fine. We must learn to brush off these little letdowns.


For instance, the other day during a presentation at work I accidentally said “orjinize” instead of “organize”. I don’t know why, it just came out that way. Seemingly no big deal, maybe my coworkers wouldn’t have even caught it, but of course they did catch it because the mournful and relentless trombonist pounced on it immediately. No worries. My colleagues have been calling me Orjinize ever since, and when I try to laugh like I’m in on it, the trombonist makes the sound again because he knows I’m fucking up by not advocating for my feelings. None of this defines me!


When I splatter water all over myself while doing dishes, when I say, “How are you?” at the beginning of ordering a coffee but then accidentally talk over the barista because it doesn’t seem like they’re gonna answer but then they do, when I sneeze and a string of snot comes out, the trombonist is there. But in no way is that a reflection of my worth. It’s just a weird thing that only happens to me, specifically.


Where did he even come from?



I can’t remember a time before him. He even did the womp-womp sound when I first got my period, which was pretty gynophobic, because getting your period isn’t a failure. Maybe it was supposed to be a sympathy womp, but still. Anywho! I’m all good and I’m the captain of my soul and all that stuff. I’m doing fine. Sorry, I have insomnia, and when I toss and turn the cruel yet impartial trombonist makes the noise because tossing and turning keeps me up more but then obviously the noise keeps me up, so I’m pretty sleep deprived. Hahaha. Why are we laughing? Ope! There’s the sound. It’s happening now because this paragraph is a disaster and the trombonist knows it. He always knows. I won’t be free until I’m free of him. Oh, the sound the SOUND.


So remember, you are not defined by murdering a trombonist. I mean your failures. Thank you, I will now let the jury deliberate.