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Every other Thursday night in the spring, at approximately 9 p.m., Harvard Yard is struck by a joyful eruption of sound.

A lone baritone saxophonist plays the opening notes to the Budweiser jingle “Here Comes the King.” He is quickly joined by an assortment of other saxophones, trumpets, mellophones, flutes, and clarinets, and a sprinkling of snare and bass drums. The entourage moves from the Science Center Plaza to Massachusetts Avenue, filling the cavernous expanse of the Yard with thundering polyphony.

These magnetic, musical rumblings met me at my desk one fateful evening last November, drawing me out of my room. My memory of that night is a blur of detached moments: Racing down the stairs of Straus Hall, sprinting down a dark pathway, and trailing alongside the Harvard University Band as they marched on merrily through the night.

I wanted to know — I had to know — where they were going. I asked, and one of the percussionists told me to follow them back to the band room. So I tagged along, to a basement on Mount Auburn Street, moving forward in a state somewhere between walking and flying, floating on a sonic wave.

A lot of spaces on this campus require you to prove yourself before you can feel like you belong. It’s as if getting into Harvard wasn’t hard enough — we must also apply for some classes, endure a months-long process to join most clubs, and know the right people to be accepted into select social circles. Harvard is an institution of higher learning, but to succeed here, it often feels as though you need to already know everything there is to learn.

This paralyzing pressure vanishes at the door of 74 Mount Auburn St. My first night in the band room, I was met with the most welcoming reception I have received at this school: I left with a trumpet, a super suave blazer, and a plethora of new faces to wave hello to when walking around campus.

Granted, ‘playing’ in the band is a generous description of what I do as third trumpet; I still feel like a musical impostor at times. For one, consistently making a sound on the trumpet has only been a recent breakthrough for me. Despite years of piano lessons, my sheet music reading capabilities are abysmal, so on the off chance that I do produce a note, it’s usually the wrong one. During our gigs, 99 percent of the time I am not even remotely playing the correct tune.

But the amazing thing about the band is that none of that matters. My bandmates don’t mind that I entered their community on a whim, or that the first rehearsal I attended was also the first time I had ever touched a trumpet. They have taught me to play — one of my fellow trumpet players leads weekly sectionals to guide new players through the basics — all while fostering a community of radical acceptance, with weekly shoutouts and Starbursts on bus rides home from gigs.

Many of my peers arrive at Harvard having already mapped out their plans to join pre-professional clubs and apply for exclusive summer internships. They view their time here as transactional, treating Harvard as a stop along the way to great experiences rather than a great experience in itself.

My friends in the band have shown me a different perspective. They have taught me how to be spontaneous, seek out the novel and absurd, and linger just a little bit longer in the space between adolescence and adulthood.

The band’s unofficial motto is “illegitimi non carborundum,” mock Latin for “don’t let the bastards grind you down.” It’s printed on the back of our sweatshirts and written into an extra verse of the most recognizable fight song we play, “Ten Thousand Men of Harvard.” Every time I think of the three words of our motto, I smile, because they remind me to act without fear of judgment.

Even if you’ve never done something before, or if you’re not exactly sure how it will fit into your future, don’t be afraid to try it out. We have these four years to wander, searching for doors of opportunity cracked ajar — and the rest of our lives to figure out what we learned about ourselves from the things we discovered behind those doors.

The thought of joining a band in college had never once crossed my mind until I heard one outside my window. I still have many traditions to learn, and a basic level of proficiency in the trumpet to achieve, but for now, I will happily join my bandmates in tossing shoes and paper airplanes through the air at rehearsal, even if I don’t know what for.

I feel the same way today that I felt that first night I entered the band room — satisfied with tagging along for the ride, even if the destination isn’t always clear.

Violet T. M. Barron ’26, a Crimson Editorial editor, lives in Straus Hall.