I followed my passion… What now?

I used to think I led two lives. In one life, I would go to work each day and walk through the motions of the unskilled labour force. This life was defined by scarcity, reluctance, and necessity. In the other, I’d spend each day collaborating with trained artists and pursuing a passion of limitless potential. This life was defined by abundance, will, and ambition. These seemingly opposed lives were kept separate from one another and overlap of any kind was minimized. There was a practical incentive for this in that keeping these lives independent would avoid giving others the feeling I was living a discontented life. More critical, however, was the idea that acknowledging the existence of one life to the other would risk inevitable compromise to the welfare of that lesser life.

For most of my post-secondary career, I studied music, and I worked part-time and seasonal positions in order to support my artistic development. My relationship with work was purely professional. I had no interest in investing any more of myself beyond what it took to nurture my music-related endeavours. What I failed to realize, of course, was how this attitude would only serve to poison even those most fulfilling aspects of my life. The detached and occasionally callous approach I had toward my various customer service gigs began to manifest itself in minute and unforeseeable ways; the finite career potential of an entry-level job fostered competition, while the hostility of the customer service industry normalized aggression. Where before I could freely praise my peers for their accomplishments, I now felt a growing covetousness at my perceived lack of those same. Despite my best efforts, I’d unwittingly let that lesser life win.

My situation is pretty typical, really. Most musicians supplement their income with a “real” job, with many going on to become music educators and even more relegating their musicianship to the role of hobby. This is common, for example, among professional orchestra members. To say that any of us are truly satisfied with this state of affairs merits skepticism, but it’s an arrangement we’ve long since resigned ourselves to. Still, there’s an inherent resistance toward reinforcing this status quo. Whether that’s because you believe yourself capable of sustaining a financially viable career as an artist, or because you simply want to stick it to the family member who told you to “have a back up plan,” the thought that we might fail to live up to that level of success can be embarrassing, to say the least. Admitting defeat once it’s happened can be even harder and, suddenly, you’re faced with the question: What now?

How we respond to this question has the potential to define the rest of our lives. An easy choice might be to wallow in defeat, in the devastation of your own failure, and in so doing reach a measure of contrition that joins you to a longstanding tradition of tortured artists. It would be easier still to let yourself believe that person who tells you that you’ve gone as far as you can go. To let someone else tell you how it is, so that you can pass on the blame for the sorry state of affairs that is your unhappy career. Then again, this question may not come as an all-consuming low point. It could be just the wake up call you need to persevere in your artistic pursuits and perhaps even beyond them.

I’m not sure I ever faced that question in such a harsh light: What now? It was more of a slow realization that, despite having had some small success as a musician and a great love for the craft, it wasn’t a lifestyle that I was prepared to endure. Rather, my studies as a musician served to answer another question that was perhaps even more essential to my basic human nature: What if? What if I hadn’t studied music? I’m fortunate in that I’ll never have to ask myself that question. I’ll never live with regret not knowing what might have been, which is far better than being left with the question of what now. Still, “what now” comes with its challenges. For instance, it becomes awfully tempting to disparage the time and effort that had been poured into pursuing your passion, as if not an iota of the time spent studying or practicing had been worth the struggle. Well, it was worth the struggle. Every second.

Self-doubt is a prerequisite for any artist, but it tends to make moments of crisis, intrinsic as they are to an artist’s self-worth, somewhat amplified in their impact. It takes time for the dust to settle. For a while, all of the skills you’ve developed and the lessons learned are thrown out the window, because none of it seems to matter anymore. It’s an adjustment period riddled with questions from friends and family about what you intend to do “with your music degree.” Then clarity sets in. Retrospection is given its chance to shine and you start to collect yourself. You start to realize it wasn’t a waste of time, and here’s why: All the while that you were going through the motions of honing your artistic abilities, you were also developing invaluable transferable skills that will serve you for the rest of your life. You were learning soft skills like communication, collaboration, improvisation, analysis, work ethic, humility, an unbelievable tolerance for feedback, and–the most critically underrated skill essential to every musician: an ability to listen.

For my part, the decision to explore music forced me to challenge my creative potential and carve my own path through life. It afforded me opportunities that a younger version of myself would’ve only dreamt of, and it has allowed me to develop an indelible network of friends and colleagues who, their own career goals notwithstanding, have provided no end of support and encouragement toward whatever pursuits I’ve vocalized.

It was important to me to find my way on my terms and, while I’m still finding my way, my time exploring music was and always will be foundational to that journey. Rather happily in recent years, the natural course of my career as a musician has led to new and electrifying possibilities. What started as another part-time gig—a means to an end—has become the genesis of a lifelong career. More importantly, I’ve come to a place where I can finally reconcile my career as a musician and my career as a customer service veteran. I no longer lead two lives. I lead one. I no longer have to choose between them because I have developed the skills and experience to be confident as a leader in any situation.

Today, I manage a team of concierge specialists for one of the world’s leading services in hospitality and I’m due to begin another round of schooling in the fall to obtain my MBA. I hope to continue uniting, inspiring, and educating others–to help them see the hidden value that exists in their life experience, as I’ve been fortunate to see in mine–and look forward to the next challenge life has in store.