As I near the end of 2019 I come up on almost a decade of making music and I have a lot to be thankful for. Though they are small-time, I have a few highlights I could tell my grandkids one day. Ten years feels like a good run…and a good time to call it quits.
A few years ago I gave myself a deadline: if at the 10-year mark (the end of 2020) I wasn’t seeing a return on my financial investment (ROI), I would quit music.
I’ve struggled throughout my music career with insecurity and fear that music is/was a waste of time. My fears have been consistent: I’ll end up a nobody, never have stability, and I’ll die a washed-up loser. Giving myself an ultimatum felt like a dignified way to exit the industry before any of these fears could come true.
However, as I round the corner of 2020 and I see my ten year deadline in the distance, I realize I kinda like being a nobody, I do have stability, and maybe I am a washed-up loser to someone, but why should that matter to me?
Maybe I don’t have to quit music after-all.
The Real ROI
I used to think that financial ROI was the only way to legitimize the amount of time and money I put into music. However, when I think about the irreplaceable joy and purpose I get from it, I realize this is the real ROI.
Though money is important, the joy I get from making music carries more weight than the frustration of still being a renter, driving a beat-up car, or skimping on vacations.
So with that, no, I don’t think I have to quit music.
Joy ROI wins.
Still Feels Like Failure
Ok… so the joy ROI epiphany is great, but there’s still something that bothers me: even though joy is enough of a reason to keep making music, I still feel like a failure sometimes.
This whole “I’m doing this for me” thing feels like a cheap, soft copout.
I believe these thoughts knock at the back door of my brain because I know joy is the car but I need some gasoline.
There’s Always Hope
I used to think it was silly to dream about “getting famous.” I thought hopes like those were either indulgent, pathetic or for the extraordinarily talented. Instead of dreaming, I picked up my sword of self-awareness, ready to slash down any expectations that dared grow too tall.
We all need a reality check from time to time, but it's no law to live by.
There’s another level to this heroic self-awareness: even though I will probably never make it big, or even medium, I need to hope that I will anyway. When music gets hard and the joy wears off, you need something to keep you pushing. That's where audacious, unaware, and impractical hope comes in.
I'm not sure what to call this hope. It's not as dramatic as destiny or boring as calling... It’s more like the universe is cooking up a dish and I have a specific spice that will add just the right flavor. The dish can be served without my spice, but why wouldn’t I want to contribute to something that feeds the planet? This hope is magical, mysterious, playful, and begs me to share.
I guess what I'm trying to say it…even if I wanted to I can’t quit music.