Over the past decade I’ve submerged myself in the daily life of a small time artist/musician. My efforts have produced four full-length albums, a couple EPs, a few national performance tours and a handful of meaningful relationships with people who I would never have met if not for my work. What my efforts have not produced is a measurable income and public appreciation. In the past year, after the release of my fourth album, I suddenly began to question how much these last two things mean to me.
In the beginning of most endeavors, we find ourselves excited about possibility. Over time our initial enthusiasm fades and we risk quitting if we don’t refuel our thinning energy with new challenges, inspiration or encouragement. In my case, over the course of ten years, I was able to maintain my enthusiasm for my work despite my lack of wild success because I knew I would become a better musician if I kept at it. The thought of becoming “better” continually inspired me. When asked, I would announce to people that the process of creating is more exciting to me than the product I eventually create.
However, last year I found myself in a very dark place. It seems “A Decade” was my mental end point for how much process I could endure before I needed a little pat on the back for my efforts. But the universe doesn’t work that way. Ten years is nothing and rewards are subjective.
Without being conscious of it, I harbored a secret expectation that if I focused on the process in some sort of noble way, I would eventually be rewarded with success. It’s disappointing, frustrating and depressing to realize that this is just a form of magical thinking. It’s the good girl syndrome: If I’m nice, people will like me. If I work hard, people will notice. If I build it, they will come.
As artists and as human beings, we need to recognize how destructive it is to work for a future outcome that hinges on other people giving us reward.
To double-whammy my dark year, not only was I depressed about the seeming futility of my past ten years, but I hated to discover that I am one of those people who cares about something as pedestrian as success. I wanted to be above all that, to be without an expiration date, to be infinitely appreciative about the fortunate circumstance I have in being an artist. Perhaps such a person exists but I now realize I’m not one of them.
So what does this mean? Am I inauthentic? Am I shallow? Do I not have what it takes? Or have I let myself fall into a trap of thinking that devalues success out of fear? I’m pretty sure it’s the last one.
ANALYSIS - or the ugly truth
Perhaps this is the up-side to my frustrating sense of cosmic defeat: after I selfishly gave myself ten years to have a passive aggressive relationship with success, now that the time was up, I had to snap out of it and say with conviction whether or not I value the work I create. Yes I value the process, but do I value the work, the outcome, the product? It’s emotionally risky, you see, for a person to say that they value something tangible (like their album, their gadget, their business) because with the hard evidence in front of them, other people can (and will) strongly disagree. It’s much safer to say, “This is my album. I’m proud of it and all, but the real thing I’m proud of was how hard it was to make (and that’s why I deserve for you to buy it).”
What do you expect people to say once you exclude them from the thing you’re willing to admit has any value to you (your process?) Why would you expect them to appreciate the little trinkety thing you made and admitted is less important to you than something they will never get to experience (again, your magical process)?
This expectation isn’t a trap just for introverts like myself. Even bragadocious people hide behind their “hard work” as an excuse for expecting people to appreciate their product. We all exhibit our issues with the success/fail relationship in different ways, but we all still have this relationship.
ANSWER - or how i asked the right question
It’s a luxury and a challenge to be able to spend my time in meta-cognition, analyzing where I’ve gone wrong and what the next steps are in my path to doing something meaningful with my life. While I’ve explored these issues over the past year, I took on a little project which has unintentionally helped me along my way and I want to share with you what I’ve learned.
On November 13, 2008, a woman who I barely knew, with whom I had recently connected on Facebook, posted a status update about working on her “365”.
Curiosity.
So I posted a response, asking her, “What’s a 365?”. Her answer: every day for a full year (365 days), she takes a self-portrait and posts it on Flickr as a way of being creative and sharing her day with others.
At the time, I was half way through NaNoWriMo, a month-long novel writing exercise in which I participated in order work out some of my creative demons. All of a sudden, it sounded like fun to take on this self-portrait project too. Initially, I did it out of the sense of possibility I mentioned earlier in this post. It was fun, different and exciting. I said, “yes!” to the project the minute I learned about it and had my first image posted on Flickr within the hour. Drowning myself in creative distractions is what I do best.
However, today is October 1, 2009. I am 323 days into my 365 day project and I can assure you it’s been no mere creative distraction. What I’ve learned along the way has been a mind-shattering, life-affirming experience. As this project draws to a close for me I will post some of the lessons, realizations and breakthroughs I’ve had along the way. Most of these lessons directly relate to the struggle I’ve outlined throughout my story but they are not limited to creative applications.
You can probably imagine some of the topics I’ll write about: perfectionism, mastery, inspiration, resources, talent and stamina. However, there were tons of surprises along the way including a sense of style, new friendships, better dreams, more open mindedness, faith and the discovery of a love of discipline.
YOU - or how you can learn what i learned
I don’t know how many articles I will write for you. My notes on the subject seem to be endless. I also don’t know yet how often I’ll post my thoughts here, if I’ll write long essays (like this one), or short quips of insight. However, if there’s one little lesson I can share with you now it’s that it’s always better to throw ideas (big and small) out into the universe shamelessly, ardently and often. I look forward to writing about something I’ve learned…the examination of our process to become better at what we do and how to balance that with the ability to value what the experience creates in the end, despite what anyone else has to say about it.
