Validation

A few weeks ago, I posted a quote about being good at more than one thing (To read about it, click here). Basically, what the quote says is that, just because you excel at one thing, doesn't mean you can't excel at other things as well.

By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I had made a name for my self as that-singer-chick. I was once stopped from crossing the street by some classmates who had heard me sing. They refused to let me cross the street until I sang "Stairway to Heaven" for them. Incidents like this, combined with accolades like being the only freshman and then sophomore from my school to go to All State Choir, and as a junior, being the fourth person ever to go to All State Jazz Choir from my town pretty much made me feel that singing was my destiny. This idea was further affirmed by people coming up to me and telling me that singing was my destiny.

No pressure.

More than that, being considered so good at one thing, people were always surprised to find that I could do other things, and sometimes reluctant to think of me in any other light. This was not always the case, but occurred often enough to make an impression. But after two years of being steered into other people's ideas of what my musical life should look like, I began to lose my taste for the lifestyle.

When I left college, I felt like a failure. I had been put on this earth to sing, and I was turning my back on that. I tried a few paths out (teaching, English, bartending) but nothing really fit. My failures here seemed to confirm for me that I was cursed so long as I abandoned music.

When my dad died, things kind of got put in perspective. My dad made a career of doing what was expected. He, too, had many talents. His academic and career path has more branches than mine. He went to school for teaching...and he taught Spanish for a few years. Then he decided that wasn't what he wanted to do, so he went back to school, this time to pursue a law degree. Half way through, he realized that he really enjoyed his science classes, so he went on to med school instead of law school. He became a psychiatrist and was very well respected in his field. He was also a devoted husband and father.

What is left out of this picture? He was a great poet. And he painted beautifully. He had a lovely singing voice and played several instruments. Everyone told him he was an academic, but I think he was secretly an artist. Maybe suppressing this inner calling contributed to him ending his life. I can't say for sure, but I know that he would have resonated with the idea that you can be good at more than one thing.

So why is this long-winded post titled "Validation?" Because that's what I got this week. Since I moved back home and started back in school, I've chosen a totally different career path. I'm studying mass communications, and I really enjoy it. More than that, though, I've found that I'm pretty good at it!

This past week, one of my professors (who I have only spoken to a couple of times since being in her class last semester) sent me an email saying that she had an internship that would be perfect for me. She said I was the first person she thought of. I was touched and excited.

But it gets better...

I emailed the head of my department to ask if he would support my decision to apply for the internship, and he echoed the sentiment that I would be a perfect fit. Really? TWO of my professors think this highly of me?

No. Three of them do.

Today, while meeting with professor number one, a third professor popped his head in the door and offered his two cents. He said, and I quote, that I am, "awesome-sauce." If I ever write a book, that review is going on the jacket.

Told ya, validation. Three professors think that I am perfect for this job and are excited to see me succeeding. To me, this is proof that I can be good at more than one thing. That is a powerful realization.

The internship in question may not be a perfect fit, but it's a step. And more than that, having the support of my department proves that, even if this isn't the right thing for me, I don't have to be a singer to be successful. This gives me renewed hope that I can and will find my passion! Thanks, Mass Comm. Department for the much needed ego boost!

Using the past to empower the future

Music school left me feeling very bitter. About school. About friends. About music. When I dropped out I swore off music and all the things in my life that reminded me of the time I spent there. This was short lived, but even now, almost three years later, I still have a slightly bitter taste in my mouth when I talk about that time in my life.

Although I have yet to truly reembrace music (and I'm not sure that I will ever want the same things I wanted then), I have occasionally tested the waters. I spent some time gigging in my home town, and for a while I thought that I wanted to be a musician after all. I liked the attention and the praise, but I still really hated the lifestyle. And treating music as a business took away all of the joy and the art. So I swore off music again.

I have sung in public four times in the past two years. And yet, I still have people come up to me on an almost daily basis to compliment me on my voice. If I had a nickel for everytime someone told me, "I remember when you sang at [fill in the blank]" I would...have a lot of nickels.

For a long time, this recognition made me sad. I felt that the Universe was trying to guilt me back into music. Then, in periods where I have felt underappreciated, these comments lifted me back up, riding on my former glory. Neither of these feelings represent a healthy approach to the past.

I'm in this class right now all about careers (no wonder the subject is on my brain). Most weeks we have guest speakers. This past week, our guest was a representative from the local library system. She made her job sound awesome. It was a great talk, and it made me think that I might want to work for the library some day. Let it also be said, that I have a similar reaction to all of the speakers, "I could do that!" Optimism is great, but this isn't really a career epiphany. What I really took away from the library spokeswoman were the names she mentioned.

During her presentation she mentioned the names of several people that she works with. I knew every person she was talking about, not because they were local celebrities (although some of them certainly are), but because I have had personal interactions with them. The really important part about this is how I knew each of these people. They were all connections I had made as a singer. I thought to myself, I could probably talk to that person and use them as a reference.

Aside from the possibility of getting a job at the library (cool by itself), this gave me a valuable lesson. Use your past to empower your future. OK, I may never classify myself as a musician again, but I don't have to disown that part of my past. I can use the experiences and the connections from that time to create opportunities in my future. If people already know me and like me because of my voice, then they will be more receptive to liking me for other skills. So there you have it, never discount even the bad parts of your past, because none of them are entirely bad.

Admitting defeat.

As any twelve-step program will tell you, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. If you have ever had a problem, you may be familiar with the phrase, "Easier said than done."

Admitting you don't know what to do with your life after three years of college is hard to do. I have invested tens of thousands of dollars that I don't have in a life I am no longer pursuing. Two years into music school, I realized that music school made me HATE music. One of the scariest things I have ever done was to admit this to my parents. What made this particularly hard was waiting for the inevitable, "I told you so," from my very practical mom.

Musical performance is a risky career direction. The economy is bad right now, so people have less money to spend on frivolous things like going to see some chick sing old jazz songs. Part of me knew that, the same part of me that knew I could never become a tiger, no matter how often I practiced my jungle stalking skills. But, part of me refused to believe this, the same part of me that wished to be a tiger in the first place.

This part of me can only be described as hope. I used to believe that hope and faith were the same thing. I treated them the same way in my thoughts. To hope for something was to have faith that it would one day be true. The world has made a cynic of me, though, and the distinction between the two has become clear and cloudy at the same time. After two years of spending all of my time with musicians I began to realize that hope was as silly a thing as believing that wishing on the evening star would turn me into a large jungle cat.

Music school showed me how hard it was to be a musician. I considered my professors to be successful musicians, but the more time I spent with them, the more I realized that success as a musician wasn't what I had envisioned. Each of these musicians shared a commonality that scared me. They were teachers. Even though they gigged regularly, had excellent technique and style, they had to supplement their income with teaching. I didn't want to be a teacher. I had specifically gone into musical performance, NOT musical education. My fate seemed to be sealed, though, being a musician meant making some sacrifices. Sacrifices I wasn't willing to make.

So, sixty thousand dollars later, I had lost my passion for music. I stopped hanging out with friends. I started sleeping though classes. I even made myself so sick, I had to practically be carried to dinner one night. Sixty thousand dollars later, I admitted to my parents, and to myself, that I had a problem. I didn't want to go to music school anymore. I didn't want this life.

Admitting this wasn't easy, and the life I have led since hasn't been easy either. You see, admitting I didn't want to go to music school also meant that I was admitting I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Whatever I had felt inside though out the years, I had always maintained a sense of purpose and direction to the world. Now that facade was broken and I was forced to begin the search for a new path. I have started down many roads, only to run back screaming the way I had come. Today marks a fresh attempt at tackling my problem. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. Maybe this blog is the second footfall.