I always viewed myself as a creative person but until recently I’ve never had the courage to call myself an artist for two reasons: practicality and fear. I had fantastical visions about the life I wanted to lead but with very little room for error. So, I made practical, calculated decisions. Always carefully weighing the risk and reward, the cause and effect. Growing up, I was also told that no dream was too big. Full of confidence but on a razor’s edge between struggle and hope. I was brought up to be humble so, the idea of promoting myself as an artist wasn't - and still isn't - a natural state for me. Add in a big dose of discomfort with vulnerability and the fear of not being in control and it's pretty clear that life as an artist wasn't an obvious path for me. Any reasonable person wouldn't throw themselves off of a cliff but, some of us are pulled off with our hands clawing the edge...curious as to what the fall will feel like and what we might discover about ourselves and the human experience.
That was me and I'm so happy I let go.
Any reasonable person wouldn't throw themselves off of a cliff but, some of us are pulled off with our hands clawing the edge...curious as to what the fall will feel like and what we might discover about ourselves and the human experience.
But this is a story about reinventing so, I'll back up a bit.
My journey towards becoming an artist began seven years ago in May 2018 at the not-so-young age of 39. I started from scratch with no accumulated skill or relationships in the art I chose: music. Many things came together to nudge me off the cliff but two stand out.
Practically and the need to have control are the enemies of art and fear is its inescapable fuel.
One year earlier, I had sold a software company with the intention of exiting that path and using the rest of my life to do creative work but, at the time, I had no idea what that meant. All I knew was that for the first time in my life I had been given an opportunity - the luxury - to be something else. I didn't want to screw it up by falling back into the comfort of the work I knew and where all my relationships existed (still a day-to-day challenge) or by weighing down my life with things that would ultimately rob me of my financial and creative freedom (also an ongoing day-to-day challenge for me). So, for the first time in my life, I gave myself space to be open to possibilities and to listen for signs.
Even though I had gotten everything I had worked and hoped for, for the first time in my life I felt sick and tired.
A year spent wandering and searching turned out to be very hard for me. I'm a type-A, driven, borderline OCD, Capricorn, overachiever. The lack of work, a structured schedule and a specific purpose affected my physical and mental health. Even though I had gotten everything I had worked and hoped for, for the first time in my life I felt sick and tired. Doctors couldn't find anything wrong with me physically. Looking back, I'm sure it was some sort of depression. Two things made me feel better...trail running (which I've enjoyed for 20+ years) and listening to music. I was complaining about my lack of purpose to a friend and he suggested I buy an acoustic guitar and get lost in it. That could be my purpose. My initial reaction was that it would only add to my frustration as I've had several false starts on guitar (long weekends trying to strum E minor chords) before deciding it just wasn't worth it. It was hard. I was starting too late in life. The mountain always felt too tall. But he persisted and we walked over to Music Villa in Bozeman, MT and I bought a new acoustic guitar on April 20th, 2018. I left the store willing to work hard for at least a few days.
How hard could it really be?
Once again, I was immediately frustrated and my initial stoke lasted only a few days. So, I put it in the case and put the case in my closet. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Music would continue to be a magic tonic that I was content to enjoy as a fan with no creative ambitions of my own. And I was fine with that. Anyways, I was almost 40. I couldn't play the guitar, I had never sang before, I had nothing to say, I knew nothing about music and I didn't know a single professional musician. It was a fool's journey. The last thing the world needed was another sad dad band or an old guy in the corner playing covers. Or, maybe it did? Or, more importantly, maybe it was just for me?
I couldn’t play the guitar, I had never sang before, I had nothing to say, I knew nothing about music and I didn’t know a single professional musician.
You can't push towards reinvention. Something has to pull you towards it. Something internal. It has to have gravity, purpose, excitement. You have to feel it in your gut. That mix of excitement and terror about the journey with no destination in mind. It has to be strong enough to motivate years spent quietly, humbly stacking days. For me, I still hadn't found that.
One month later, on a bright green rainy Friday afternoon in May, I was sitting in my home office (now home recording studio) and something happened. It felt spiritual like being touched by the Holy Spirit or maybe it was just dopamine. Either way, I got a glimpse of what it might feel like to make and play music of my own. I was listening to Lord Huron's "When the Night is Over" on a loop just trying to relax. Songs like that are my favorite. They have a meditative, unapologetically repetitive quality that I love. I started taping my feet. I grabbed the guitar out of the closet and started strumming (nothing resembling a chord) to the beat and started singing along (poorly). And, I was transported somewhere else. Time stood still. My heart stopped racing. My mind emptied. I was just there. Minutes, hours flew by. The only other place I could find this transcendence was on long trail runs in the mountains usually on rainy days. And, I was immediately addicted. Mainlined dopamine. And now I knew I could get it through playing music. I wanted more of it no matter how hard the journey would be.
I was transported somewhere else. Time stood still. My heart stopped racing. My mind emptied. I was just there. Minutes, hours flew by. The only other place I could find this transcendence was on long trail runs in the mountains usually on rainy days. And, I was immediately addicted. Mainlined dopamine. And now I knew I could get it through playing music. I wanted more of it no matter how hard the journey would be.
If you are already a musician and you are reading this you are probably thinking that the transcendent nature of playing music is common knowledge but as a non-musician looking in - trust me, it isn't. It looks like a combination of magic and terror.
For a non-musician - live music looks like a combination of magic and terror.
That evening my wife and I went to Blackbird for dinner downtown Bozeman and I told her that - even though I'm starting late and that I know next to nothing - this is how I'd spend the rest of my life. She smiled and said, I love it and she's been incredibly supportive ever since. From the early months/years of making horrible guitar sounds at home and everywhere we traveled (I've only been without a guitar for a few days over the past 7 years) to today where she's a one-woman marketing, photographer and PR department for my music.
Over the past seven years, I’ve managed to learn to play the guitar reasonably well, write and record some original songs and play live solo and band shows. I’ve met dozens of new friends who are also passionate about making music. It’s been time well spent and good for the soul. I’m still deciding where to go from here. I love songwriting and recording and I’m learning to love performing live. I’m just stacking days and staying open to possibilities.
It will seem overly dramatic but, I'm just becoming the person I was hoping to be all my life.
And, I'm 46 years old.
Cheers to reinvention.