How to Accept Changes and Choices

We spend a lot of our lives defending past decisions instead of considering new paths forward. - Seth Godin

I was living this way for a long time. It wasn't hurting me - or at least it didn't seem like it was. In some ways though I was stuck. I didn't want to look for a new path. And it took several years before I felt like I was even ready to change course, let alone actually change course.

Lately I've been thinking about what my younger self would think of me.

I'm not in a famous band nor am I a rockstar. I didn't drop out of college and move to New York City to pursue a career in music. I don't have a signature Stratocaster. I've never been interviewed by a major publication or been on TV. No song of mine has made it past local radio let alone had millions of streams. I've never had a manager or anyone with any industry leverage go gaga over any of my bands. I have signed zero contracts. I never opened up for any of my musical heroes or done any non-self-funded tour. I've never had a roadie or been able to make a living from my original music.

I spend my working hours (mostly) teaching kids and teens how to play guitar.

And I would be lying if I said, "I don't like this. I'm not okay with this. I should have reached certain milestones by now and I may as well wallow for the rest of my life because I'm not there and I never will be."

The point here isn't a pity party. No, this is about choice and change.

There was a time when I desperately wanted all of the above to happen, and if I strike a nerve at some point, who knows. I don't believe that window has closed, but it's no longer going to kill me if it does.

And that's a relief.

As for my career, I didn't some of the necessary things.

I didn't move to Los Angeles or New York or Nashville. Why? Simple: I didn't want to. There were moments where, had my bandmates all wanted to move, I would have. But it would have been for a very specific reason and as soon as I was able to, I would have got my butt back to Boston.

No one would say I didn't put the effort in or had any lack of energy, determination, or focus. I was obsessed with my bands and trying to crack the code. I wrote (and still write) thousands of songs, spent more time with my guitar in my lap than just about anything, and would have bent over backwards for a chance to prove my mettle.

But at a certain point, those qualities - that focus and determination and energy - can be used differently and, hopefully, yield a positive, productive, and beneficial outcome.

These days I've found a new path forward. It's a bit scary because it's unfamiliar. But that's also what makes it exciting.

“He didn’t know what he was going to — but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.” - Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

I don't know exactly where my new musical direction will take me. I have an idea of where I want it to go, but I can't predict what will happen along the way. And that's part of the fun! For the first time in a long time (maybe ever) it feels like there's a real sense of mystery and excitement.

I could keep trying what I was doing, but I realized I hated so much of the non-musical work it entailed. I loved the music I was writing and how tight my band was playing but I struggled with just about everything else.

The game changed, and I realized I no longer wanted to play the new game. I tried to play it. But I never felt like I was good at it or had a cool enough personality for it. To quote one of my favorite bands, Nothing But Thieves, I couldn't be anything that I didn't want to be. No matter what systems or methods I tried, I couldn't make it work for me. I couldn't adapt to that game. And that lack of adaptation didn't make itself evident to me until much later.

I wish I could say I realized everything sooner and that it was easy. But this change took root four years ago - four! - and only now am I seeing the seedling pop its little head through the soil.

What happened during that time for me? There was an existential crisis in 2020, followed by a pandemic, during which Eric and I wrote and recorded the best songs I've/we've released. There were new bandmates and lifestyle changes and venues closing and all the while, there was a small, patient, and persistent voice that I finally had the guts to listen to.

And she had a lot to say. I'm following her wisdom and trusting what she has to offer and while it's scary, it's exciting. It's difficult yet liberating.

Life isn't supposed to be frictionless, and right now there is a whole lot of friction. I'm coming up against old narratives and ways of existing that are no longer serving me. I'm immersing myself in music in a way that I, astonishingly, feel like I never have before. I always had an eye on what was next, and for the first time, my eyes are focused on what's in front of me, not what's on the horizon. I've been more in the moment in the past 12 months than I have since I was in fifth grade.

We all have that quiet voice, the one that probably knows more than we do about what matters and what we truly want. We've all been treading a path that might not be for us but it's all we know so we're afraid of what happens when we step off into the woods. I'm using a lot of metaphors here, but you get the point.

Consider change. Consider other possibilites.

You might surprise yourself.