The folks that I spend most of my days with are great examples of this word Humbition that’s been floating around. They’ve spent a lot of time and energy getting to the top of their field – they know a lot, have done a lot, but they are gracious when they’ve been struck with good fortune. I like this quote from IBM’s Jane Harper, via Portfolio Careers:
Humbition is one part humility and one part ambition. We notice that by far the lion’s share of world-changing luminaries are humble people. They focus on the work, not themselves. They seek success–they are ambitious–but they are humbled when it arrives. They know that much of that success was luck, timing, and a thousand factors out of their personal control. They feel lucky, not all powerful… So be ambitious. Be a leader. But do not belittle others in your pursuit of your ambitions. Raise them up instead.
Humility isn’t about the lack of ambition, but acknowledging the luck, the good fortune, and the contributions of others to your success. It is the humility that comes with a habit of respect for others. Stephen Hall calls it the “gift of perspective.” It is indeed. Humility is all about perspective.
But this might be my favorite depiction of ambition…and why the “hum” in humbition makes that last panel a good place to be. (thanks to Grant Snider for another great illustration!)
I’ve recently stumbled across three articles that are swimming around my head in a interesting manner.
This is the first. That’d be a heck of a pie chart! But now, as I look back at the ways in which I’ve spend the approximately 32,000 hours (!) I’ve likely worked, it’s still difficult to characterize much of what I’ve “done.” And, as I let this blog languish and stall on other, non-professional writing projects, I’m reminded that I need to work a few hours a week on the things that make my heart sing.
This is the second. I read it in the print edition, and found it fascinating, mostly because one of the traits they illustrate concerns living in the moment, not projecting…and it sounds a lot like mindfulness, doesn’t it? Here’s a quote:
“I think the problem is that people spend so much time worrying about what might happen, what might go wrong, that they completely lose sight of the present. They completely overlook the fact that, actually, right now, everything’s perfectly fine.
“So the trick, whenever possible, I propose, is to stop your brain from running on ahead of you.”
(Now, if you read that in Yoga Journal? O Magazine? It’d be easy to turn into a mantra of sorts. But the context makes it a bit stickier for me to wrap my head around, somehow.)
This is the third. There’s an clear analogy here for a performing career; the Eagle Scout level of preparedness needed, the brutal slog of little money and an expensive vocation, the uncertainty surrounding each occasion, the crazy desire to fly. The luck that accompanies the right day, the right waft of air, the right conditions for an epic flight.
It’s a new year, complete with soul searching, taking stock, and making plans for greatness. But sometimes those plans can get derailed before we even start them…they seem too big, too silly, too weird.
There was a great article in the New York Times, by Hugo Lindgren, the editor of the Magazine (which is one of my favorite parts of Sunday). He writes about all of the ideas he had, the handfuls upon handfuls that failed to launch because he couldn’t get them written down – or, in the process of writing them they seemed so unworthy of the light.
(Did I recognize myself in this article. You betcha.)
But this quote stuck with me:
I recently saw a Charlie Rose interview with John Lasseter, a founder of Pixar, about the creative process behind his movies. Pixar’s in-house theory is: Be wrong as fast as you can. Mistakes are an inevitable part of the creative process, so get right down to it and start making them. Even great ideas are wrecked on the road to fruition and then have to be painstakingly reconstructed. “Every Pixar film was the worst motion picture ever made at one time or another,” Lasseter said. “People don’t believe that, but it’s true. But we don’t give up on the films.”
Even if it’s good – the voice, the story, the project – it’s going to be dashed to pieces and rebuilt. The rebuilding is an integral part to the process. It’s also painful and embarrassing to expose flaws to the light of day.
That’s where the courage comes in, right?
This week’s challenge (and yes, I’ll be doing it too) is to take one thing that you’re frightened of doing – sharing something you’ve written, singing in public after a hiatus, getting into the practice room – and doing it. Robert Page, a professor of mine, talked about making mistakes by saying “Make a mistake, make it loudly, and make a different one every time.” And, if you’re feeling really brave, tell me about your foray in the comments.
I don’t know about you all, but I’ve been spending quite a bit of time lately taking stock of where I am professionally – looking at the places where I’d like to improve, searching for new experiences and opportunities that will challenge me while allowing me to keep the best things about my position and lifestyle. As a teacher’s kid (mom taught English, dad was the French teacher and the football coach), the concept of being finished never really stuck – there were always more things to try, to learn, new experiences to seek out. And, yes, sometimes there were huge ugly messes to be made…but sometimes after a few of those messes something really wonderful rose from the ashes.
So, in that spirit, I’m wishing you a 2013 with a truly spectacular phoenix (or more – deny yourself nothing in a dream, right?) and as little mess to clean up as can possibly be managed. Here’s to invigorating newness, and digging down to do the work.
I’ll be back after the first of the year with more articles and profiles. Stay tuned! And thank you for stopping by this year – I appreciate it very much.
I am a new convert to the BBC Series Sherlock. Being able to (correctly – there’s the rub) infer personality traits, circumstances, travels through observing someone? Well, that’s a superpower that I’d like very much to have.
So, when I ran across an article in the New York Times alluding to my guy Sherlock? It immediately caught my attention. The article challenges the concept of multitasking, and focuses on mindfulness. Author Maria Konnikova writes:
More often than not, when a new case is presented, Holmes does nothing more than sit back in his leather chair, close his eyes and put together his long-fingered hands in an attitude that begs silence. He may be the most inactive active detective out there. His approach to thought captures the very thing that cognitive psychologists mean when they say mindfulness.
Ack! The inactivity! Where is the knee-jerk response, the running out of the room, the mad dash to the crime scene? Sherlock slows – nay, stops – the clock and contemplates before he makes a move. (I find the concept thrilling, as it is so foreign to me.)
Ms. Konnikova goes on to talk about mindfulness having similarities to meditation – that its core principle is to drown out distractions and to focus attention. She cites studies that track mood boosts, greater relaxation during timed tasks, and improvement in memory and cognitive function.
My “a-ha!” moment: isn’t that what we were doing in the practice room??
We spent hours of focused attention, ignoring distraction (well, for the most part) to concentrate singularly on our craft. Afterwards, leaving the small space I remember my brain being exhausted, but feeling good about the work that I’d accomplished. (Again, for the most part.)
My job, while in the arts, is an administrative office gig… I am a slave to email and the phone and instant messenger. I need to drop things at a moment’s notice, and so I’ve become more adept with juggling several things shallowly than really digging into one task or problem.
I’m considering a more measured approach to 2013. One that might make me calmer, happier, and even a wee bit smarter. (Heck, I’ll take any help I can get!)
I had a great conversation yesterday about giving up dreams.
(You’ve just finished your autumn auditions, and you’re thinking “How could that possibly be a great conversation?!” Bear with me…)
I’ve known this pal since my Carnegie Mellon days. Both of us knew, at some point, that we weren’t going to attain the performance level that we wanted to – it was a physical thing. The voice, in my case, was likely never going to be as large or as distinctive as I wanted it to be, which was going to influence the roles and repertoire in which I could be effectively cast. And, while I could strive to make it the best it could be? It was likely never going to be quite good enough. For him, the combination of a past injury and the pressure to be perfect -which created a tension that affected his performances – kept him from reaching the level he wanted.
We both got pretty close. And then? We stalled out. And we both struggled to figure out what life would look like after this singular focus was gone.
It was like a break up, an ugly break up. I remember telling myself that I was not a quitter, and wouldn’t give up. As I continued to pursue the dream, it seemed harder to give up, as I had spent so much time and energy (and, let’s be honest, cashola) on its pursuit. I was firmly caught in that sunk-cost fallacy, and changing direction would mean losing face, admitting I wasn’t good enough, dealing with the feelings of shame and inadequacy that were part and parcel. I postponed the decision until, really, I couldn’t anymore…until the cons outweighed the pros, and the feelings of insecurity that I felt at my position in the field were greater than those that I felt at the prospect of changing career paths.
I’ve cited Augusten Burrough’s Two Minute Memoir before, in which he talks about giving up his initial dream (acting) because he finds he’s not as good as it naturally as he’d want to be. And he found something better – which he wouldn’t have, had he not actually been give a realistic view of his skills. He had a mirror to look through – the recorder gave him an unvarnished view of his performance, and he recognized that he was missing that something that would allow him to make a career in theater.
As a teacher, I knew I had to tell the truth to my students – it wasn’t just a moral obligation, it was that they could smell falsity in the air. They knew if I wasn’t being 100% honest with them…most of the time. It gets harder to regulate your inner b-s monitor, however, when someone is telling you something you want very much to hear. And rather than surrounding myself with tough-love, I tended to surround my singer self with students and pals who thought I was amazing. (Good for the ego, terrible for the technique.)
Janine Shepherd gave a TED talk about her path to recovery after a horrible accident. She had self-identified as an athlete for all of her adult life, and her physical prowess was taken from her . The video is here, but let me share with you a quote that I found relevant to yesterday’s discussion:
The philosopher Lao Tzu once said, “When you let go of what you are, you become what you might be.” I now know that it wasn’t until I let go of who I thought I was that I was able to create a completely new life. It wasn’t until I let go of the life I thought I should have that I was able to embrace the life that was waiting for me.
All this to simply say that if it’s not working for you? It’s ok – something will. Don’t be afraid to look.
(And as a side note? The song that the title’s taken from. I didn’t know what this song was about for a long time, but I loved it because my name was in it.)
When I went through my career transition, I couldn’t find any resources that spoke to my challenge of positioning my performing experience as the right fit for another job or industry. And so I did a ton of research and pieced together my own process for finding a new career that was an even better fit. In my second career as a marketer, working with arts service businesses, it’s become clearer to me what can be done to strengthen a performing career or gracefully transition to an entirely new role.
One of the most daunting things about the career transition is figuring out how to translate performing experience into language that other fields can understand and value…it can often feel like hammering a square peg into a round hole. With her performing experience and marketing savvy, I’m betting she has great tools, and I’m geekily excited to dig into this book. If you’re in NYC and attend one of her events, please let me know about it!
It takes a lot of courage to walk away from a career path that you thought was going to be your life’s through-line. Most of the time it feels like breaking up with a guy (or girl) whom you’re deeply in love with, but who is not really the best thing for you. (Haven’t we all had -at least – one of those?) It takes a lot of thought and preparation, soul searching to the highest degree.
Oftentimes it seems like the easiest thing to do is to walk away.
We justify our new career by throwing ourselves whole-heartedly at it, like we did with that first artistic love. We decide, since we’ll not ever be the Second Coming of Pavarotti that singing isn’t worth it at all anymore.
This is an extreme approach, admittedly. But for some folks there’s no middle ground – you’re either doing it, or you’re pointedly not doing it. Sometimes that separation is extremely valuable – allowing a reprioritization of life goals, and an amount of personal freedom not found in pursuing high artistic ideals.
Here’s the kicker. After a while? Most of us really miss that artistic thing…the singing, the playing with an ensemble, the creating moments in time and space that are special, distinct, that have artistic value…the collaboration…the sensation of losing ourselves in a practice room or studio for hours on end, feeling like only minutes had elapsed. As we get older, that sense of flow that seemed so easy to capture as a young artist seems more elusive.
(When I use “us,” “we,” “you?” I really mean “me.”)
I wound up, thankfully, in a job that’s intimately involved with the performing arts. It has its positives and negatives:
I hear singers all year round that could clean the floor with my best past attempts.
I am inspired and challenged as a listener.
I have colleagues who also have strong performance backgrounds – dancers, instrumentalists, actors, singers.
Sometimes those colleagues challenge me. They have a great idea for an ensemble, a send-up of a popular song, an original tune. And I am a willing volunteer to hack around in a practice rooms for HOURS on any number of projects. (I have always loved rehearsal – the exploration and growth that happens in the room is the most exciting thing IMHO.) But getting onstage? Never really an easy thing for me…not when I was singing or playing, and certainly not now when I’m so out of that routine. It’s terrifying.
But sometimes? They ask. And I bluff my way to a “sure!” And I sweat like a villain in a Bond movie.
And it actually ends up being OK. Fun, even.
Turns out that once you’ve learned to ride that bicycle? You can, in fact, still ride it years later. Maybe you can’t pop a wheelie or race anymore, but you can get from point A to point B.
(And by “you?” I mean “me.” And also, “you.”)
Thanks to KC and GB for letting me play along with this year’s Christmas tune. I had a blast!
If you’re a singer, you’re likely in (or have recently been in) New York, at Nola or Opera America or any number of other venues. Your binder is organized and you’ve made sure that the accompanist can see the bass clef on the bottom stave clearly. Your résumés are proofed and copied and pristine. You have several versions of your rep list, for good days, ok days, and i-shoulda-maybe-cancelled days. You have an audition outfit that makes you feel sparkly and special. You have a pre-show ritual that allows you to perform (i.e. have a positive, expansive experience) rather than audition (i.e. be judged, which triggers the fight-or-flight response in even the best folks). You run into people you know and love, people you know and don’t love, people who are stronger at intimidating or distracting others in the hallway than at auditioning.
You also have ways in which you reward yourself for putting yourself out there, in the face of rejection, over and over and over again.
You’re looking for a job. Something that will pay you to do what you love. You’ve worked diligently, paid your dues. It’s time.
For some of you? It is, in fact, time! And you’ll wrap up the audition season with a contract or two, refreshed energy, renewed contacts…
For others? Talented, driven, dues-paying others? You could end up empty-handed.
This article is from the theater world, but it still applies. Consider this a gentle reminder that the whole process is mostly out of your hands. If you’re cool with that? I am your fan, and am in awe of your generosity, resilience and persistence.
If you’re not? Stay tuned, as we’ll have some more articles and profiles heading your way over the holidays and beyond!
If you’re interested in what I’ve been doing this fall, you can check out my colleague/friend/audition-tour-compadre’s writing here and here. And if you just need some inspiration? Check here and here and here!
Posting will resume soon, but until then check this out: Butts in Seats has a great article about parlaying non-profit arts experience into the for-profit world. Would you leave the arts for the for-profit sector?
Indirect Routes 