Tag Archives: decisions

“Failure is the best thing for some people.”

The Telegraph UK has an interesting article written by Hanna Furness; a short interview with Tim Rice (That’s Sir Tim Rice to you!), the librettist who might be most well-known (at least to folks of a certain age, ahem) as the librettist for Evita, Jesus Christ Superstar, and The Lion King.

He had planned to be a lawyer.

He was good at tests, and he figured he’d ace his exams.

He didn’t.

In fact, every time he re-took them, his scores went down.

“When I went to do law, I kind of drifted through that and thought I can pass these exams. And I didn’t – I failed three times and each time I did worse and failed by a bigger margin.

“And that taught me so much. I always worry today when I see everybody has to pass – there’s very little failure these days. I think failure is the best thing for some people.

“It tells you whether you’re in the right job or the wrong one. It’s a cliche, but most people are good at something and most people are good at what they’re enthusiastic about.”

Failing stinks. It makes us feel icky – it challenges our perception of ourselves and our relationship with the world.

But oftentimes it either makes us look around for other options, or challenges us to dig in more deeply.

(So maybe it’s a win, even if it doesn’t really feel like it?)

Rock on, Sir Tim.

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Sarah Andrew Wilson: Two Choices.

Sarah Andrew Wilson

Today I’m talking with Sarah Andrew Wilson, who is currently the Assistant Director of Education for the Levine School of Music, a multi-campus nonprofit community music school with locations in and around the great Washington D.C. area. I first met Sarah when we were colleagues at Wolf Trap – here’s her story. 

How did you get started?

Well, when I was a high school senior, and I said that I was interested in pursuing music, I was told that I had two choices: to perform or to teach. I wanted to perform, so I chose that avenue, and attended University of North Texas for Flute Performance.  It’s a huge flute school, and also a huge jazz school. I’d hang out with the classical musicians, but I really liked what I saw the jazz students doing, and wound up going to a lot of jazz events.

My senior year of undergraduate work, I remember thinking “Wait. Am I ready to perform? I mean, I’m only 21…am I ready to take auditions now?” I decided to get a Master’s Degree (at Arizona State University) to fine tune both my playing and my options – and actually started it in Music Education. About a year in I realized that I was spending way more time practicing than I was on my music education coursework, so I switched back to straight performance. But I had a teaching assistantship, and I enjoyed it, so I decided that I would do both – perform and teach – when I graduated.

When and why did you move to the DC area?

Short answer? Because I was young and crazy. Right around the time I was finishing graduate school, my then- fiancé (now husband) was working in politics and received a job offer in DC. I was self-sufficient and movable – I could set up my teaching studio anywhere – so we said “Let’s move to DC! Adventure!”

So we moved!  I knew building a studio in a town where I knew no one would take some time.  So I decided to find a temporary full-time job; that way I could build up enough funds to live on, and then could quit and go back to just teaching and performing once I had enough students. I sent my résumé to companies that I found interesting, regardless of whether I was qualified for the job. (Production job at NPR? NPR is cool! I don’t know anything about radio or production…but what the heck, I’ll apply anyway!) After a while, I was hired at the Washington National Opera as a contracts administrator – I got to see contracts for AGMA musicians and independent contractors, worked with all the departments at the Opera, and even met the Artistic Director Placido Domingo on several occasions. I started to really enjoy it. I didn’t know that I could work with fellow musicians – my people – and help create something with a high level of artistry without having to either be a performer or teacher. It really opened my eyes.

You know I have to ask: did you leave after three months?

No. I stayed for a year and a half – it was just too interesting to leave! But, after that year and a half, I was doing too much – teaching and performing and administrating. Something had to give, so I left the position and focused on building my studio and lining up performance opportunities. For two years after that, I played, I taught, I ran the Flute Society of Washington, and conducted a small ensemble.

But I eventually found that I missed it. It sounds really nerdy, but I missed a lot about administration – the structure of it, the variety of people I would interact with on a daily basis. As a teacher most of my interactions were one-on-one with my students, and I started to feel a little isolated. I started to realize that I’m more of an extrovert than an introvert – I’m not totally outgoing but I feel more comfortable around people. I also missed the coolness factor – having Placido Domingo say, in his accent “Hello Sarah” was an unrealized perk, and I missed that, too.

My next three positions were at two different organizations: I jumped back into the administrative side of things working for the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz. I had a love of jazz from my undergrad days, and I got what those guys were doing. It was a fairly small operation, and they accepted me on a provisional, week-long basis. I worked my hardest to make it my best week ever – I kept talking about the future, setting up meetings for the following week, talking about ways that I could help…it must’ve worked, because they hired me full-time. It was a cool job – I managed education tours for musicians like Thelonious Monk, Jr. and Herbie Hancock. Watching those great artists teach, invest in the next generation, just hit me in the heart. I was still on the education side of things, which felt comfortable, but instead of teaching I helped to support them, and make sure they had what they needed.

When I felt like I was ready for a new challenge, I took a position at the Wolf Trap Foundation. It was great to go from a small company to a larger department, a larger organization. I was in charge of any education programs that took place onsite: from Baby Artsplay and community music classes to master classes with dance companies to managing the award-winning Internship program. (This is where I met Sarah. – Ed.)

Two years into my work at Wolf Trap, the Monk Institute called – they had created a new position with national reach and a great compensation package, and I couldn’t turn it down. (It’s not something that’s often discussed, but it’s difficult finding something that you’re passionate about that will also allow you to pay your mortgage.) The programs impacted thousands of students across the country, and I got to travel a lot, which I really enjoyed.

But the saying “you can’t go home again” really did apply, and after several more years at Monk it was obvious that it wasn’t a great fit.

So I took some time off.

I applied for new positions, but also worked a great part-time job with an events company: it was flexible, and I enjoyed it. And, because it was flexible, I was available when WPAS called because they needed an artist handler for Jean-Yves Thibaudet. (Ed. – Shut. Up. So cool!) The time off afforded me the time and mental clarity to find and pursue a position that I really wanted. The Levine School had been on my radar since moving to DC, and when I saw that they had a position open I contacted the people I knew who worked there, just to let them know that I was interested and applying. It’s funny – at other times in my career I’ve known when it’s been time to move on, but since arriving at Levine I feel like I’m at home. I work with 150 wonderful musicians and educators, and it’s so easy to advocate when they’re your people. I understand their struggles – filling their studios, developing programs, schedule flexibility, travel to keep their musicianship relevant; I’ve been in their shoes.

Congratulations on finding your place, and your people. Any advice or lessons learned?

It’s a marathon, not a sprint. College conservatories aren’t set up to be trade schools –they’re set up to teach you how to think critically, how to get through a discipline, how to do detail work, how to research. Even folks with performance degrees are likely not going to be performing right out of school, and that post-school can be really difficult and demoralizing. The long view is important.

Go with whatever comes your way and try different things. I think of the music industry as a tree – different branches that grow out of a common language and shared discipline and creativity. If you’re exposing yourself to those different branches, you’re learning about what you do – and don’t – want to be doing. It’s just as important to listen to your negative experiences, and analyze them to see what parts to carry forward and which to discard.

In thinking back over our conversation, it sounds like I’ve bounced around to various positions, but that’s what it takes to find your way.  There are many branches on the tree, and eventually you find the one that’s right for you.

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Make a new plan, Stan.

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.)

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Reading Room

On my reading list for the holidays? This new book from Clara Pressler. She says, in a post on the Fractured Atlas Blog:

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!

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Profile Friday Roundup

Greetings from San Francisco! (I bet that curtain weighs hundreds of pounds...)

As I try to acclimate myself to the west coast (it’s been three days and I’m finally waking up at 5:30am, rather than 4am. Progress!), I hope you’ll skim through the profiles that we’ve featured here over the last few months.

(Listed in order of appearance.)

Mark Bradley Miller

James Lynn

Melissa Collom

Joseph Craig

Jennifer Empie

Tonya McKinny

Sean McAuliffe

Kim Pensinger Witman

Tracy Cherpeski

Vic Muenzer

Stephen Brody

Annie Burridge

Tom Wright

Peter Zimmerman

Gia-Ninh Chuang

At the very least, there are some salient points to be taken from each of these journeys. At best – and that’s personally where I think these stories and intentions belong – they’re tales of discernment and courage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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On standby.

Tuesday is Travel Day!

Posting will be light for a while, as I’ll be on the road for our Annual Autumn Audition Extravaganza…over 500 auditions in eight cities across the country over the next four-and-a-half weeks. It’s an exciting and challenging time for us – we’re vetting repertoire choices as we’re listening to singers, trying to find the right mix for our 2013 season.

During this time, I’m always reminded of my own circuitous journey, that brought me to my seat on the other side of the audition table. I’m happy with where I am now, but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that it was a rough path getting here. I’m hoping to post some reflections, and a little bit of inspiration, during this year’s tour.

This Friday I’ll post a recap of the profiles we’ve seen thus far. And – if you have a story that you’d like to share, or want to nominate someone whose story you’d think would resonate with readers, please email me at indirectroutes@gmail.com.

If you’re auditioning this fall, please know that I am in awe of your courage and that I’m sending you good wishes from my side of the table. And if you’ve decided that this is your last audition season, or that your heart’s not really in it, or that you need to try something else but are too scared? Well, I hope you’ll check back for a little bit of support and some real-life examples.

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Monday Inspiration

Again, Jessica Nagy of Indexed totally has my number. (Today’s example is this graphic, “Not Just for Kids”)

As does Bikram Choudhury.

“Never too old, never too sick, never too bad to start again.”

Indeed.

What would you start, if you thought you could?

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Annie Burridge: Soprano and Senior VP

Profile Phridays are back!

I’m glad to introduce you to Annie Burridge, Senior Vice-President for Institutional Advancement for the Opera Company of Philadelphia. I had a chance to get to know her during the Opera America Leadership Advance, and I think her experiences will resonate with many “reformed singers.” Here’s her story.

How did you get your start?

Technically, my theater career began at age 6, when I was the Littlest Indian in a production of Peter Pan. My mom was a music teacher, and there was always music in our house. I sang all through school, was in musicals and community theater productions. I earned an undergraduate degree from Pennsylvania State University, majoring in Vocal Performance and minoring in Business. (There’s some classic foreshadowing for you, because even though I didn’t really know what Arts Administration was, I thought it sounded interesting.)

I had success and support at Penn State, but didn’t really know whether I was competitive on a larger scale. I did some graduate school auditions, and got a good offer from New England Conservatory. Right before starting the program, all of the incoming students auditioned for a spot in the Opera program, and I was extremely fortunate to be one four sopranos selected. (The entire program was capped somewhere around 25 singers) I worked with John Moriarty, and sang Mrs. Wordsworth in Albert Herring and Cunegonde in Candide. I was really happy with the opportunities that I was given while in school, but found my outside auditions to be a little less successful: I did a pay-to-sing in Salzburg one summer, but didn’t have much luck in the YAP realm until the December after I graduated. Des Moines Metro Opera called on December 23rd: they needed a Gretel for their January Opera Iowa tour, and even though I hadn’t had a live audition for them (I had sent a recording of Zerbinetta’s aria, because they had programmed Ariadne auf Naxos for the summer season), they offered me the role. I did the tour, and stayed on for the summer season. The following spring I did the Pensacola Opera Young Artist program.

It sounds like you were on your way!

Maybe, but it didn’t so much feel like I was on my way. On one hand, I felt incredibly grateful to have those professional opportunities; I learned so much! It was extremely frustrating. I knew that I could tackle difficult repertoire (Lulu, anyone?), but it didn’t seem to matter. It also didn’t matter that I was a good writer, or a natural planner. I rewrote my classroom presentations for the DMMO school tour, but having that eye for strategic planning didn’t make directors more likely to hire me. I had this whole host of talents that simply didn’t transfer over.

Ouch. That’s a hard place to be.

It was. When the Pensacola program finished I went home to Philadelphia – I had met a guy named Paul in between my residencies at DMMO and Pensacola, so I had some incentive. (He’s now my husband.) And I took an administrative job at the University of Pennsylvania to earn some money, as I was just tired of being poor. One of the perks of the job was that I could take classes at Penn for free, so I signed up for a Marketing class in their Non-Profit Administration program. After the first two classes I knew that I had found my thing, and weeks later I was offered my first arts administration position.

Huh! Did you make the decision to change right then?

Yes. It was a big moment for me. I’ve always been someone who commits fully to a career path, and I felt I needed to choose either the administrative career or the singing career – I didn’t want to dilute my impact in either arena by only giving it half my attention. I discussed it with my husband, cried for about an hour, and then made the switch.

Million-dollar question: was it worth it?

I had an epiphany in the car one day shortly after making the switch: I remembered the sitzprobe of Madama Butterfly at Des Moines, and just being moved to tears at the beauty of the music, the complete experience. I remembered sitting alone in the audience during a rehearsal of Barber of Seville in Pensacola when I was covering Rosina, listening to the overture,and again being moved to tears that opera was my job. And I realized that the moments that stuck with me the most weren’t moments in which I was actually singing. It was a revelation. So short answer? Indeed it was worth it. I call on the experiences that I had as a singer daily in my current position (Ed.: Annie oversees all the development and marketing efforts for OCP.) – my knowledge of the industry and passion for the art form allows me to inspire the people with whom I work and interact. I also feel so much more ownership in my current role at OCP than I did as a singer. I can watch a rehearsal and know that my efforts made a huge portion of this production happen. My traction with donors and the financial health of the organization dictates that I am part of the artistic process. Granted, if it were up to my personal preferences we’d be doing all Britten, all the time! But I enjoy being the person who represents our stakeholders and larger community in those discussions. And finally, those skills that I felt were underutilized when I was singing – writing, planning – I’m using every day.

It’s rear-view mirror time: What advice would you give to someone who is struggling through a dilemma similar to your post-Pensacola frustrations?

Be honest with what you want your life to look like. I was lucky in that I had some blazing arrows pointing me to my place in the industry, but I still have pals who are struggling through these decisions.Think about what you want your life to look like 5, 10, even 20 years down the road. What’s your ultimate goal? How can you pick up the skills that will get you there? Some people need to remain close to the creative process, so they might opt for teaching over an administrative job. Some may want to cobble five or six different kinds of performing jobs into a career. I knew that I wanted to be involved at the highest level of artmaking, and it became clear to me that I wasn’t going to be able to reach that level as a singer. I wanted to be a part of the biggest game in town, and I wanted to be a big part of it.

I think you’ve made it! Do you have any parting words or wisdom?

My boss’ motto is to be nice to everyone, all the time. It’s a small industry, and once you build those relationships you’ll have a network of people to ask for advice and help…because soon that assistant will be running the program for which you’ve dreamed of working. It always pays to be nice.

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Celebrate the Mess!

I am such a fan of people’s stories.

A huge fan. And not just of the final product, but of the whole ongoing process: the passion, the struggles, the discernment, the adventure of a new path, the satisfaction of recommitting to a routine or activity that brings comfort. But I’m finding that folks often apologize for the process…for leaving their original passion, for floundering before finding the new avenue.

Quite frankly? Those messy moments are so very telling. I am also a HUGE fan of those creative messes.

I remember being called into a meeting at my HVAC job, where my bosses quite generously offered me an opportunity to advance to their sales team. I had no real knowledge of the business, had a limited background in the science and technology behind the product, and while I enjoyed the office and the challenge of educating myself about widgets and airflow and humidity (and also learning to RTFM) I was pretty sure that I didn’t belong there. But I really didn’t know what I wanted to do…so I stammered my way out of the meeting, letting them know how flattered I was to be considered. I slept on it, and shortly thereafter tendered my resignation to finish my teaching certificate.

It was a messy situation, a snap decision, but ultimately it was the right thing.

Do I regret my widget days? Not at all – I learned how to function in a linear, masculine office, figure things out on my own before asking (and to also not be ashamed when I needed to ask), and speak my mind plainly and clearly. But I also didn’t realize that my (wholly unformed)dreams didn’t jive with my circumstance until my bosses showed a willingness to invest in me.  It was a catalyst, a get-off-your-butt-and-make-a-choice moment.

I’ve referenced Danielle LaPorte before, but this posting is a theme that I think bears repeating:

You don’t need to burn the dock to push off your boat.

You don’t need to dis’ how you’ve done things in order to do things differently.

There’s no need to criticize the past to validate the future.

But we do.

She goes on to say that honoring the path that got us to -or even past – the messy part is a vital part of our own story. And I would heartily agree.

Celebrate the mess, my friends!

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