This is a note to self, a journal of sorts. You might find it relevant too…
A few years ago, when I made the bold decision to step out as an artist and make my music public, a friend of mine told me about a global organisation that organises intimate shows and concerts in amazing spaces. I looked into it and my first thought was that it would be a dream to play one of their gigs. Naturally, I filled out the application form and heard nothing. A few weeks went by and I applied again, and heard nothing. Months and years went by, and having heard nothing after countless applications, I eventually forgot about it.
And then, a few days ago I got an email from the organisation saying my application had been accepted and I'd been offered a show. It took me by surprise because I couldn't even remember which specific application I'd made over the years that had now been accepted. But it didn't matter, I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I promptly accepted the offer, and I played that gig on Friday evening. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was everything I thought it would be, and so much more.
The next day I played another gig. This one was set up differently. Firstly, it was a Saturday daytime gig in a commercial venue. Secondly, I was the sole artist, expected to fill an extended slot, which meant playing for longer than usual. The gig went well, and like the night before, I was so glad I had played it.
On my way home, the significance of these two gigs started to dawn on me. On Friday night I played a gig, which a few years ago was on my bucket list. If someone had told me back then that I would have not only played it, but come away with a high, I would have struggled to believe them. On Saturday, I played an extended set which, years ago I couldn't have imagined I'd be able to play. When I started playing live, I couldn't have imagined that I’d be able to hold a stage for that long, or even have the material to fill that slot. But here I was, travelling home, having played for nearly two hours – two hours worth of my own songs – and not once during the set did I feel like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel and scrambling for what songs to play. Now, these two events aren't massive by any means. I believe I'm ready and capable to act on opportunities like these today. But if my previous self could see me now, he'd be overwhelmed with joy, pride and awe.
This is all to say I’ve come a long way from where I started. I tell these stories not to brag – there's not much to brag about really – but to point out that these things I take for granted now, are things that seemed impossible to me not so long ago. There’s a previous version of me that would have given anything to do the things I do now. And here I am, playing a sold-out show one evening and an extended set the next day. A part of me thinks, as I write this, that these things aren’t even worth bragging about. I know people that have played countless shows, and people that play two-hour sets several times a week. This is a voice in my head that nags at me, telling me I’m still not good enough, that there are much better people out there, that I’m nowhere near where I need to be on my journey, that nobody needs to hear this nonsense. And yet, this is precisely why I need to share this publicly, for a few reasons.
Firstly, while there are people for whom this is basic, for other people, these ideas represent something to aspire to, something from which they might draw inspiration. Secondly, I recognise that there’s little point in comparing my journey to someone else’s. Comparison is the thief of joy, as the old expression goes. The only thing worth comparing my present self to is my previous self, and as I’ve established, I feel I’m making progress. There’s a third reason to put this out there, and it’s that it cements these thoughts and this moment in the sands of time. As such, it creates a touch point that I can hopefully look back on in the future and smile. I like to think that a future version of me will look back on how I celebrated these gigs and smile, because by then, I'd be in a much better place, playing some of the nicest gigs around, featuring much longer sets and top-notch material.
For now, it behoves me to celebrate the wins that my previous self once thought impossible, wins that my present self might be tempted to take for granted. This is easier said than done. A little-known quirk of the human condition is what psychologists call hedonic adaptation, which is the tendency to seamlessly acclimatise when our situations improve, so that we quickly forget how bad things used to be and continue chasing the next level of improvement. This, for instance, is why the joys of a pay rise quickly fade and we find ourselves hardly better off than before. Economists would explain this by saying one's expenditure inevitably rises to match one's income.
From time to time we would inevitably land on the hedonic treadmill, this is a given. The way off the treadmill is to stop and smell the roses. This sounds counterintuitive because the natural instinct is to keep running to avoid falling off the treadmill. However, we need to recognise that it is the act of running that propels and powers the hedonic treadmill. When we learn to stop and appreciate how far we've come from where we started, we create the possibility of a much more pleasurable journey.
It might not always be easy, and the journey won't always be rosy. I should know. A few days ago I sent out a batch of queries to potential publishers for my next book, and I’ve already received three rejections this week – one of them came literally as I was writing this. I have no doubt that I’ll get more rejections next week, but that’s okay. In fact, that’s great, because a few years ago I could only dream about writing books and querying publishers. Now, I have two books – a full-length novel and a children's novella – accepted for publication and will be available later this year, and there are others in the works. Each rejection is a good reminder that I'm putting myself out there and doing the things I need to be doing to make progress. Each rejection makes me appreciate the rewards – big and small – that come my way. Each rejection is a reminder that I should savour the wins and take it all in.
PS: Just a reminder that my next single, Feels Like Rain will be available everywhere on Friday 2nd June. Please pre-save it now, share it with a friend, share it with your social networks, and consider subscribing to the newsletter (below), my YouTube channel, or wherever else you listen to music.