Defining Success
Sunday, May 18th represented a milestone in my musical and personal life: my graduation from the Eastman School of Music. It was certainly a momentous occasion, and I celebrated by participating in all of the obligatory Commencement Day activities: being blinded by multiple photo shoots, attempting not to choke on my windswept tassel, and praying I wouldn’t trip as I walked across the stage of Kodak Hall to receive my diploma. But I managed to keep my balance, and after the blue-green after-images of flashbulbs had finally faded from my vision, I was able to feast my eyes upon the diploma that officially proclaimed me a “Master of Music.” That’s right folks, I did it! No more Bachelor status for me (at least, academically speaking. I’m still single). All in all, it was a surreal afternoon.
Of course, my newly-acquired pedigree caused me to be the recipient of many congratulatory messages, even though I stubbornly refused to post a soppy Facebook tribute (for my complete opinion on those types of statuses, see this relevant post from April). Many of these notes contained the closing salutation, “best wishes for your future success.” Such a wish is, of course, another graduation stereotype–nobody’s going to write “best wishes for a failed career” in a graduation card, unless they really don’t like its addressee–but it caused me to ponder: what exactly does “success” mean in the classical music world? Winning a top-tier orchestral position, perhaps; becoming a member of a renowned chamber music ensemble; securing a teaching job at a reputable music school. It’s a familiar list of prospects, but to achieve any of the above is certainly quite difficult, even for graduates of the best schools. I could get into the statistics, but that would be preaching to the choir. We all know the reality of the job market in our field, and its immensely competitive nature.
As I’m not returning to school for another degree (at least, not right away), I’ve given a lot of thought to the types of activities I hope to pursue in the coming years, and have had to define for myself what I would consider success in my career to look like. Interestingly, in the process of this reflection I realized that my most rewarding endeavors as an aspiring cellist were not necessarily represented in the laundry list of accomplishments included in my bio and resume. Yes, I was very fortunate to be accepted at such fantastic schools as NEC and Eastman, and to attend similarly high-level summer programs as Aspen and Interlochen. But the experiences that truly touched me were experiences that didn’t adorn me with impressive credentials–experiences such as teaching inner-city schoolchildren in Rochester, performing at a retirement home in Boston, or witnessing a surprise performance by Yo-Yo Ma and Renee Fleming in a food court in Chicago. I realized it was not in some tiny audition room where I garnered the most satisfaction as a musician, but in places as far removed from the conservatory as possible. It was the little things, not the big ones, that mattered most.
So it is, too, with our careers. I think we are often so focused on attaining a high degree of success that we fail to recognize the success we’ve already had. This assertion, of course, is not intended to diminish the significance of great success; it’s merely the acknowledgement that lesser success is still significant. On the most basic, intrinsic level, to achieve success as a musician requires no more than touching someone’s life through music–and whether that takes place on the stage of orchestra hall or the back of a middle school hall is quite simply irrelevant.
Now, obviously, it’s important to have a position that offers financial stability, and similarly important not to settle for anything less than you’re capable of; if you want to shoot for the figurative stars, go for it. But only do it if you want to. It’s very easy to fall into the trap of doing something purely for the sake of doing it, but that’s utterly erroneous in the same way that people get married before they’re thirty just so they can be married before they’re thirty. If you don’t do it for the right reasons, it won’t be ultimately satisfying, and it won’t help you achieve what true success really is. After much reflection, contemplation, and experience, I think that, in the end, the definition of success in music–or any profession, for that matter–is remarkably uncomplicated. Success is effectively using your finely-honed skills and abilities for the right reasons. Failure to do so is the only failure worth fearing.
