Miscellaneous Musings of a Modern Musician

… of a new New Yorker!

That’s right.  I’ve made it.  Upon moving to New York City, I told myself, “If you’re doing well enough after one year, you’ll be able to stay for a while.”  Well, that one year mark is a mere two days away, and I think I’ll arrive at it quite gracefully.

More importantly, not hungry.

What a wild year.  I do a lot of things in life based on curiously strong impulses (watch out, Altoids; you’re not the only successful thing that’s curiously strong).  When I found myself one day sitting on my couch in Chicago rendered almost incapacitated by a daydream so strong that I couldn’t for the life of me (or the work in front of me) snap out of it, I made the decision.

I’d been in Chicago for five years at that point; I’d had a plethora of wonderful experiences, I’d accomplished some great things with some very talented people.  But despite it all, I felt something growing a bit stale.  I needed a change.  Not just an “I’m going to remodel my living room” change, or an “I think it’s time I found a new restaurant” change.  I needed a “kick in the pants” change.  A big one.  A full-on life change, if you will.  I was a couple months shy of my 27th birthday, and I’ve heard it said that something in the cosmos presents a strong desire to make such a change in one’s life every 27 years or so.  Well, shadow of Venus and retrograde Mercury (or whoever was responsible), I listened.

I was hungry for a while.  Oh, yes.  Ramen noodles (God bless ‘em) once every other day.  The occasional (and entirely against my financially independent will) Western Union cash from out-of-town friends that allowed me to “splurge” on a Subway sandwich.  And I wasn’t working.  Understandably, though.  There’s very rarely much work to be had in my line of work in the dead of winter (especially for someone brand new to the work pool).  But I was doing my job, though.  I was networking.  Networking like a whore in church.

Pardon the expression, but it paid off.

The combination of winter, food shortage, lack of work, and the overall feeling of “Oh, God, what the hell have I done” very nearly prompted me to move back to the Midwest and try it all again later.  But, as I mentioned before, this was supposed to be a “kick in the pants” life change.  And so that’s precisely what I did.  I kicked.  Hard.  Spring arrived, and I started working.  And working.  And working.  Thanks to an amazing new network of friends and colleagues who all saw my potential, I went from destitute to vest-and-suit almost overnight.  Okay, so maybe I don’t really wear suits.

And I still splurge on Subway sandwiches from time to time.

All of the changes of pace I was hoping for have happened.  Professionally, I find myself gaining respect and working with more prestigious talent than ever before.  Socially, I’ve jumped head-first into a vast pool of so many amazing new faces, stories and relationships (though, of course, I miss my friends and family in the Midwest).  As far as “scene” goes, I can’t say enough how brilliantly amazing New York City is and continues to be.  Perhaps we’ll hold off mentioning the dating side of this equation for just a bit longer … but even that’s better now, as well.

With that ribbon stretched across the track just two days ahead of me, the finish line no longer feels like a daunting goal incredibly far off in the distance.  In fact, I’m rather amazed at how short the 12-month race has felt.  It’s been a crazy race, but I’m ready and quite able to throw myself at that ribbon with a huge smile of contentment, feeling incredibly lucky, blessed, and entirely motivated to run around the track a few more times.

But this time I think I’ll pass on the ramen noodles.  Unless I really feel like splurging.

Goodbye and thank you kindly, Windy City; hello Big Apple. Please be good to me.

My move to Chicago four and a half years ago was the product of a whim. A very strong subconscious urge. An impulse. Really, a first foray into the urban culture. Fresh out of college, I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom, of possibility. I was scared, of course, but I wasn’t about to let butterflies in my stomach interfere with the excitement that permeated my entire consciousness. I was a man on a mission.

Lucky for me, it was “Mission: Accomplished,” and I made pretty good time getting the job done.

I would recommend a stint in Chicago to any emerging artist fresh off the alma mater apron strings. It’s a beautiful and vibrant city that is graciously welcoming to new talent. I will never forget the people I met and the amazing work I did. We did.

Now, though, I really feel an overwhelming sense of beginning. New York City: so flirtatious, so fickle. So finnicky. So entirely unforgiving. Yet entirely essential to many a successful artist’s career. Once again, I’m faced with an urge, an impulse stronger than I’ve ever felt, and once again I find myself relocating on a whim.

But it’s different this time, I think.

Despite my four and a half years experiencing life as a freelance musician in a big city, I have another permeating feeling that I’m about to truly begin my journey. I’ve built up a burgeoning résumé, I’ve chalked up wins and losses, and I for once feel ready to take on the Big Apple. Now my career has a chance to shape itself around the mold I imagined for it. I’m incredibly excited. I’m unimaginably terrified. I’m letting an irrationally thick leash of trust lead me to my next venture. I’ll be at the mercy of a merciless industry, brandishing a razor sharp blade of confidence that I’ll convince myself not to be afraid to use.

And I’ll be reconnecting with an amazing community of friends, one extremely important element of my definition of wealth. Really, more vital than the ever-elusive dollar. I can’t wait to reconnect with them all; I will, of course, be leaving behind an incredible group of friends in Chicago. I’ll miss them deeply.

But this move is the beginning of something huge. I want opportunities to work all over the world. This is why I don’t say anything about an ending; Chicago, I don’t at all intend to be a stranger. We’ll cross paths again.

And so it BEGINS … with two suitcases and a fragile bank account. With a great sublease in Astoria. With all the hope I can possibly imagine. With all the trepidation that my realist (sane) side instills in my brain. With all the fantastical ideas that populate my heart.

Here goes nothing …