I quit.

I know I said I wasn’t going to quit but here’s the thing, I think I may this time.

I showed up to a conference full of people I assume are like me on some level–well-meaning, insecure, masking it with interesting hats and body art. Stickers on their guitar case that function the same way the front sleeve of your binder did in middle school: This Is Me, note my affection for Stevie Nicks, the environment, and pro-abortion legislation. Note the stickers of lesser known bands I’m proud of myself for listening to. Note my sense of humor and my travels, my battered guitar case which indicates my many journeys accompanied by song. And you know, if that’s what we were all doing there, comparing proverbial binders and commiserating, I think it would’ve been ok and I wouldn’t have to quit, but then there was the rest. 

Have you ever tried networking as an introverted songwriter who both knows very few people, maintains very few close friendships, and is afraid of looking dumb? Who, when asked about herself, usually just says “well, I’m a mom…” and trails off as though nothing else of interest is present in my mind or body? Have you ever hovered around the edges of conversations already going on, nodding like you know what’s happening and trying to participate but get mostly bulldozed by the extroverted salesmen saying, again, how he has a six-man team? Have you ever sat and listened to a panel of incredible women (Ani DiFranco was there, I mean–) talk about how hard it is to be a mom in the music industry but still leave feeling insecure because you didn’t learn that the hard way, overtly, by touring with two small children? Have you ever listened to a gatekeeper tell you how they keep the gate, and how annoying it is when the people trying to get through the gate ask to get through the gate in the incorrect fashion?

It’s just this: we all know it’s a racket. We know that only a very few will “make it” the way the outside public perceives “making it.” We know that artists are underpaid and often desperate. We all know some people are handing out “take every gig, play for free” sort of advice and others are saying “unionize, never play for free or you’ll ruin it for all of us.” We know that hustling, hurling ourselves (I’m including myself but I don’t deserve inclusion here, I have not joined this throng due to my…well…brain, really) at anywhere that could be a venue, making spreadsheets of experience and rejections, is often the only way to make any money or claim to have really tried. We all know there are so, so many of us and that it’s way nicer to be friends than competitors. But…but we’re just these soft-bellied feelers, so many of us. The solution to this problem can’t be just “that’s the way it is.” But that’s still the only solution being offered. 

I guess I just wanted to find my people. And I didn’t find my people, and I can’t tell if it was my fault or if this just wasn’t for me. Or if any of it is for me. Or if I’m better off stepping back, looking at this heaping pile of nonsense I’ve built in my head about what work counts, what success means, what community is, and start shoveling it out of there. Gotta make room for something new.