Tag: life updates

Knowing When to Quit

I always said I’d be a music therapist even if it killed me.

To be honest, it almost did.

And I’m still not a music therapist. But I’m okay.

It’s been about a week and a half since I put in my two weeks at my internship. It feels surreal. It still is hitting me that the future I planned so carefully for myself isn’t coming to fruition. I had no backup plan. Being a music therapist was the only path I saw for myself, and the yellow brick road to the MT-BC title was ripped out from under my feet.

There’s an Elton John song for that.

I was going to be a music therapist if it killed me. But what good is a dead music therapist?

I came home from work every day crying because I felt like I wasn’t good enough. It was like playing whack-a-mole with my weaknesses — I’d knock one out only to have three more pop up in its place. “You’re not empathetic enough.” “You can’t read people well enough to be a therapist.” “Feedback goes over your head — or maybe you’re too stubborn to listen to it.” “Oops, you shouldn’t have said that in a session.“ And the one that caused me to drop everything and leave:

“You’re causing more harm than you’re helping.”

Suddenly, I felt like the mole getting whacked.

Not a great feeling.

I was so distraught, for a moment I considered driving my car off the bridge and into the fucking river. Don’t call the psych ward on me — I’m too scared of death to actually act on anything. But the fact that the thought even occurred was my signal that maybe this wasn’t right for me.

I blame a lot of my failings on my particular brand of neurospiciness. A lot of times it felt like my supervisors were speaking another language, and my clients were speaking a completely different language, and I was just this alien being trying to simultaneously decode the feedback I was getting and figure out how to react to what was happening in session in real time without a guidebook or translator. It became very draining for me, to the point where I couldn’t give it my all anymore and I was flailing.

There are neurodivergent music therapists — I’m friends with a handful I could name right here. But my brain just isn’t wired in a way that works well with the clinical mindset you need to be a music therapist, and I’m coming to terms with that. All of the academic papers I’ve written and scholarship-winning presentations I’ve put together and wordy books I’ve read couldn’t have prepared me for the work I had to do.

And that’s okay. Maybe I’m meant for something else.

I wish I hadn’t wasted all of my adult life (and thousands of dollars) on a career that ultimately ended up not being a good fit for me, but they say nothing that leads you to the path you should be on is a waste of time. Perhaps this twist in my story will take me to exactly where I need to be, and if that’s the case, I don’t regret a thing.

As of writing, I’m figuring out my next steps. My dream was to open a recording studio for people of all ages and abilities, but I don’t need some lofty certification to do that. I could start that studio without the MT-BC title, damn it, and just not call it music therapy. It’ll be my own thing. Sometimes when the path to what you want crumbles, you carve out your own path. And that’s exactly what I plan to do in my own time. In the meantime, I’ll fine tune my music production skills and probably teach guitar lessons for a living, at least for a while.

It’s funny, I’m writing this in a little artsy coffeeshop in South Bend, Indiana that has a piano for anyone to play. I sat down at the bench and just played my heart out for the first time in a long time, and it was freeing. There were no expectations, no degree to earn, no supervisors to impress. It was just me and the music (and the room full of coffee-drinking patrons minding their own business). After a while, a little girl came up to me and told me she liked my playing. I invited her to sit with me and I showed her how to play a basic chord, and her face just lit up. As she left, I smiled to myself. That special little moment didn’t need a degree or a certification to happen. It just needed the genuine human connection only music can create, and nothing can take that away from me.

On Taking Chances: A Brief Life Update

Let’s start this post with a prompt:

What are you doing this evening?

I know, I know. It’s rare that I publish two blog posts within the same day, but I just so happened to receive this writing prompt on the eve of what is hopefully the start of something grand.

This evening, I’ll be packing my things for a adventure, and — God willing — will soon be packing my things for an even bigger adventure.

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you’ll know I’ve been struggling with finding a music therapy internship. I’d made the mistake of betting all I had on an internship with an organization in a neighboring town. It wasn’t exactly my dream internship, but it was a. local and b. not hospice. Unfortunately, I was passed over, which put a massive damper on my dreams of ever becoming a music therapist. Desperate, I applied to a few more internships, mostly nearby hospices. But I secretly wanted something closer to what I imagine doing for a living, something with diverse clientele with many different needs.

A professor recommended a place in Fort Wayne, Indiana, which is not where I wanted to end up, but the internship itself was exactly what I was looking for. The clients are incredibly varied, the practice uses a wide array of methods, and it’s a private practice, meaning I’ll hopefully get to about how to start and manage my own someday. Although the location was less than ideal, I applied and scored a virtual interview. To my surprise, I received an invite for an in-person interview and observation. The owner of the practice even said because I’d been invited, I was in high consideration for the position.

Which leaves me where I am now, doing cartwheels in my head.

Mostly because I can’t do cartwheels in real life.

I leave for the in-person interview tomorrow. I plan to scope out the area while I’m there, since I’ll be relocating for the duration of the internship. My wife is hesitant but supportive, and she’s willing to make the move with me should I get this opportunity. We’ll likely be staying in an extended-stay hotel for the extent of the internship, and we won’t be able to work steady jobs, so we’ll have to rely on savings and my stipend to live. I’ll have to find another doctor and pharmacy for my Adderall as well, which will be a challenge in and of itself. It’ll be hard work, making this happen, but I’m willing to jump in and take this risk.

As tempted as I was to be bitter about not getting my first choice of internship, I have a gut feeling this one will be even better. I needed a push out of the nest of my own contentment, even I’m kicking and screaming the entire way down. Life is about being uncomfortable sometimes — no true adventure comes without discomfort. I could sit idly by in my cozy little corner of The Mitten waiting for opportunity to find me, or I can run out into the world (well, into Indiana) and take a chance for once in my life.

I’m ready to take that leap.