RoyalTenenbaumFilter: You're a precocious artsy
wunderkind. You have a nervous breakdown and the years fly. How to claw your way back up?
What I need, really, is some life advice.
Like generations of too-sensitive artistic types before me, I grew up in the suburbs, relying obsessively on art and music to get me through a latch-key childhood and years of emotional and physical isolation. Both as a form of personal therapy and from sheer drive, I worked obsessively on my art (prose nonfiction and songwriting) and became very, very, very, very good at it.
In high school, I started a record label, put out a crapload of records, and got a great head start on a freelance writing and publishing career. I moved to a big city for college, got an amazing job at a well-known record label, and started making the local "Next Big Thing" lists with my own music the next year. By the age of 24, I'd put out four CDs, published a crapload of articles, done some modeling, had a press kit the size of the Webster's dictionary, toured the country a handful of times, had played with (or at least met) most of my lifelong musical and artistic heroes, and generally had my shit together to a ridiculous degree. I had aimed for the stratosphere and, Icarus-like, I was getting pretty close.
Then, one day, the stress of burning at both ends totally exploded in my face. I had a nervous breakdown onstage in the middle of a high-profile performance. Battle-scarred, embarrassed, and embittered, I dumped everything and ditched it all to go live the domestic life in the suburbs, where I tried in vain for three years to live a normal, picket-fence, day-job life.
In the suburbs, work-wise, I was screwed. Because I had always arrogantly assumed I'd be living primarily off of my art, I had either temped between tours or took low-paying, demeaning administrative jobs to keep the money coming in. I had great entrepreneurial and creative skill sets and experience, but because "musician" and "songwriter" and "essayist" don't exactly fit on a workaday resume, I didn't have much to recommend me. I swallowed my pride and did anything I needed to do to get by. As the years passed, the daily grind just ate away at me. I left my partner and decided to move back to the city to have another chance at the life that I needed.
Now I find myself at the other end of the telescope, staring 30 in the face and not quite the fresh-eyed kid I used to be. I have more "real-life" experience, which is not to be dismissed, and I've lived to survive failure, which is also important. But, on a day-to-day level, this endless stream of career-hopping jobs has killed me more than anything. Music companies won't hire me for entry-level jobs because I know too much, but I also don't have the resume "bang" to get me a higher-tier job that would challenge me and bring all of my myriad experience to good use.
I'm relatively happy with my artistic life, as I've kept busy doing commissioned music/theater work and earning my writing stripes through freelancing, but it just seems like such a huge waste to be stuck doing finance administration when my friends constantly tell me that I'm squandering my talent.
To be blunt, I am dying to get back into the business of publishing and/or music. Given the opportunity, I have no doubt that I'd prove myself in spades. But, as a not-exactly-recent grad, how do I climb over all the freshly-minted, internship-sharpened, wet-eared BA candidates and editorial whiz-kids to get in the door with such a ... unique back-story?
Thoughts, please.
posted by mykescipark to work & money (21 comments total)
3 users marked this as a favorite
Therapy.
Oh, and get the hell out of the suburbs. The suburbs is where dreams and ideas go to die.
(Probably not the answer you were looking for but it's all I've got.)
posted by ryanhealy at 6:34 PM on December 12, 2005