Shortly after graduating from college, having decided to move to England with a vague and optimistic master plan on how to succeed in the music industry, I did the rounds to say goodbye to a number of professors I had particularly liked during the years. While visiting my French professor who, on hindsight, I liked more for his dashing looks than for any Proust he might have taught me, he asked me what I thought was a strange question: “Why would you leave a place where you can be a Queen Bee and move somewhere where you will be a nobody?”. I was slightly stumped at the time – other than a need to follow my instincts, I wasn’t quite sure why I was going. Call it wanting for some new experiences, broadening my horizons, or just being young and foolish, I knew I had to leave my hometown and move on.
As I live in a personal belief system that won’t allow me to look back, question decisions and play the what ifs game, in my world that original decision worked very well for me. I don’t know what kind of Queen Bee I would have become if I had stayed but I have certainly transformed into a butterfly, perfectly happy with my imperfect kingdom.
That question posed so long ago recently resurfaced when I decided to leave my latest job. I had been with a generous and interesting company for over 8 years; I was respected and beloved by my staff; I had a dream commute (not something to discard when living in LA) and I could have comfortably stayed on for many years to come. None of those thoughts did indeed cross my mind when I was mulling a change; rather, I was reminded of them this when the time came to say goodbye to my coworkers and clients, a process that seemed to stretch beyond the last day and was filled with tears and vaguely nostalgia. I knew it was time t face new challenges, reinvent a third act that, on paper and rationally, has very few reasons to succeed. But how do I define success? Is it the paycheck at the end of the month? The number of people who will like me on Facebook?
On my last day, I told my mostly young staff not to forget their dreams. Ever. To water them a little bit everyday and to go after them, as outlandish and improbable as they are, because no one else will do it for them. In the end, it’s no so much the dream itself that matters but our willingness to embark on the journey to get there. That the “there” might not be the one we had originally envisioned matters little – we will have changed in the process and that is what I am seeking with my “foolish” choice.
It was probably foolish to leave a career path that a couple of university professors were more than happy to guide me on and to go fold children’s sweatshirts in a clothing store in London, pinching pennies to afford some meat now and then, all the while sending handwritten and made-up resumes to every single record company, recording studio and management company in town, trying to get a foot in the door. It turned out I got both feet in, happy to relinquish the Queen Bee position to someone else who, I am sure, enjoyed it a lot more.