My Midlife Passion and Purpose (Part 1)
Some women struggle with their first career change at midlife. I’m on my third - or maybe fourth or fifth depending on who you ask. I had my first in my mid 20s.
I went to college to study music business. I wanted to be a musician - a singer - but was terrified of failing and felt the need to find job security to fuel my ambitions. Early on in academics I got cold feet though. It was clear I was no Madonna or Jewel or any other already-branded name in the biz at the time. But I also didn’t feel good enough to branch out like Ani or Bjork or Fiona. I didn’t have a solid footing on my sound. Or financial backing to even try to find one.
So I quit and delved into proving myself as a worthy-contender working my way up through the music business side of things.
In a year or two after I graduated and moved to Los Angeles, I got connected with some other musicians. I was fortunate to work at a major publishing company and had access to many talented musicians that had similar goals but most didn’t have the time or money to pull the trigger either. I got a little spark in my belly and recorded my first full length album. It was jazz and blues and while the genre will always be a classic, it’s rarely been a financially solvent one. But it’s all I really knew - it’s what got me accepted to Berklee in the first place, and I wasn’t too confident in sampling something else.
I shopped that bitch around to anyone and everyone that would listen: A&R reps, managers, agents. Somehow I got some radio traction and a little PR from it, but nothing beyond a mini-tour at places where family and friends helped fill the seats.
Back then I said I just wanted “success” - whatever that meant at the time is still vague. But now, I think I just wanted to feel “heard.”
A former professor at Berklee heard it and got my number. He said he could help get me get to higher ground. I saved some money, got several generous investors, and recorded another EP. The prof said he shopped the hell out of it, but I really don’t know to who beyond his lone contact at Blue Note. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m pretty sure I got scammed.
I stopped gigging after that. I felt so ashamed and stupid for not catching the red flags - there were many, but I was certain the prof had all the power and experience. I really didn’t know what the hell I was doing anyway. Back then I said I just wanted “success” - whatever that meant at the time is still vague. But now, I think I just wanted to feel heard.
For the next several years, I feverishly climbed the ranks in the music industry until I had my fill of the corporate world. I needed to get out and find an independent job with flexible hours, handsome pay, and one with legs to allow us to move, but I couldn’t put my finger on what that would be.
I taught group fitness classes at a Bally’s gym part time in Culver City when one of my groupies approached me.
“This’ll be my last class,” she said. “I’m moving to Hawaii in a couple of days.”
That year as a student was pure hell. Juggling a full time job, going to school full time, teaching fitness part time, and interning at a wellness center and salon part time, i nearly lost my mind and my marriage.
She was a single mom in her late 40s, always upbeat with a hippy-at-heart persona, and had reported her youngest kid just finished high school. Something about her spunk and spirit in that moment gave me the courage to ask her what she did for a living. I sure didn’t want to be in my 40s and carry the weight of the funk I was feeling in my late-20s work-troubles.
She smiled, wiping her bike a few feet away. “I never told you? I’ve been a massage therapist for nearly 20 yrs…”
I was in shock. A single mom able to support her family in Los Angeles as an MT?! I took the bait and enrolled in an accredited massage school the following semester.
That year as a student was pure hell. Jugging a full time job, going to school full time, teaching fitness part time and interning at a wellness center and salon part time, I nearly lost my mind and my marriage. I wouldn’t recommend the way I did it, but upon graduation and certification, I gave my notice to the video game company I worked for and ventured out to build my practice.
For the next decade I continued massage. We moved to Nashville for a year and I cut my teeth working at a high-end spa. Then, on a whim we moved to Steamboat Springs for another 9 years and I worked at various spas and built my private practice in the mountains. During our first year we needed extra cash something fierce. I saw an opening to play some better-paid gigs, so, I dusted off my musical chops and added that to my resume along with working as a food broker and bookkeeper to help some entrepreneurial friends in the area.
Is massage my dream, my passion, my purpose? Not even close.
Those years in the mountains I did a lot of hustling. In a resort town you have to if you want to afford the luxury of living in such a magical place. Massage, music, sales, accounting, and towards the end, freelance writing joined the work-load. I can’t say I loved all the hats I was wearing at the time, but I was definitely willing to wear them if it meant I could avoid going back to the 9-5 grind.
Last year we moved to the front range and the idea of keeping my foot on the gas of building a private massage practice once again and in the midst of a pandemic deflated my sails. But I knew it was necessary to pay the bills so I started connecting with new clients.
I can’t complain, massage has been good to me, and I do love my clients. Their generosity has kept our finances afloat more often than not. But is it my dream? My passion or purpose? Not even close.
A couple of months ago I had another mini-breakdown. I discovered my passion and purpose, but couldn’t figure out how it was going to pay the bills.
How can you pursue a dream without any assurance it will come true so you can finally retire from your day job?
“You’ll never know till you try,” I’ve heard myself telling friends, the kids, and perfect strangers I’ve struck up deep conversations with.
But to “try” could mean I’ll fall on my face again. And I’m feeling too old and proud to look a fool at 40.
Is it a pipe dream? A unicorn to pursue a passion in writing and having a podcast and holding women-led retreats all over the world? Is it so whimsical that only women like Gwyneth Paltrow, Oprah, the Hiltons, and Kardashians can successfully pull off?
Maybe…
But in the words of my husband when fearful, cynical me has barked similar, negative what-if’s:
“What would you do though if you didn’t fall on your face or look a fool? What would you do if your passion and purpose reaches beyond moving and healing just you and what if you become your own brand of real, raw, relateability?”
So I’m doing it. I’m going all in. Sure, I might be writing blogs or novels that only I end up reading. I might do podcasts that get zero followers. And the women-led retreats I envision are only attended by yours truly. But I won’t know my failure to success ratio of following my passions and purposes until I put myself out there and try.
Maybe that’s what passions and purposes are really all about - not so much the end game or destiny, but the tenacity at the start and the journey itself.
Maybe I found my passion and purpose a long time ago: trying new experiences and carrying them out until they don’t fit anymore. If not, I can safely say I’ve lived my life with the intention of finding my passion and purpose.
Hopefully one of these attempts will take root. That or I’ll die trying…
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