The Worst Goal I Ever Achieved: Earning $100k as a Professional Musician

The Worst Goal I Ever Achieved: Earning $100k as a Professional Musician

My eyes got wide as I stared down at my spreadsheet and realized…I’d done it. Beginning today, I hit the milestone of earning over $100,000 annual income as a professional musician. I was officially part of the “six-figure musician” club. Things would finally start looking up.

What I didn’t know was that four months later, I would give anything to rid myself of the responsibilities that afforded me this financial gain.

Zooming out and looking at the big picture, I realized what most of us 20-somethings realize. If I could achieve financial freedom, I could solve a majority of the issues I was facing. Insecure housing, pressure from rising inflation costs, fear of unknown future expenses. I could have a pulse on all of it, and eliminate the majority of my stress. So I set the goal: I wanted to be a six-figure musician by the time I was 25 (little did I know, I’d achieve it over a year early).

The quest began. I accepted job, after job, after job. $50k here. $20k there. As long as it would feesibly fit in the timeblocks on my calendar, I said yes, yes, yes. Within no time, I was earning over $100,000 as a professional musician. I’d “made it.” I had never felt more successful in my life.

The Grind Begins

Most days, I began working at 7am and finished at 10pm. Then I would make the 30-minute drive home, collapse in bed, and wake up the next day to do it all over again. I didn’t mind the grind at first, because it afforded me all of the things I’d ever wanted: a bougie apartment all to myself, organic groceries, and name-brand clothing. The lack of time off was addicting because I’d rather be working than sitting idly at home.

I began to feel the strain about a month in. My apartment became annoyingly messy, but I never had time to clean it. “That’s okay,” I thought. “I have money. I can hire someone to clean it for me.” Since I was never home, I had to leave a key for the house cleaner to get in.

Then it got to a point where I realized I could no longer meal prep. The three hours of freedom I had on Saturdays, which had originally been reserved for grocery shopping and meal prepping, were slowly filled with other necessary errands like oil changes, haircuts, and meetings. “That’s okay,” I said again. “I can afford to outsource meal prepping, too.” And so the cycle continued. I would work 15 hours a day and only come home to sleep. 

Things got complicated when, inevitably, unscheduled activities came up. A required staff meeting at the public school I worked at. “I can’t attend, because I need to leave directly after school to teach private voice lessons,” I explained to my supervisor. 

A private student needed to reschedule a lesson. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any other timeslots I can offer you because I have to get to my church choir rehearsal,” I explained to the unhappy student.

A singer from my community chorus wanted to stay after rehearsal to chat. “I can’t, I have to sign on to lead my virtual conductor coachings,” I sheepishly said. 

One evening, I couldn’t get my brain to talk to my mouth to say the correct measure numbers I wanted my choir to start at. We laughed about how many times I messed up, and I casually mentioned I hadn’t eaten that day. “What do you mean?” a soprano asked. “Well, I just haven’t had time. I got caught up in a conversation with a student that made me miss lunch, and then an accident on the beltway made me unable to stop and grab something for dinner. But it’s fine, it happens!” I said. The room was still. “I’ve never been so busy that I couldn’t eat,” a bass said quietly. I shrugged. “Would it help if we brought you food?” An alto offered. “No, no! I am okay! It won’t happen again, promise! Now what I meant to say, let’s start again at measure 46…” I tried to brush this interaction away, but its impact stayed with me. They were right: I shouldn’t be sacrificing meals, which affected my ability to function.

These things happened week after week, and I was barely holding together the balancing act I created, when the December gig season hit.

When Things Fell Apart

Unsurprisingly, December is the busiest month of the year for musicians. It usually results in extra concerts and seasonal activities as the year wraps up. When I agreed to all of my responsibilities that enabled me to collect a hefty paycheck, I didn’t account for the extra time that would be required for dress rehearsals and performances during the holidays. I couldn’t create more hours in the day; while it was “business as usual” with the weekly schedule I’d curated for myself, the addition of concerts made it impossible to be everywhere at once, and there was no option to reschedule anything at the time it mattered most. My delicate house of cards collapsed.

I knew it was time to quit something. Not only was it unsustainable for the inevitable busy season that occurs around concert times, but the importance of these events washed over me by the craziness I felt. I was never fully present anywhere I went, always thinking about the next thing or an email that needed to be answered. It made me feel guilty, and I knew I wasn’t giving my best to anything. It was time for change.

I took a look at everything I was doing, and asked myself what I felt most fulfilled and least fulfilled by. I decided on the two jobs I needed to let go of, and sent my letters of resignation with a month’s notice.

“Elisha, I got your email,” one of my bosses texted. “Do you have time for a phone call?”  I sighed, knowing what was coming. I was burnt out beyond belief and was operating on half a brain cell. I didn’t have the bandwidth for a tough conversation, but I knew it needed to be had. I picked up the phone and called my boss. “Please reconsider,” he said by way of greeting. “We can renegotiate terms and salary. The last thing we want is to lose you. Can you tell me what led to this decision?” The conversation that followed would prove to be one of the most exhausting, yet simultaneously life-giving, ever. I was truly loved and valued beyond measure for the work I did, and they offered to double my salary and decrease my hours. It was tempting, but through these weeks of negotiation, I couldn’t bring myself to stay. 

Walking away from an organization that valued me that much was difficult, but measuring time against income against energy, it just made the most sense. To this day, I don’t know if I made the right decision.  But I thought continuing to run myself into the ground would be even more difficult. It was a hard decision, but one I had to stick to.

Conclusion

And so, my paycheck went down and my happiness went up. I found myself grateful and excited to do menial tasks in any given week. I enjoyed doing my own laundry, cutting my own vegetables, and scrubbing my own toilet. I decided no amount of money was worth trading for breathing room.

This season of extreme busy-ness taught me many valuable lessons. It was a concentrated period of intense learning. This was my first real year as a choral conductor, and having 8 ensembles and 20 private students each week helped me learn how to be a better teacher because of how much experience I was getting each day. Perhaps the most important lesson from this season was the value of balance, and what that means in my life. I intentionally chose, and continue to choose, an ambitious career over a comfortable life. But ambition isn’t the only thing that exists in my world anymore. Since this period of time, I haven’t found myself being overworked or burnt out, ever. It was a lesson well learned.

Continue reading: The Unexpected Final Exam