and now I realize what was missing
I sank back in my office chair, closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh.
“There has to be something more than this,” I thought.
It wasn’t the first time.
The thought first crossed my mind in my 20s, as I stared at the lifeless, gray cubicle walls during an internship at a large software company.
It showed up again in my early 30s, after grinding it out in startups and ad agencies. That time, I listened to my gut, though: traded a professional marketing career for a slower pace and singing for my supper in Costa Rica.
Even when life threw me curveballs that forced me back to the U.S., I held onto music. I freelanced, worked at a smaller agency, and even went back to corporate life, all the while songwriting, singing, and recording on the side. Still, the end goal was always to make it my bread and butter again.
When 2020 rolled around, I was ready to write and record a brand new EP and get back out there, playing original tunes to live audiences. Then the world shut down. Local music venues went dark. I felt uninspired. The pandemic didn’t seem to have an end in sight.
Somewhere along the way, I decided making music for a living wasn’t what I wanted anymore. Not that I don’t miss it—I do. So much. Every. Single. Day. But the idea of doing it simply for fun, without a big goal attached, hasn’t exactly inspired me to start again (more on that in a second).
Which brings me back to my office chair.
I’m in my 40s now. My OCD ass has survived a global pandemic, toxic workplaces, corporate restructures, and working for myself again, all while juggling school. And sure, I’m proud of me for enduring and overcoming a lot! But I’m also grappling with that same nagging thought:
“There has to be something more than this.”
Singing was my first form of therapy when I was a shy little girl who often felt alone. It helped me connect with my emotions and others. Then I started to write my own words—my own songs—and that became my release.
And that release? That joy? That’s what’s been missing all along.
I now believe that if I keep music in my life consistently, I can avoid rushing into another cross-country move or job change in search of fleeting happiness.
So why haven’t I just…done it already?! Make music for fun?
Because I’m used to seeing everything I’m interested in as something I should monetize. I’ve been conditioned my entire life to grind, achieve, do more, and be more. Even the things I love and hold most sacred had to earn their place by becoming a way to make money.
That’s also why I never let myself try making electronic music, even though I’ve wanted to, off and on, over the years. When I set out to sing for a living, starting something new like that felt like it would put me further behind on my goals, not closer. So for years, I stuck to my strengths: singing, writing, and leaning on others to play the lead instruments.
But now that I don’t have some lofty end goal? I’m gonna do it! For real! I sooooo am!
I’ve already started researching what I need to begin my new hobby. My cart is filling up. Now all I have to do is click “Checkout.” (Any day now, Natalie. Any day now. lol.)
I’m also smiling just thinking about fumbling my way through learning GarageBand (and eventually Logic Pro). This is just the beginning. And I’m so here for it.
Now I’m curious: What would you return to—not because you have to, but simply because it makes your life feel fuller and more like your own?
While you’re here…remember that the hobby or creative outlet you’ve always loved but set aside doesn’t need a business plan or any other reason to pick it up—beyond your own happiness, anyway. This time, let joy be your permission.
