“Who am I, even?”

In my last post, I shared my frustrations this summer when I lost all motivation, and spoke on how seeing a video of a previous large festival performance helped me realize that my lack of creativity was directly tied to a lack of feedback from my audiences. Without the constant reminder that I was successful and worth listening to, I lost the will to keep creating. (Find that post here)

Those of us linked to the performance industry receive our reinforcement in the form of an engaged audience, big smiles, applause, and maybe a personal story shared with us after a show, so it’s no surprise that many of us are feeling more stalled and unmotivated than ever. The more successful we feel, the more eager we are to create, and right now there’s nothing to trigger that cycle. So then the question is:  when we’re not creating, who are we, even? 

“If I don’t play my instrument, am I a musician?” “If I don’t teach, am I a teacher?” “Who am I when I just exist?” “Do I enjoy that person?” “Who is Diana in a vacuum?”

After a period of confusion and stress, and with the help of my therapist, I decided it was time to examine this external dependency and use this hiatus as an opportunity to re-address the idea of self-worth. Our careers won’t always be there, as we now know. 

In the weeks that followed, this time of musical scarcity became a process of getting to know the Diana who exists when it’s only my own voice offering feedback. It was an uncomfortable and difficult process, and I fought the urge to go in search of other sources of attention and validation (aka worth). All I wanted was the stage and adoration back; a quick fix, like a hit of a drug. 

I began to realize that without confidently answering these questions from within, I faced a long, frustrating career of very fragile self-worth. This was my rare opportunity to spend time defining myself using terms that don’t necessarily involve any external titles. Instead of performer, teacher, traveler … I became giver, creator, and friend. (And cat-sitter.) 

That all said, this process is rough. And not quick. And when we’re not receiving our doses of fan reinforcement, our demeanor and disposition can take a hit. We are fragile. Here are some of the symptoms I noticed in myself and have been shared with me by other musicians: 

• Reliance on social media
• Sensitive to criticism 
• Easily angered 
• Lack of motivation
• Dressing in a new style
• Highly reactive
• Spending extra time with those who think highly of you
• Excess shopping 
• Over-exercising / dieting 
• Complacency / eating poorly
• Excess drinking 
• Creating friendships with fans 
• Apathy
• Retreating inward
• Excess gaming, binge-watching, YouTubing and other mind-occupying activities. 

You’re not wrong and you’re not alone. Relying on others for our sense of self just isn’t sustainable. External feedback is fleeting and untrustworthy, and feeling at the mercy of others opinions is exhausting.  By doing the work to deeply believe in our own worth and purpose, we take back the power over our mental peace and stability. Our motivation and artistry will be free to come forth, unobstructed. This process allows us to be more confident in our creations, less sensitive to criticism, and develop our art more authentically.

This is very much a work in progress for me, but I suspect this a much more enjoyable and peaceful place to be.

So, here’s your pep talk. Recite any one of these sentences as needed:

• We exist as beautiful humans, even without the constant, loving feedback.

• We owe it to our art to provide a safe, peaceful home for it to grow, free of others voices. 

• Finding worth from within will increase our creativity, authenticity, happiness, and ultimately our effect on the world.

If I say these words enough I really begin to believe them. 🙂 This will all take time and practice, no doubt, but there is no better opportunity.

Stay strong, drriifters. Let’s help each other celebrate all that we are outside of our gig. More coming soon.

With lots of love, 
Diana 💙🌏💨