Act Like You Know Something They Don’t (Because You Do)
For those of you who listen to Left Of Nashville, you know that I saved up money for two years, then left my career to pursue music full-time at the age of 38. I had put back a year’s worth of living expenses. For that year, I did nothing but work on writing, recording and playing music.
After running through my savings, I did various temp and independent contracting jobs to make ends meet. You see, I was making some headway in music. I had co-written a song in Nashville with a hit writer that was starting to gain some traction. I also caught the attention of a publishing company in Los Angeles that wanted to license my songs for movies and television. I had also just wrapped up the first season of my documentary podcast.
I didn’t get that far to just go back to work full-time. I didn’t want to lose any momentum, so I took various temp and independent contracting gigs. I delivered vehicles across the country, I drove for Lyft and Uber and I worked at UPS during the holidays.
As many of you may have figured out, sometimes it takes twice as long as planned to reach our goals.
So I decided to try to get full-time work. I was beyond broke at this point and was spending every creative minute trying to figure out how to keep the lights on. I had traded one problem for another.
It turns out that I had made myself unemployable. My resume now contained all these creative endeavors and a series of crap jobs. This overshadowed the fact that I worked in B2B sales and managed delivery routes for thirteen years.
I eventually found part-time work with a grocery store that just so happened to be the first company I had ever worked for. At forty years old, I was working the exact same job I had in high school.
So I had a big ol’ slice of humble pie. I was so broke when starting this job, I had to get a pair of my father’s old church shoes. I had no black slacks of my own, so I was forced to wear the company-issued black pleated “MC Hammer” pants.
Once people at work found out about my aspirations and some of the things I had already accomplished, that’s when the ribbing began.
I’ve been called “Superstar” or “Pretty Boy,” I’m always asked when my millions are going to roll in. I get made fun of because of my shoes. They take jabs at me because I work on blogs or my podcast in the cafe before and after work.
It’s mainly by younger dudes, who I’m sure are just playing around, I guess. But it’s that passive-aggressive playing around, you know? It still stings a little.
There was a time when my insecurities and hot temper would’ve gotten the best of me. Now, I don’t let anything at this job really get to me. After all I’ve been through in the past two years, there’s nothing that they can throw at me that can ruffle my feathers. I literally leave that shit at work. Well, unless I’m blogging about it.
I’d like to say it’s because I’m so mature now, and that might be part of it. But I think it has more to do with this fact:
I know something they don’t. I know that I’ll never give up until I achieve success (as I measure it). I will work harder, play less, plan better and withstand more pain than all of my co-workers combined.
Because I know something they don’t. I know me.
Brandon Barnett is a singer-songwriter from Jackson, Tennessee. He is also the creator of Left Of Nashville, a documentary podcast highlighting the ups and downs in attempting to have a career in music. @leftofnashville on Twitter and Instagram.
