One of my core values is a belief in the necessity, integrity, and joy of creative expression, for everyone. I believe that everyone is creative, although some people truly excel at it, and can create master works of art, and they should be duly recognized for it. It would be great to live in a society where the entire process of art, from education to creation to appreciation was truly embraced and supported—not as a tool of commerce and politics (i.e., advertising and propaganda)—but for its own intrinsic value. The United States of America in the 21st Century, I’m afraid, is not that society.
About five years ago, I reassessed of my life and my career. I had been a professional actress, playwright, screenwriter, teacher, literary manager, education program director, development director, artistic director, executive director, and even a relatively well-paid consultant. My work and programs won recognition and honors at the local, state and national level, and attracted millions in cumulative funding. But I was barely getting by financially. So, after thoroughly exploring my possible next step options on the trajectory I was on, I resolved to leave a 20+-year professional career in the not-for-profit arts.
Leaving the arts was a really, really, really hard thing to do. It felt like selling out. I wasn’t able to afford health insurance for my newly born child, and I was being forced to consider things that I had never wanted to do: to work a “real job,” for a “real” company in a viable “commercial industry.” I cried a lot. I prayed a lot. I felt like I was lost and a failure and a quitter.
I went to several career counselors, one of whom told me that with my personality and background, I could be aiming for CEO level in the corporate world in 10 years (although in retrospect, that might have been a sales pitch for their long term services). Another said it was important to accept that a job doesn’t always have to be your passion, you can separate the two, and it might even make you happier. I looked into K-12 education, because I had done extensive work as a teaching artist and non-profit arts education partner in several states and like to teach, but that field was so tight up with rules and perquisites that there seemed little hope to get into that without significant break in service and re-education which I simply didn’t have time (or funding) for. I was still paying off my student loans. I was considering options I would have never considered in my 20’s or 30’s, like sales account manager (from my non-profit fundraising background), to educational textbook editor (from my literary background), to (gasp) something in marketing and advertising or public relations. I looked at recreation and cultural departments in government agencies. I also looked at very large non-profits, like the American Cancer Society, Nature Conservancy, Red Cross and the United Way, but somehow, nothing there looked very interesting to me. They all looked like the corporate jobs that I was seeing, mostly in high tech. And I was somewhat interested in high tech: I’ve always been good with computers, and knew a little bit about websites and networks from my arts administration work. I also knew how to manage programs and projects on time and on budget.
Luckily, I took an informational interview with a fellow who ran a non-profit center that was attached to a community college, one of the places I taught theatre when I was trying to make ends meet as a freelancer. For some reason, I brought him a bunch of fresh cinnamon buns, because I usually tried to buy lunch for people who would give me an informational interview, but we had to schedule this first thing in the morning. He was sort of tickled by that, although he wasn’t supposed to eat them, he did end up breaking off a small piece as we talked, and I could see that he enjoyed it.
“You seem like a higher-ed person to me,” he said, after a good half-hour of conversation, licking the sugary icing from his teeth.
And I admitted that my parents had been recovering academics, and that I had tried to rebel and not get engaged with the ivory tower at all…hell, that was part of going to conservatory school, to not have to do “real” college…but at the same time, it was often where I felt most comfortable. There were mean people and complex rules in higher ed, but I always seemed to understand them better than the mean people and lack of rules in the arts. Ultimately, I was disappointed by the reality of the arts. Even when I had success, it was never as sweet as I imagined it would be.
And what I concluded was this: Learning, growing, expanding, is more important than expressing, even creating. Creation is the product of the experience of learning: the experience itself is paramount. I could live with myself if I were still enabling this type of experience in others, as I had enabled lots and lots of artists and students to express themselves over the years.
And so, I landed an administrative job in higher education that involves technology and fundraising. I am not a professor. I do not have academic freedom; everything I do belongs to the university, in support of the students and faculty. I do all my creative work on the side.
For a while, I volunteered for some arts organizations, and served on some non-profit arts boards. But I set limits to the projects that I would take on: and when they were over, I moved on.
Right now, I probably have more psychological and spiritual bandwidth to write than I’ve had in many, many years: if I can keep carving out the time. There is a freedom to not trying to make a living with your art.
I do still have pangs of regret when I read about the next up and coming artist, or about some cool arts project that in days gone past, I might have been a part of. And I don’t get to attend as many live performances as I used to: at least those aimed at adults. But then I look at my wonderful son, who is healthy and happy and well taken care of, and I know that I’ve done the right thing.
And it doesn’t mean that someday I might not still make my own master work, or get that elusive big break. It does, however, support the old cynical saying about show biz: “You can’t make a living, but you can make a killing.”