Rant / Perspectives Archives - Live at Harlow's

Perspective: Why So Many Talented Musicians in Their Early 30s Can’t Get It Together (And Why I Finally Wanted Answers)

by harlowmedia | Feb 12, 2026 | Rant / Perspectives

Over the last decade, I’ve crossed paths with some genuinely remarkable musicians—people with the kind of raw talent that makes you stop mid‑conversation and think, damn, this person could really go somewhere.

And yet, over and over, I’ve watched that talent evaporate into thin air because the same people couldn’t do the simplest things: show up, communicate, follow through.

I’m not talking about flaky teenagers or wide‑eyed beginners. I’m talking about grown adults—specifically the 30‑to‑35 crowd—who can shred, sing, write, or produce at a world‑class level but can’t send a text saying they’re running late.

After enough of these encounters, the human reaction kicks in. You start thinking, If you can’t communicate or show up on time, I don’t need you—and you’re a liability to any musical project.

And honestly, part of me still feels that way. Respect is a two‑way street, and at this stage of my life and experience, time is the one thing I refuse to waste. What makes it even more ironic is that, in my professional world outside of music, my time and expertise are valued enough that I’m compensated well for them. Yet somehow, in these musical circles, the basic courtesy of showing up or communicating becomes optional.

But another part of me—the part that’s watched brilliant people sabotage themselves—wanted to understand why?. Why does this particular age group seem so prone to self‑inflicted chaos? Why do so many talented musicians get stuck in the same loop of missed opportunities, broken commitments, and low self‑worth? Why do they act like it’s someone else’s job to play the role of their mother and tell them where to be and when?

So I dug in. I read, I asked questions, and yes, I even used AI to help me sift through the psychology. What I found didn’t excuse the behavior, but it did explain a lot.

1. The Helicopter Parenting Hangover

People in their early 30s grew up during the peak of helicopter parenting—an era defined by over‑involvement, over‑protection, and parents who hovered like unpaid bodyguards.

Psychology Today and similar research point out that helicopter parenting often produces adults who struggle with autonomy, decision‑making, and resilience. It can also contribute to avoidant behaviors and even addictive tendencies later in life.

When you grow up with someone else managing your schedule, smoothing over your mistakes, and stepping in at the first sign of discomfort, you don’t develop the muscles for:

self‑regulation
conflict management
time management
emotional accountability

Music, unfortunately, demands all of those things.

In my experience as a bandleader, the most frustrating part wasn’t the music—it was having to call grown adults to make sure they were going to be where they needed to be and on time, even when everything was clearly laid out in writing.

2. The Video Game Escape Valve

Let’s be real: the 30–35 group was the first generation raised on immersive, always‑on gaming. Not Pac‑Man—World of Warcraft, Halo, Call of Duty, Skyrim, League of Legends. Games designed to be endless, rewarding, and socially insulated.

Research shows that gaming can replace real‑world social development and become a coping mechanism for stress or low self‑esteem.

For musicians already prone to anxiety, perfectionism, or self‑doubt, gaming becomes the perfect escape hatch. It’s a world where:

time doesn’t feel real
communication is optional
failure has no consequences
you can disappear without explanation

Compare that to the music world, where everything is real, everything is personal, and everything requires showing up. It’s no contest.

3. The “Gifted Kid” Identity Crisis

A lot of musicians in this age bracket grew up being told they were special. Gifted. Destined for greatness. Many of them dreamed of being rockstars and assumed they’d be “discovered” somehow—only to grow up and see toddlers on YouTube playing circles around them. Brutal reality check.

Here’s the thing: talent alone doesn’t build a career. I’ve said this a million times, but success in music requires:

consistency
communication
networking
emotional resilience
reliability

When someone has talent but lacks those skills, the internal conflict can be brutal—not just for them, but for every project they touch. They start to see themselves as “losers,” not because they lack ability, but because they lack the executive‑function skills adulthood demands. They don’t want to think about growing up, because growing up means confronting the gap between who they thought they’d be and who they are.

This creates a predictable cycle:

Missed commitments
Shame
Avoidance
More missed commitments
Deeper shame

From the outside, it looks like flakiness. From the inside, it feels like drowning.

4. Why This Age Group Specifically?

People in their early 30s sit at a weird cultural intersection:

Raised by helicopter parents
Raised on immersive video games
Entered adulthood during economic instability
Told to “follow your passion” without being taught how
Navigating a music industry that rewards consistency more than talent

They’re creative, imaginative, and emotionally rich—but often overwhelmed by the demands of professional life.

5. So Where Does That Leave Us?

Here’s where I landed after a decade of watching brilliant musicians implode:

I can understand the psychology without tolerating the behavior.

I can empathize with the roots of the problem while still saying:

If you can’t communicate, I can’t work with you.
If you can’t show up, I can’t rely on you.
If you can’t respect my time, I won’t give you more of it.

But I also don’t have to write people off as “lazy” or “losers.” Many of them are fighting battles they don’t know how to articulate.

Understanding the why doesn’t excuse the behavior—but it does make the picture clearer.

And maybe, just maybe, it helps us see that the gap between talent and success isn’t always about ability. Sometimes it’s about the skills no one ever taught them.

A Closing Thought (For the Musicians Who See Themselves in This)

If any of this hits close to home, the good news is that none of these habits are permanent. You’re not broken, and you’re not doomed to be “the flaky one” forever. Communication, reliability, and self‑management aren’t personality traits—they’re skills. Skills you can learn, practice, and get better at.

And honestly, the world needs your talent. But talent without structure burns out fast.

Years ago, I listened to an audiobook that punched me in the face in the best possible way. It’s rude, crude, and brutally honest—but sometimes that’s exactly what’s needed:

https://www.amazon.com/Unfu-Yourself-Your-Head-into/dp/0062803832

If you’re stuck, start there. Or start anywhere. Just start.

Last, a Word for Bandleaders and Band Members

If you’re a bandleader, producer, or collaborator dealing with this exact type of musician, here’s the hard truth: You can’t save people from themselves.

You can guide, support, and communicate clearly—but you can’t parent grown adults. And you shouldn’t have to.

A few things I’ve learned the hard way:

Set expectations early. Don’t assume anything is “obvious.” Spell out times, dates, responsibilities, and consequences.
Don’t chase people. If someone can’t confirm a rehearsal or respond to a message, that’s data. Believe it.
Protect your time. If someone repeatedly flakes, they’re telling you who they are right now—not who they could be someday.
Reward reliability. The most talented person isn’t always the best fit. The reliable one often is.
Don’t take it personally. Their chaos isn’t about you. It’s about their own unresolved patterns.

And most importantly:

You’re allowed to walk away or remove the liability.

You’re allowed to choose members who respect your time, your energy, and your project. You’re allowed to build a musical environment where professionalism and creativity coexist.

There’s no shame in expecting adults to act like adults. Rock on.

Perspective: Why Talent Kills Drive: The Curse of Natural Ability

by harlowmedia | Jan 9, 2026 | Rant / Perspectives

Ever see someone with incredible talent just… not use it? Maybe you catch yourself thinking, “if I had that talent, I would do so many things.” Or maybe you’ve watched someone with barely any skill absolutely crushing it in the music business while talented musicians sit on the sidelines criticizing them. Winning!

Here’s what I’ve realized in my old age: talent means very little in the music business if you’re not motivated. And increasingly, I see talent being wasted on video games, social media, and general life drama. It’s like someone turned off the switch on setting goals and achieving anything—or everyone’s too scared to start because of fear of failure. I’m not sure which it is, but there are a lot of talented nobodies out there.

And maybe this article is too harsh. After all, the goal should be to be happy, right? And if you’re exactly where you want to be, congrats. But for those who are talented and not happy where they are, read on.

Why Are The Most Talented Musicians The Least Accomplished?

I see it constantly, especially online. The guitarist who can play anything stuck in their bedroom. The drummer everyone knows should be playing arenas still grinding dive bars. The killer band that’s been together 30 years but can’t break the $100-per-man mark. Meanwhile, the player who struggled through basic chords two years ago is booking festivals and building a real following.

It’s not an accident. It’s a pattern.

Why? Talent is often the enemy of drive.

The Comfort of Being “Good Enough”

When you’re naturally talented, you get validation early and often. People tell you you’re great. You pick things up faster than others. You sound good without grinding through boring fundamentals.

Here’s the trap: that feels like success.

The bedroom player with incredible chops doesn’t feel the same desperate hunger as the struggling musician because they’ve already gotten their dopamine hit. They can impress their friends. Post a video and get comments. They feel like they’ve already won the game—but they aren’t even in the game.

Fear has a comfortable home in talent. “I’m too good for that dive bar.” “I don’t need to play covers.” “I’m waiting for the right opportunity.” Talent gives you permission (or an excuse) to wait, to be selective, to protect yourself from situations where you might not be the best person.

Hint: if you’re waiting, you’re going nowhere.

The Untalented Have Nothing to Lose

The driven musician with less natural ability operates from a completely different psychology: they have to prove themselves every single time.

They can’t coast on talent, so they develop work ethic. They can’t impress with flash, so they show up consistently. They can’t rely on natural feel, so they practice until muscle memory takes over. They take the gigs because they need the stage time to get better.

Every uncomfortable opportunity is a chance to close the gap. Every empty room is practice. Every bad slot is a lesson. They’re building something talent can’t give you: experience, professional discipline, courage under pressure, and a network of people who are actually in the game. They are the winners.

Talent Without Courage Goes Nowhere

I once had a conversation with a talented local musician who said, “If I could just get that festival slot, I’d finally start taking this seriously.”

What I wanted to say: You don’t have that slot because you haven’t taken it seriously.

The big stage doesn’t magically make you ready—it reveals whether you were ready all along. Most talented musicians aren’t ready because they’ve spent years avoiding the uncomfortable work that would prepare them. They want the validation of the big stage without the vulnerability of the small ones.

Have you ever said “I could do that” when watching another band perform at a venue you wanted to play? If so, well… why is that not you? Maybe you’ve seen another band getting paid 5x the going rate and thought “We should get that pay”—but you aren’t, and it’s likely less about talent and more about drive.

Here’s the truth: bands on those stages don’t think the way only talented people do because they’ve put in the work. The big stages are for people who work hard, not people who rely on talent alone.

And here’s the funny thing—many talented musicians make everything about “standards,” but it’s really fear. It’s how they protect their ego from being exposed in situations where talent alone isn’t enough.

You Are Exactly Where You Want to Be

Say it with me: you are exactly where you want to be.

Not where you dream of being—your choices may have placed you where you are. If your band isn’t where you want it, look honestly at what you’ve been unwilling to do. Or, look at what you’ve done that may have caused your outcome (see the previous pro tip LOL). The world wil never be perfect but I think you see what I’m trying to encourge you to do. LOL.

If you want different results, adjust fire. Be open to change. Do the hard work that makes you uncomfortable. Realize your talent alone hasn’t gotten you where you need to be and put in the work. Take the risk. Stop waiting for your talent to be discovered and start earning your place through relentless forward momentum.

Back to the bedroom player: I mean no disrespect. If you are happy or circumstances don’t allow you to get on those big stages, no judgment. Playing music regardless of the location is what it’s all about. However, the bedroom player who wants the stage but won’t take the leap? That’s talent being wasted on fear.

Final Thoughts

People ask how I have time to do everything I do, running businesses, bands, venues, etc. They ask how I get good gigs and all kinds of things related to bands. Simple: I make time for what’s important to me and maintain drive toward my goals.. and it’s hard!. I’m definitely not the most talented, but my work ethic and drive are pretty severe (that’s how bad I suck LOL). Believe it or not, things don’t always come easy for me, but I’m not afraid of failure and I’m not afraid to want to be on the big stage. Because of that, I’ve developed a strong pedigree on how NOT to do things which means I have some experience at this point.

Anyway, I think all of this is a mindset thing or maybe people are just getting lazy. Somewhere down the line, I think people forgot how badass they can actually be. And again, if you are happy, rock on. This is for the people who want more.

As always, I write these things to be a kick in the tail and hopefully encourage someone out there to put down the game controller, Facebook, pride, or whatever it is preventing you from reaching your potential in life or musical badassery. I wrote this article because I know just how many badass musicians are in the area that just need to put a little work above and beyond the talent to become something the world has never seen. The only one holding you back… is you.

Rock on.

know your category

by harlowmedia | Dec 30, 2025 | Rant / Perspectives

How two drummers reminded me what matters.

As I sit on the tarmac leaving Las Vegas, I’m thinking about what this city taught me about live performance.

Vegas understands marketing. It creates categories and dominates each one.

Premium shows for big spenders. Budget entertainment for the rest of us. And every category delivers on its promise.

Here’s the lesson for musicians: if you can’t dominate an existing category, create a new one. When you define the category, you automatically become the leader of it. Vegas doesn’t have “the best show.” They have the best acrobatic show, the best magic show, the best residency. By creating specific categories, everyone gets to be number one at something.

I watched two old guys with drums prove this better than any music industry seminar.

One night we caught a variety show featuring two older musicians. Just drums. No production. My immediate thought: “This is going to suck.”

And honestly? Technically, they probably weren’t that great. But they weren’t trying to compete with arena acts or virtuoso percussionists. They knew their category: scrappy, funny, interactive variety show drummers. And they dominated it.

They used comedy. They engaged the audience. Within minutes, they had the entire crowd doing the wave over something completely ridiculous.

That’s when it clicked: you can be technically inferior and still win your category if you understand what it actually requires.

Those drummers knew their audience didn’t come for technical perfection. They came to be entertained, to feel something, to be part of an experience. So that’s exactly what they delivered.

Too many bands make the opposite mistake. They try to be the best musicians in the room while forgetting what audiences actually want: connection.

I’ve seen incredible players bomb because they focused on perfection over presence. Meanwhile, mediocre musicians who understand engagement pack rooms.

Stop trying to be the best band. Start being the best at your specific thing. Are you the most energetic punk band in your city? The most intimate acoustic duo? The most interactive party band? Define it. Own it. Deliver it.

Know your category. Understand what it requires—not what you think it should require. Then dominate through authentic delivery.

Technical chops? Production? Sure, they matter. But understanding your role and connecting with your audience? That’s what fills rooms.

It doesn’t matter the age, looks, or even skill if you learn to dominate your category. I’m gonna be the old fat guy that smiles while playing journey tunes. Lol. Cheers.

Rant: Stop Being a Musical Pussy: A Wake-Up Call for Wannabe Rock Stars (The no BS edition)

by harlowmedia | Oct 20, 2025 | Rant / Perspectives

Listen up, you self-deprecating shits. Yeah, you—the one who just played a killer riff and then mumbled “it’s not that good though.”

You know what? Cut that shit out. I get it, you are managing your expectations and not wanting to be “that guy”… but there is a difference between confidence and arrogance. This article dives in with a deep raw uncut rant.

I’ve been dragging my old fat bones through this music scene for 30+ years. Three decades of sticky floors, broken strings, and promoters who “forgot” to bring the cash. And you know what pisses me off more than a drummer who can’t play to the room?

Musicians who destroy themselves before anyone else gets the chance.

The Great Neutering of Modern Music

We’ve somehow created a generation of musicians who think excellence is embarrassing. Like being good at your instrument is something shameful you need to apologize for.

“Oh, we’re not that good.”
“We’re just a local band.”
“Sorry if we suck tonight.”

Bullshit. You spent 10,000 hours learning those chords. Own it or go home.

The Pre-Game Surrender

True story: There is a battle of the bands coming up, I’ve spoken with 2 of the bands entering the competition. Both told me they “probably won’t win” before they even got on stage.

That’s not humility, that’s musical suicide. It’s like showing up to a knife fight and immediately stabbing yourself to save the other guy the trouble. The other option? May be fear of succeeding. Not knowing how to receive accolades from hard work. Why even enter the contest?

Here’s what the participation trophy generation taught you:

Being confident = being an asshole
Practicing your ass off = being a “tryhard” (what the shit even is that?)
Doing things to get paid as a musician = “selling out” (says the guy living in his mom’s basement)

You know who spreads this bullshit? Failed musicians working at Guitar Center telling you how they “could have made it” while they ring up your picks.

The Brutal Truth Nobody Wants to Hear

Picture this: You need heart surgery. Doctor walks in and says, “I’m probably not that good at this, but let’s give it a shot!”

You would disperse like a crowd when the band plays that B side from some metal album.

So why the HELL would you get on stage—where people paid actual money to see you—and essentially tell them they made a mistake? That’s not being humble, that’s shitting on everyone who showed up.

What Your Weak-Ass Attitude Actually Does

When you apologize for existing on that stage:

You murder the entire vibe. Nobody came to your therapy session. They came to forget their shitty life for a few hours.
You’re basically telling the venue they’re idiots for booking you. Nice way to never get invited back, genius.
You’re pissing away every hour you practiced. All those calluses, all those late nights, all so you can verbally shit yourself in public and for the people in your band that are not pussies, they are ready to quit.

The Hall of Fame Doesn’t Have a “Sorry” Section

You think Hendrix got on stage and said, “I’ll try my best guys”?

The Beatles said they’d be bigger than Jesus—not “bigger than the church choir, maybe, if we’re lucky.”

Kurt Cobain didn’t apologize for destroying hair metal. He just did it.

Every legend you worship had balls of steel before they had a record deal. They knew they belonged before anyone else did.

Let’s Clear This Shit Up Once and For All

CONFIDENCE: “I worked for this. I earned this. Watch me prove it.”

ARROGANCE: “I was born amazing and everyone else sucks.”

See the difference? One’s earned through sweat, the other’s just being a dick. If you can’t tell them apart, you’re probably the second one.

The Professional’s Equation

Here’s the secret sauce, you beautiful disasters:

Pride in your work + Respect for the journey = Actually making it

You can be proud without being a prick. You can destroy that stage and still buy the sound guy a beer. You can know you’re good and still practice tomorrow.

Real confidence says: “I busted my ass for this moment.”
Real humility says: “And I’m grateful you’re here to witness it.”

That’s not contradictory—that’s professional.

The Circle You Keep

Stop hanging out with quitters and losers. You know the ones—they gave up and now spend their time explaining why you should too. They’re musical vampires, sucking the ambition out of anyone still trying.

Find the killers. The ones who practice until their fingers bleed and then practice some more. The ones who see your success as motivation, not competition. The ones who’ll tell you that you played like shit tonight, but also how to fix it. The ones who are doing the things you want to do.

The Bottom Line

Every time you walk out there apologizing for your existence, you’re not being humble—you’re being selfish. You’re making the night about your insecurities instead of the music.

The audience? They WANT you to melt their faces off.
The venue? They WANT you to pack the place next time.
Your bandmates? They WANT you to believe as much as they do.

The only people hoping you’ll fail are the bitter has-beens at the bar who gave up on their dreams and need you to validate their chickenshit cowardice.

Your Wake-Up Call

Your music deserves better than your bullshit insecurity.
Your bandmates deserve better than your pre-emptive excuses.
Your audience deserves better than your apologies.
And YOU deserve the success that comes from your hard work.

Next time you step on that stage, don’t shuffle out like you’re asking permission to exist. Stride out there like you’re about to show these people some shit they’ll tell their friends about tomorrow.

Because here’s the thing—if you made it onto that stage, you’ve already beaten 99% of the dreamers who never even tried.

So stop apologizing. Stop explaining. Stop diminishing.

Start owning your shit. Start believing you belong. Start playing like the person you watched in the mirror when you were young (you know you did this).

P.S. – To all the “humble” musicians who think this is too harsh: Good. Stay mediocre. More gigs for the rest of us who aren’t afraid to strive and accomplish something good.

What do cover bands get paid in 2025?

by harlowmedia | Sep 26, 2025 | Rant / Perspectives

I get asked this question often from venue owners, bands, musicians, and the general public. Although the answer has a wide range, it’s typically constrained by what venues can afford to pay. While the data shows industry averages, it’s important to note that exceptional bands who develop a superior product—whether through exceptional musicianship, showmanship, or unique entertainment value—can often command rates well above these standards. However, even these standout performers are ultimately bound by the fundamental economics of live music venues and local market conditions.

Instead of me giving my personal opinion, I set out using AI and other tools to do research on the subject for the U.S. What Do Cover Bands Get Paid in 2025? Here’s what the research shows.

So, how much?

Cover bands performing at US bars and clubs today typically earn $50-200 per musician for three to four-hour performances, with most falling between $100-150 per person. Total band payments usually range from $300-650, though premium venues occasionally reach $700-1,200. Regional variations are significant: Nashville pays around $65-120 per hour including tips, while New Jersey maintains a $300-500 per night standard for established acts.

For many musicians, this means a typical Friday night gig might net them $100-120 for four hours of performance—about the same hourly rate as a skilled retail worker, but without the benefits or guaranteed weekly hours.

The inflation reality

Research shows cover bands earned approximately $50 per person in the early 1970s, which has risen to roughly $100 today. However, when adjusted for inflation, that 1970 wage of $50 equals $415.72 in 2025 purchasing power. Current $100 payments represent just $12.04 in 1970 money—a substantial erosion of earning power over five decades.

This wage stagnation occurred while equipment costs, transportation expenses, and living costs increased substantially. As one veteran musician noted: “The guys playing in the 60s and 70s who are still playing today tell me the pay has stayed the same—they haven’t gotten a raise in 40 years.”

Consider this: a guitarist’s amplifier that cost $300 in 1975 would cost over $1,600 today, yet that same musician might earn the exact same $50-75 per gig they made five decades ago. No wonder you would hear people saying they’re essentially paying for the privilege to perform.

The payment hierarchy

The cover band ecosystem operates on a clear three-tier structure that every working musician learns to navigate:

Bars and clubs:
$50-200 per musician, constrained by thin profit margins and volume-based business models. Venues operate on 10-15% margins for small venues. A venue must sell a large number of drinks to offer live music (see the calculator), meaning they need substantial additional customers to justify live entertainment costs. According to the National Independent Venue Association’s 2024 State of Live report, 64% of independent venues operated at a financial loss despite generating $153.1 billion in economic output nationwide.

Regional festivals and private parties:
$300-600 per event for local bands with well known regional tribute acts reaching $10,000

Weddings and corporate events:
$300-500+ per musician, sometimes reaching $25,000 for elite acts. High-stakes events justify premium pricing where quality trumps cost.

The stark reality is that many cover band musicians rely on the wedding and corporate circuit to subsidize their passion for playing bars and clubs.

Beyond the money

Given these economic challenges, why do musicians continue pursuing cover band work? Research reveals several key motivations that go far beyond the paycheck:

It’s Fun: Simply put, playing music can be one of the most exciting and invigorating experiences imaginable. The rush of performing live, connecting with an audience, and creating energy in a room provides a natural high that many musicians describe as unmatched by anything else.
Professional development: Cover work provides intensive training that’s impossible to replicate elsewhere. Musicians might perform 50+ shows annually while original acts struggle for monthly bookings, creating invaluable performance experience and crowd-reading skills. No wonder you would hear people saying that playing covers taught them how to read a room, when to push the energy up, when to bring it down, and how to keep people engaged for four straight hours.
Community building: Cover bands serve as cultural preservationists, keeping classic songs alive while creating shared experiences in local venues. There’s something magical about watching multiple generations singing along to classics with equal enthusiasm, bridging age gaps through the universal language of music.
Networking opportunities: Musicians report that cover gigs provide access to venue owners, sound engineers, and industry professionals while building relationships that support broader musical goals. The sound guy who mixes your cover band on Saturday might engineer your original demo on Tuesday.
Sustainable creativity: Rather than competing with original artistry, cover work often funds it. Musicians use steady income to invest in recording equipment and marketing while maintaining financial stability.

The complete picture

Cover band work operates as a complex ecosystem where financial necessity intersects with professional development, community connection, and artistic growth. Despite wage stagnation, musicians have learned to maximize value beyond direct compensation: skill development, industry networking, creative funding, and community engagement that supports long-term musical careers.

While financial compensation hasn’t improved significantly in decades, musicians have evolved to extract maximum benefit from every aspect these gigs provide, revealing cover bands as strategic career builders rather than simply performers accepting low wages. They’ve learned that sometimes the real payment isn’t what’s in the envelope at the end of the night—it’s the experience gained, the connections made, and the joy shared with audiences who just want to hear good music played well.

In an era of digital music and virtual entertainment, cover bands remain one of the last bastions of authentic, human musical connection. Their persistence in the face of economic challenges speaks to something deeper than financial motivation—it’s about the irreplaceable value of live music and the community it creates.

References

Swinging for Stardom

by harlowmedia | Mar 27, 2025 | Rant / Perspectives

WARNING: This article is a perspective piece and has the capability to trigger some folks. This article shares insights from a completely different hobby/profession for evaluation and is not intended to discourage anyone from pursuing their goals or dreams, but rather to remind us why we engage in these activities in the first place.

The dream

There’s something beautifully absurd about both golf and music—two pursuits where people willingly spend thousands of dollars and countless hours chasing dreams of being famous that statistically have about the same likelihood as being struck by lightning while holding the winning lottery ticket.

The Sweet Swing of Encouragement

Meet Dave. Dave just hit a beautiful drive down the fairway of the 7th hole at his local municipal course. The ball sailed through the air with unexpected grace, landing softly and rolling to a perfect position.

“Damn, Dave! That was professional quality right there,” his buddy Mike exclaimed.

Something changed in Dave at that moment. That single compliment—probably just Mike’s way of saying “nice shot” with extra enthusiasm—planted a seed.

This scene plays out similarly in homes across America. Jessica strums the final chord of “Wonderwall” on her starter guitar, and her roommate nods appreciatively, “You should totally play open mic night!”

Investment Season

The following week, Dave walks into Academy Sports with a glint in his eye. His ancient hand-me-down clubs suddenly seemed inadequate for a man of his newly discovered talent. Two hours and $1,200 later, Dave emerges with a shiny new driver that promises an extra 15 yards and “improved forgiveness.” He adds a $40 sleeve of premium balls—because professionals use the best.

Meanwhile, Jessica is scrolling through guitar center online. Her $200 starter guitar clearly cannot capture the nuances of her developing technique. A $1,500 Taylor guitar enters her life, along with a $300 amplifier, because you never know when you might need to plug in.

Practice Makes Perfect (or at least Better)

Dave now spends every Saturday morning at the driving range. His wife notices his absences but says nothing as he drops $25 per session to hit balls. He downloads swing analysis apps ($9.99/month) and subscribes to Golf Digest ($24.99/year). He watches YouTube videos of Tiger Woods and tries to emulate that perfect swing.

Jessica finds herself declining social invitations to practice her songs. She enrolls in guitar lessons ($100/month) and buys a Ed Sheeran loop pedal ($299) because she knows she will need it. She listens to John Mayer interviews about his creative process while commuting to work because she plans to write a banger over the weekend.

The Local Circuit

Six months later, Dave enters his first local tournament. The $75 entry fee seems reasonable for the opportunity to test his skills. He doesn’t place in the top ten, but he does receive compliments on a tricky par save on the 12th hole. The smattering of applause when he sinks a 15-footer is intoxicating.

Jessica performs at her first open mic night. She doesn’t get paid, but the bar owner mentions that if she develops a following, they might discuss a future gig. Three people approach her afterward to say they enjoyed her performance. One asks if she’s on Spotify. She is clearly headed for the big time.

Doubling Down

Dave is now spending $250 monthly on his golf habit between green fees, range sessions, and the occasional lesson. He joins a golf club with a $3,000 initiation fee and $200 monthly dues because “that’s where connections happen.” His handicap is dropping, and he’s consistently the best player in his friend group.

Jessica buys a $800 microphone, a $600 interface, and $200 recording software because she can record just as good as the studios and she plans to be an independent artist. She spends hours recording covers for YouTube and Instagram, gaining 230 followers. She ends up getting a couple gigs at restaurants and gets paid $100 to entertain folks while they consume the “all you can eat wings” special, receiving applause for her rendition of cumbersome.

The Dream

Dave watches the Masters and sees himself in those pristine green fairways. People in his club say he could “go pro if he started younger.” He’s now in his mid-thirties but starts researching senior tours. At night, he calculates how much he needs to practice to reach professional status, ignoring the fact that most PGA Tour players have been playing since they could walk. Dave is obsessed with proving something, it’s no longer about fun.

Jessica streams the Grammys, imagining herself on that stage. Her coworkers tell her she’s “wasting her talent” at her day job and she is looking to quit and do this full time. She starts looking into how to get her music on streaming platforms, dreams about being discovered, and spends nights considering whether she should move to Nashville or Los Angeles. Jessica is obsessed with proving something, it is no longer about fun.

The Reality Check

Let’s look at some numbers:

There are approximately 25 million golfers in the United States. Of those, only about 125 are full-time players on the PGA Tour in any given year. That’s a success rate of 0.0005%.

Similarly, there are millions of musicians in the U.S. Of those, perhaps a few hundred achieve the “household name” status that most aspiring musicians dream about—a similar microscopic percentage. There are over 100,000 songs put on Spotify in a single day from musicians.

The average amateur golfer spends between $2,000 and $10,000 per year on their hobby. Professional-track golfers often spend upwards of $100,000 annually on coaching, travel, and tournament fees before they earn a single dollar.

Musicians face similar economics: instruments, recording equipment, merchandise production, travel expenses, and marketing often cost tens of thousands before any meaningful revenue arrives.

Despite the odds, Dave and Jessica have something to prove and take offense to reality. Admittedly, I admire people with passion that go the extra distance, as long as they are competent in the odds.

So, Why Do We Do It?

So why do millions continue these seemingly irrational pursuits?

Because that pure moment—when the club face meets the ball perfectly and you watch it soar exactly where you intended, or when your fingers find those chords and your voice hits that note and the room falls silent in appreciation—is transcendent, addictive, and ultimately… it makes us feel important and is fun.

These pursuits offer something increasingly rare: the opportunity to be completely present. When you’re lining up a putt or performing a song, nothing else matters. There’s no email to check, no social media to scroll. Just you and the moment and it is intoxicating, especially when others can be a part of it.

They also provide community. The golf foursome that meets every Saturday morning isn’t just playing a game; they’re sharing life. The musicians who gather for jam sessions or contribute to a community aren’t just people, they’re family which share common bonds.

The Take Away

What starts as “play” often transforms into “work” which changes the dynamic greatly. The joy of hitting a good shot becomes overshadowed by frustration when you can’t replicate it consistently. The thrill of creating music gets buried under the pressure to “make it.”

Dave and Jessica both started because they found something that brought them joy. But somewhere along the way, the joy became secondary to validation or to prove something.

The irony is that most professional golfers and musicians will tell you the same thing: the process has to be the reward. Tiger Woods didn’t become Tiger Woods by obsessing over being Tiger Woods. He became Tiger Woods by loving golf more than anything and putting in the work every day, regardless of outcome.

So by all means, buy the new driver if it makes you happy. Invest in that guitar if it inspires you to play more. Enter tournaments. Play open mics and spend money doing it if it makes you happy. Chase improvement.

But don’t forget to smile and enjoy the journey. Keeping it fun and remembering why you did it in the first place will often breed more success.

I’m not suggesting to ever give up on dreams, rather embrace it for what it is and don’t forget why you started the journey.

Once you figure out you don’t need to prove anything and it’s ok to actually enjoy things without being famous, you may find the pressure goes away and the future just happens without the stress you put on yourself.

I hope our community produces a household name in music or golf, but I don’t want anyone to turn what was enjoyable into something so serious that it creates stress and negative feelings about what once brought joy.

That’s why they call it “playing golf” and “playing music”. Let’s get to playing folks but most importantly, having fun.

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