Getting Out of a Cubicle

     When I was in middle school I shadowed my dad while he went to work one day. He introduced me to his boss who knew how to play clarinet. I met some of the really nice people that worked on the ground floor that put together medical devices. I saw the floor he worked on that was littered with cubicles so tall that no one could see each other. I even went to a meeting where people laughed at a really dumb joke I made (Apparently the smallest taste of humor is hilarious when working in an office). I got to spend a day finding out what it's like to be an engineer manager. You may wonder what kind of engineer he was and what kind of engineers he managed, but I haven't the faintest idea because ever since that day I vowed that I would never end up working in a cubicle.

     My vow of "cubicle -lessness" led me to think deeply about who I was and how I could make it in the real world. Even though I was barely twelve years of age, I was no dummy. I realized that I needed to someday have a job that was able to provide enough income to support myself and possibly a family. So I did what any intelligent and sober young man would do...I decided to become a musician. What could be more lucrative and reasonable than being a musician? Furthermore, I decided I wanted to become the best kind of musician, the kind that made the dough, and would always be relevant...a jazz musician.
   
     In reality, I knew that I had chosen a pretty ridiculous career choice. (When's the last time you listened to jazz outside of an elevator?) But it seemed like the perfect career for me. I loved music, was willing to work at it for hours, and was always making up stuff anyways (jazz!). On top of that, I figured I could handle sleeping on a park bench with only newspapers as my blanket if it meant I never saw the inside of a cubicle (fingers crossed it didn't come down to that). Despite my commitment, I was always a little bit scared of what I was heading towards because I realized just how competitive music can be.

My dad, me (holding my screaming Addie), and my grandpa Paul

     My family was always very supportive. My mom paid for private lessons and drove me to countless rehearsals and performances. She would listen to me drone on about what I thought of the new Joshua Redman album or how much of genius I thought John Coltrane was. My dad was no different. He would sit there and pretend that jazz wasn't the most boring thing he ever had listened to. My grandpa Paul would always ask what I was doing with music and talk music theory with me when we'd visit him.

     None of this meant that I was blindly supported no matter what though. I remember once driving through Salt Lake City with my family while my dad pointed out that I could someday be a homeless musician there. (My dad is one of the kindest people you could ever meet. He's also a bit oblivious to how inappropriate some of his jokes are. Although my mom immediately scolded him, we all laughed because the comment was obviously an attempt at a joke gone wrong.) My grandpa Paul took me for a drive once and had a serious discussion with me about not getting involved in the drug culture in jazz. At the time I thought this was pretty funny because I'd never even thought of taking a drink of caffeinated coffee, let alone something illegal. When I met with my high school counselor to discuss my plans after graduation I mentioned pursuing a career in music. I specifically mentioned wanting to go to Juilliard someday and was met with severe skepticism.

      After all of this I learned that I needed to be dedicated and work as hard as I possibly could. With a lot of hard work, support, and great opportunities a career in music became a very real possibility for me. I was able to travel and perform in New York, Chicago, France, Switzerland, and Italy. I auditioned for the the Berklee School of Music in Boston and was accepted. The summer after graduation I was able to attend classes taught by the Juilliard jazz staff and was invited by Ron Blake (an amazing saxophonist at Juilliard and baritone saxophonist in the Saturday Night Live band) to contact him when I was ready to apply to Juilliard (take that stupid high school counselor!).

     But then I went and served an LDS mission on the Navajo Nation. I spent two years sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ and doing a lot of service. By the time I returned home my priorities had changed. I had seen enough to realize that I could do more for people if I didn't pursue a career in music.  I wanted to find a career that did more than provide an income. I wanted to be able to also help people. I eventually decided to pursue a career in medicine and I'm now a medical student (that's a story in of itself).

     The point is that after aligning all of my ambitions with a career in music I ultimately decided not to do it. I thought it was the best fit for me and that anything else would be pretty miserable, but I was wrong. Despite having spent some time in a cubicle and spending countless hours doing paperwork (a task more mundane than watching paint dry), I consider myself fortunate to be where I am (even if I have many years of medical school and poverty ahead of me). Maybe it's not that bad when your dreams don't come true, because you might be headed towards a better one.