Jo PageToday I Sent An Email I Really Didn't Want To Send.
I said no to what seemed to be an incredible opportunity.
It's the second time in my life I've ever done that.
Not Because I Wasn't Grateful.
Not because I couldn't see the 'bigger picture'
Not because I don't believe in taking chances.
I've built sixteen years of my music career around taking chances.
Sometimes The Math Doesn't Add Up.
An hour on stage. An eight-hour drive. Pulling together a band. Rehearsals.
Accommodation cost. Fuel cost. Annual leave off my day job cost. Time cost.
Then having to split the already low performance fee, between myself and my guitarist.
Sometimes the opportunity is worth more than the pay. (exposure they say)
More of than not... it isn't.
People See The Hour On Stage.
They don't see...
the 16 years it took to get there.
The decades of self-sacrifice.
Or the thousands of unpaid hours spent earning that hour.
As A Regional Artist...
We're often invited to incredible opportunities...
...but the barriers look different.
Living in Port Lincoln means most opportunities start with anywhere between a two-to-24-hour drive or multiple flights before I even plug a microphone in.
This Is The Part People Don't See.
Every opportunity starts with a panic.
Organising and getting my musicians there.
Rehearsal times and people management.
Travel cost and time. (Eight-hour car trip)
Accommodation. (Put myself up for the night to be part of the event)
Annual leave. (Letting my work down)
Recovery time. (Not having a weekend or any down time)
Can I afford it?
Can my body afford it?
Because Every "Yes" Has A Cost.
“Maybe this would've been the room.”
“Maybe this would've been the performance.”
“Maybe this would've been the opportunity that changed everything.”
Maybe.
But I've learnt the hard way not to build my future on "maybe."
Then They Say...
"If you wanted it bad enough...
you'd make it happen." (ooft)
I've Wanted This With My Whole Heart, My Whole Life.
So let me show you what "wanting it" has actually looked like.
For Over 16 Years...
I've worked many full-time jobs...
While building an original music career...
And performing in multiple cover projects.
Probably glamourising hustle culture.
A Normal Week Looks Like:
Monday to Friday. 9am to 5pm, plus after-hours for crisis on-call.
Supporting women and children escaping domestic and family violence.
5pm until around 12pm... Music.
I added up this morning that I spend about 55+ hours a week managing my music career alone, and it's not even my main source of income...
"Music."
Sounds romantic.
Reality looks more like...
Emails.
Endless Facebook chats.
People management.
Opportunity applications.
Festival applications.
Grant applications.
Award applications.
Rehearsals.
Recording.
Reaching out.
Rejection.
Content creation.
Content editing.
Content posting. (To every platform you can think of)
Endless Social media presence.
Replying to all engagement on every post.
Strategising releases.
Event planning and coordination.
Ticket sales and management.
Marketing.
Promoting.
Interviews and PR.
Booking gigs.
Learning songs.
Networking (in person and online).
Quotes, Invoices and negotiating.
Late nights.
No Routine.
Trying to create something meaningful after a full day at work.
Songwriting. (If there's enough time to even be creative)
Then Friday Comes.
5pm hits, get ready for a gig.
Perform all night.
Saturday?
Throw the gear in the car.
Drive for hours.
Set up.
Perform.
Pack down.
Drive home at an ungodly hour or stay overnight.
Sleep.
Wake up.
Drive home.
Admin.
Catch up on chores or attempt to adult while exhausted...
Go back to work Monday.
Repeat.
For years.
Eventually...
The question changes.
It stops being...
"Will this help my career?"
and becomes...
"Will I still be okay to show up on Monday, when all my colleagues have had a break and I haven't?"
"Can I show up and be fully present for my clients today?"
Because Burnout Doesn't Always Look Like Giving Up.
Sometimes...
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It looks like forgetting conversations.
Living permanently exhausted.
Low capacity.
Health issues.
Mental Health issues.
Losing your creativity.
Feeling disconnected from yourself.
Feeling alone.
Running on adrenaline and cortisol.
Hormone imbalances.
Wondering why your body feels broken.
Still smiling on stage and at work.
Still trying to be there for family.
Still expected to exist and do and give my best.
And also expected to never say how hard it really is.
Because I choose this...
Right?
Not Every Opportunity Is Worth Its Cost.
It's not because we don't want it, or aren't giving it our all. It's not because we can't see the potential. It's not because we aren't grateful.
Sometimes... the opportunity is great.
The cost is just greater.
To the wonderful people who invited me to be part of this event...
Thank you.
I genuinely sat with this decision much longer than you'll probably ever know because I understood what an honour it was to be asked... And it means so much, it truly means everything...
I hope our paths cross another time.
I'll still be here.
Still performing.
Always chasing the dream.
Just no longer believing the dream should cost me absolutely everything and leave me out of pocket at the same time.
I'm the kind of person who gives until there's nothing left.
The Hardest Part Isn't Saying "No."
It's accepting that you'll never know what would've happened if you'd said yes to the opportunity.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
And that's the gamble we live with, and the thought that keeps us playing the game.
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