On identity

The drive to define myself

Photo by Amauri Mejía on Unsplash

When I decided to leave teaching, I had an identity crisis.

I had spent the previous 7 years introducing myself to everyone as a “Choir Teacher”. In fact, when I told people at my 10 year reunion that I taught high-school choir, the response was “of course you do”.

Because, of course I did. Ever since the party sophomore year of high school where my friends told me they thought I was going to be a choir teacher—and I was subsequently given a award indicating I was on track to become a junior version of our choir director by the seniors during next year’s musical—that was my path. I was defined as “choir teacher”. Forget the entertainment law direction I thought I might pursue, or any of the of the other paths that floated through my brain. Choir teacher was it. So much so, that I spent my free time writing a script of what can only be considered “Self Fan Fiction”, detailing my path to teaching at a prestigious high school choir program and what my life would look like, including falling in love with my dashing co-worker. I was also heavily in my Grey’s Anatomy phase at the time and wrote five episodes of a Grey’s-inspired drama about the fine arts department of a high school—complete with thematic voice over.

When I was in college, I dropped my music education major and switched to music history and political theory when I spent more of my time alone in a practice room practicing bassoon fingerings than writing papers exploring the societal context of musical performance. The technical part of practicing music was my least favorite. I know plenty of musicians who showcase incredible artistry perfecting a single measure of music—that was never me. So, I changed course to a field in which I spent more time with my laptop on the floor of my best friend’s dorm room. Much more my speed.

I tried on several different hats: a brief decision to become a lawyer that ended when I walked out of the LSAT and a stint at a PR firm that ended when my boss ranted about Roe v. Wade (in 2012). So, I found my way back to music education because that was what I thought I should be.

I am incredibly grateful for the years I spent as a teacher. I grew a lot as a person and got to mentor some teenagers who are still like my little siblings today. And, while I had the same frustration with the process of rehearsing that I did when I was in college, I did get the opportunity to explore with my students how music tells a story and connect to an audience. Ask any of my former students, and they would say the thing I asked most often was “Who are you talking to and why?”.

I knew I had to switch paths when I realized I didn’t know how to answer that for myself. I had just come back from Vietnam and had spent much of my time observing and writing my blog. I felt more in flow then, sharing my words, than I ever did practicing a vocal part. I’ve always known I had a lot to say, but I was afraid to say it publicly. I think that’s why I turned to music in high school— I could use other people’s words and music to be a vessel. It allowed me to express my emotions in a way that was collective and safe, and I was recognized in this environment. I felt I wasn’t ready to put myself out there—to freely have myself and my thoughts heard by others, opening myself up to their judgement.

The most ironic part about me going into music education was that I missed the signs entirely. Instead of spending my time practicing at a piano, I spent my time in high school at a different kind of keyboard—weaving a story about who I was and who I wanted to be. So…I was a writer. Even when I was teaching, the times I felt most alive where when I got to excitedly share a philosophy with my class…a speaker.

It took the pandemic for me to pick up my proverbial pen again and begin writing. And, once I made the decision to write, things moved quickly—it took 1 week for me to decide to act on my impulses and put a plan in motion to move to Los Angeles a month later. That type of decision had taken me years in the past.

When I got here, however, I felt like I couldn’t call myself a writer. I wasn’t officially trained, I hadn’t put in the hours grinding like many of the people I met, and I wasn’t officially published. I spent my first two and a half years half-heartedly writing, apologizing that I dared to take up space and try this crazy field—even convincing myself at one point that I didn’t really want to write because I didn’t have anything new to say. I put all of myself into my job and began to define myself as a marketer.

And, the marketing blazer fits. Sure, it is a little long around the arms, and doesn’t quite button around the waist, but I can wear it fine. It uses my skills as a communicator in a way that I find challenging and engaging, and I’m very happy to have a job and coworkers I enjoy.

But it’s not who I am. For years I had been trying to define myself by what I do—as is fairly common in American society, answering “I’m a teacher”, “I’m a marketer”, “I’m a lawyer”…The job becomes the definition of self. For the years I taught high school, I ate, slept, and breathed choir. So, when I left it…I didn’t know who I was anymore.

Last year, I still tried to define myself by what I was doing. “I am a marketer”. Except…I’m not, something that my bosses are quick to remind me and demonstrate—this job is a part of what we do, but it is not our lives. It has taken a lot of mental gymnastics to really internalize that. I am not what I do.

It was on a walk one morning in Sète, France that I woke up to who I am.

I am an artist.

I always have been—an artist and creator driven by storytelling, connection, and beauty. It’s what I loved about everything I have done: music, teaching, writing, etc. I am a photographer and love to capture scenery and nature in different lights. I am a painter—I picked up water colors this year, and though I am very much a beginner, I have loved having this new outlet for artistic expression. I signed up for an acting class for the first time since high school to learn how to inhabit characters and tell their stories. All these different paths of artistic expression have opened me up in a way that has made me feel more whole. And, in embedding more art into my life, I am showing up as an artist and creative in my job.

I am finally asserting confidently that I am an artist. And I am no longer apologizing because I am not officially trained or booked an “artistic” job. Being an artist is who I am. Confidently recognizing myself as an artist has also helped me recognize myself as so much more than that.

I am

• An explorer

• A learner

• A comedian

• A friend

• A sister

• A daughter

• An activist

• So much more than any one word can capture.

This year, I am leaning into my artistry, and I am creating my own definition of who I am. I don’t think that definition will be complete this year—nor do I want it to be. It’s a journey, and I am excited to be along for the ride.

Ten things this week

This week, I’m going to highlight creators who have inspired me recently. This is by no means an extensive list as I could easily list hundreds. Some of these creators I’ve known for a while, some I’m just discovering. I’d love to know who inspires you.

1. I recently discovered the music of November Ultra, and I love it. Her voicehas been a great accompaniment during work days.

2. I had the incredible experience to get a rush ticket for Kate Berlant’s show KATE at the Pasadena Playhouse on Saturday. Kate is the epitome of a storyteller and artist. I laughed, I cried, I left thinking about what it means to create.

3. Jaqueline Novak’s special “Get On Your Knees” is now streaming on Netflix. I saw it a few years ago, and it is just as impactful now. This remains the most erudite and feminist set I have ever heard about blow jobs.

4. Lynn Chen has such a clear voice and creates art in a way that is so authentic to her—and not limited to one medium. Check out any of her newsletters, her feature film, or any one of her other amazing projects.

5. Deborah Lee Smith’s podcast “More Than You See” speaks to me on such a deep level. I am so appreciative of all of the conversations she has on this podcast. She is also a filmmaker and actress, and I sincerely don’t know how she has time for it all.

6. Wynter Mitchell-Rohrbaugh has been a favorite podcaster of mine for a bit with her great podcast “Waiting to X-hale” with Karen Tongson. She just started a new podcast, “Tangent Island” that is her first foray into a solo venture. I listened to the premier episode yesterday, and I am obsessed.

7. When I started painting, I began to follow a lot of visual artists on Instagram. One of my favorites is Kis Keya, a French painter and filmmaker. I haven’t explored any of her films, but she has such exquisite art featuring the female form. I always stop and look at it on my feed.

8. Drag is one of my absolute favorite forms of artistic expression. The new season of RuPaul’s Drag Race just started, and I’m already obsessed with Dawn and Q because of their impeccable aesthetics. And I love Plasma for her Barbra impression.

9. Speaking of Barbra, I would be remiss not to mention my queen. Barbra was one of my first artistic inspirations and remains to be up there. I have not taken on the daunting task of reading or listening to her book yet (choosing instead to listen to Glamorous Trash’s expert recap).

10. And speaking of Glamorous Trash, Chelsea Devantez hosts a fantastic and inspiring podcast (Glamorous Trash), and she has her own memoir coming out and I cannot wait.

That’s it for this week! See you next time!

—Melanie