When Success Feels Like Free-Falling

You know when people say "life is a roller coaster"?

Well, being a professional musician is like riding Kingda Ka on repeat – except there's no safety harness, the track might be missing a few bolts, and you're pretty sure the operator is having an existential crisis.

The heights of your success will get you so close to the clouds you can high-five God, but the drop is so dramatic you won't even have time to question your life choices before your stomach ends up in your throat.

And just like that terrifying moment when you're suspended at the peak, staring down at your impending doom, you'll find yourself asking: "Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?"

Anyways, given this is a newsletter about music, I better get onto to the music part aye?

Every musician approaching their first big gig comes armed with a bucket of excuses:

• "What if no one shows up?"

• "What if I forget all my lyrics?"

• "What if my guitar strings snap mid-solo?"

• "What if the crowd throws tomatoes? Do people still do that?"

• "What if I become a viral meme for all the wrong reasons?"

But despite all these fears, you end up waiting in line anyway. Because hope, that sneaky little optimist, whispers that maybe – just maybe – this gig will be different.

(Sorry for calling them excuses. That’s more about me…)

Unfortunately, no one warns you about the soul-crushing two-hour wait before you even get on stage. A wait that feels like watching paint dry while simultaneously getting your teeth cleaned.

In 2024, the music industry is less like a nurturing parent and more like that friend who promises to help you move but shows up three hours late with nothing but a bag of chips and "moral support." They're not in it for your success – they're in it to keep their own head above water.

Think of it like a kitchen rag. I know you’ve done a lot of thinking so far, but stay with me here.

When you buy a $1.50 kitchen rag from the dollar store, you don't think about its profound role in your life. It's just there to keep your countertop clean. But that humble rag is actually saving you from a horror show of bacterial diseases:

• Salmonella

• E-coli Hepatitis

• And everyone's favourite party crasher, from the 2020s, COVID-19

Eventually, you'll toss that rag, not before realising how it silently protected your family from turning into walking petri dishes. Just like how the industry will eventually discard artists – right after they've soaked up every drop of marketable talent.

Yet despite knowing all this, artists still sign those deals and join those agencies. They chase the promise of sold-out shows and Spotify-topping hits, only to end up playing in a warehouse that looks more like a set from "The Walking Dead" than Madison Square Garden.

Only 57 people will show up to that gig. And your next "big break" will be in a pub so underground, moles would need GPS to find it.

Whilst the spotify chart topping releases may come, it’ll come at the cost of your artist integrity, where you’ll write music that would be more suitable for a 90’s jingle toilet cleaner ad.

Most artists will stay at either end of the stick.

They’ll either never get on the ride.

Or they’ll get on the ride, only to go to the next one, with the same fears popping up again.

By the 4th ride of the day, they’ll have to call the on-site paramedic to ensure their blood pressure is still at a healthy humanly level.

Perhaps a visit to the tanning salon would help return their skin from looking like casper the friendly ghost to someone who is at normal body temperature.

I’ve been in the industry for 10 years but not as a traditional musician.

I’ve spent most of the time being a teacher, running a music school, helping my students kickstart their performing careers.

In recent times I’ve started writing about my mental health journey as a musician over the last 10 years.

Specifically depression and anxiety, whilst also diving into areas such as:

• Burnout

• Imposter Severe

• Stress

• Loneliness

• Low confidence

• Self Belief

• Self-worth

• Resilience

• Mental Strength

• Courage

Early on in my career, I tried going down the traditional pathway of reaching out to every pub, club and venue I could find in my hometown, Sydney Australia.

I played at weddings receptions, private birthday parties, school awards presentation nights, farmer’s markets.

I’ve had some weird ones in between as well:

In 2018 I performed at a yoga meditation centre where I was asked to improvise music for the yoga class. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to being in a cult. The hue lights, the disorganised buddhist monasteries, random mantras on the wall from the great philosophers of the world, to stock google images with random quotes of motivation from celebrities such as Hugh Jackman or Arnold Schwartzneggar, who probably didn’t even say it!

I placed ads on the internet, used the earliest version of facebook ads, and at one point I joined a church band to see if the resident band had opportunities opening up.

Look, in this day and age, it makes no sense for an up-and-coming musician to go through this pathway given the resources available out there on the internet.

That being said, I still believe musicians have to go through this process, just in an updated manner for the 21st century.

Let me be clear, there is no hack, shortcut or half-arse way to “make it” as a successful artist in 2024.

That is despite the TikTok influencers you see on the internet.

I’m also discounting the likes of Taylor Swift, Sabrina Carpenter, Ed Sheeran or Dua Lipa.

These artists didn’t just suddenly burst on the scene.

They worked their backsides off for at least a decade, and are now smelling the roses.

They deserve the awards, fame and money they have today, because of 10 years of hard work.

I’ve been in the music industry for a decade now, and let me tell you, it’s been a roller coaster ride, but not the fun kind.

Here’s a brief overview of my career and financial stats:

• 2015–2017: My solo music school had a steady 20 students a week. I was just two years out of high school, making about $35,000 a year. Not bad for a 19-year-old, right? Though, sometimes it felt like I was just one bad student away from a “Help Wanted” sign.

• 2018: I hit 25 students for the first time. I was ecstatic — until I realized that was just the number of people who wanted to hear me explain why they should practice more.

• 2019: I reached 30 students and finally hit $50,000 in savings. I celebrated by pretending I was rich for about a week before reality set in.

• 2020: The pandemic hit, and I reached a peak of 42 students. I was making $65,000 a year, which felt like winning the lottery — if the lottery came with constant Zoom meetings and a lot of hand sanitizer.

• 2021: I achieved $100,000 in savings for the first time, after making $75,000 for the year. I managed to put $25,000 into savings, which felt like a small victory in a year full of setbacks.

• 2022: I opened my first major music school, hired 10 tutors, and invested $135,000 of my savings. It was a huge leap, though it felt like trying to build a mansion on a foundation of marshmallows.

• 2023: I shut down that school despite making $160,000 in gross revenue and $37,500 in profit with 90 students. It was like throwing a grand party and then realizing the cleanup was going to cost more than the celebration.

• 2024: I rebranded my school, and as of August 2024, have returned $80,000 in gross revenue and $20,000 in profit, scaling down to 70 students. It feels like starting over, but with fewer balloons and more spreadsheets.

Now, all these statistics are nice to look at, but they don’t capture the full picture of my journey.

In 2015, during my final year of high school, I was diagnosed with major depression. It was like starting a roller coaster ride with a broken safety bar. By 2019, I had generalized anxiety disorder, adding more twists and turns to the ride.

In 2021, I had my first major panic attack — a jarring wake-up call. By 2022, I had a second major panic attack, making the ride even more nerve-wracking. It felt like the roller coaster was going off the rails, and I was just trying to hang on.

In 2023, I started taking antidepressants for the first time. That same year, I had my first suicidal thought. It was a terrifying moment, and despite the outward success of my music school, I was struggling behind the scenes.

In 2024, I’m averaging only four hours of sleep a night and on a higher dose of antidepressants. The façade of success doesn’t tell the whole story. Despite what the numbers suggest, I’ve been teetering on the edge of financial ruin since early 2023.

These figures — about my career and finances — are more than just statistics. They’re a glimpse into the reality of my life. Behind the seeming success lies a story of struggle and resilience. The roller coaster ride of my career continues, with its highs and lows. And through it all, I’m still hanging on, finding moments to smile and laugh amidst the chaos.

I’ll go back to talking about roller coasters, because, well, for one, roller coasters are pretty cool. Plus, if I didn’t, then…I’ll be one of those clickbaity influencers people don’t like.

But I have a personal story about roller coasters that might bring this metaphor full circle.

On New Year’s Day in 2024, my girlfriend and I visited Universal Studios Japan. We were midway through our Japan adventure, and before the day, we had meticulously mapped out every ride we wanted to experience.

My girlfriend thrives on extreme rides — anything that whisks you around at 100 mph and tips you upside down like a jar of ketchup. Me? I avoid anything that transforms you into an airborne teabag. Heights have always terrified me.

I’ve never been diagnosed with a phobia, but since age four, stepping onto any platform higher than an Olympic diving board makes me a bundle of nerves. Even the sixth floor of a mall makes my palms sweat.

Flying? It took me 19 years to get somewhat comfortable.

But I couldn’t let my girlfriend down. For some, proving love means heroics; for me, it meant enduring a ride that flings you 40 meters up, drops you at 100 km/h, and spins you like a top.

One ride had caught my girlfriend’s eye: The Flying Dinosaur in Universal’s Jurassic Park. It has a 40-meter drop, reaches 100 km/h, and features five pretzel loops. The kicker? You’re positioned horizontally, feet dangling, so you see just how high you are.

We joined the line, which was 90 minutes long. Ninety minutes for me to mentally brace myself for a 47-second ride that felt like a lifetime.

As we waited, my girlfriend was the epitome of excitement, oblivious to the long wait. I had to find a way to cope. We were in Japan — there was no backing out. One thing was certain: I had to face this fear.

The distant screams of previous riders didn’t help. They echoed like a Formula One track, relentless and nerve-wracking. For 67 minutes, I distracted myself with Modern Family on my phone.

Then, at 73 minutes, the ground started to shake. It was a slight movement, like a boat rocking gently on a lake.

“Was that an earthquake?” my girlfriend asked.

I was so focused on the ride, I barely registered the tremor. But when the loudspeaker announced a temporary shutdown for testing due to the Suzu, Noto earthquake, reality hit. I switched from Modern Family to Google News.

The reports confirmed a 7.6 magnitude earthquake had struck, killing 339 people.

I’ll admit, this might sound heartless, but my immediate reaction was, “Shall we go back to the hotel?” Not for safety, but because it meant avoiding the ride.

We stayed put for another hour. The theme park workers then announced a 45-minute test to ensure the rides were safe. One brave employee volunteered to test The Flying Dinosaur solo, riding at increasingly higher speeds.

Throughout the tests, I silently wished for the ride to malfunction. Anything to avoid it.

After 45 minutes of watching the ride’s slow progress, it resumed operation. A 7.5 magnitude earthquake couldn’t stop me from confronting my irrational fear.

By now, you might be wondering how this relates to being a musician in the 21st century. The drawn-out metaphor is this: most musicians forget that 90% of the journey is spent waiting in line, facing unexpected challenges, like a massive earthquake that derails your plans.

For the remaining 50 minutes, all I could think about was escaping. In reality, I could’ve opted out and watched Shrek 4D instead. But I couldn’t let my girlfriend down.

Earlier that year, we’d faced a similar ride at the Easter Show in Sydney. It was slower and had just one loop. I couldn’t delay the inevitable. We were going on the ride.

I had to make the next 50 minutes count. So, I decided to embrace the experience and even use it as a story for my writing.

As the ride began its ascent, I considered closing my eyes, but then I’d miss the breathtaking view of Universal Studios Osaka at night.

Instead, I chose to sing. It might sound silly, but what if I sang the most annoying song I could think of? That could distract me from my fear.

As the chairs lifted us, I tried to keep my eyes open. The ride was both exhilarating and terrifying. I felt like I was floating. The view was mesmerizing, though I felt sorry for anyone who might be hit by my sweat.

When the first drop came, my vocal cords took over. Out came my grandest rendition of “Let It Go.” I let it all go — my fear, my anxiety.

The ride was over. I was relieved, laying flat and hugging the ground.

In Japan, where being considerate of others is paramount, I might have been seen as a public nuisance.

I’m not suggesting you should treat your music career like an extreme roller coaster during a natural disaster. What I’m saying is that handling the quiet moments between the excitement and the outcome prepares you for whatever comes your way.

You can’t control audience reactions, opportunities, success, or income. But you can control:

• Learning new pathways to success.

• How you interact with fans.

• The music you create and share.

• Educating yourself on money management and saving.

And most importantly, how you approach each moment in your career.

The results may still surprise you, but you might see them differently next time.

I’m looking forward to my next roller coaster ride with my girlfriend. Next stop: Six Flags. Kingda Ka, here we come!

P.S. Whilst today’s newsletter was a change in tone to my regular posts, I still wanted to make sure there was an element of optimism and focus on positive mental health for musicians.

That’s why I highly recommend you go check out the newsletter “Le Love Letters”.

This newsletter is all about self-care, believing in yourself, and finding a way when there isn’t a way.

If you enjoy my newsletter, then I have no doubt you’ll love this one.

And to top it off, you’ll be supporting another creator who is on the rise.

If today’s free newsletter gave you something to reflect on, that’s a win.
Sometimes, even a small insight can be enough to spark meaningful change—or remind you of your own reason to keep going.

If you know a musician or creator who could use this, share The Mental Musician with them.

It may not change your life, but it will support me and many artists and creators on improving their mental health.

Share this link: https://thementalmusician.beehiiv.com

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