This year marks a decade since I embarked on a career in music and eight years since I became a professional music teacher.

Objectively, it has never been a better time to build a career in any creative art form, given the lowered barriers to entry and numerous avenues to making money independently as a musician in 2024. Yet, the last ten years have been anything but ordinary. The world has witnessed:

• A global pandemic

• An impending global recession

• The threat of World War III

And to top it all off, there has never been more disconnection and disagreements in the music industry where:

• Streaming services are often seen as the villains of the story

• Mavericks like Jacob Collier are criticized for being “different”

• Music has been reduced to mere cannon fodder for content creation and commercial dopamine hits

But I’m not here to rant or provide social commentary on the state of the music industry — not today. Despite the controversy, polarization, and schism in the world of music in 2024, I, like many others, find myself needing music more than ever.

For the last three years, I’ve felt like I’ve been walking a tightrope that gets thinner and thinner every day. After all, I chose a career in an industry where the success rate is barely 10%, and those who break into that 10% are often either miserable or just hanging on by a thread. Even though I’ve managed to escape the traditional life of a starving musician — living off free pub meals after 3 a.m. gigs and couch-hopping until friends run out — I still don’t feel settled as a musician. I knew this would be the case when I decided to become a professional musician; there are no guarantees, even for the hardest workers.

When COVID hit in 2020, I truly understood what it felt like to have my livelihood taken away from me. The creative arts and music industry, like many others, has yet to fully recover from the two years of forced limbo. While most industries have managed to reinvent themselves, the music industry has sunk deeper into the mire.

Moreover, in the music education space — the sector I’ve dedicated half my life to — the number of children enrolled in music lessons or participating in music activities at school has dropped significantly over the last six years. When it comes to extracurricular activities, music is often the first to be cut from children’s weekly routines, fast becoming a luxury rather than a necessity.

Throughout my childhood, music was viewed as an essential part of a child’s upbringing, a vessel for connection and a way to become more intertwined with the world. Choosing a career in music was once seen as a death wish, a one-way ticket to a lifetime of struggling and financial hardship. This notion and stigma were slowly fading, and as the 2010s rolled on, the wider community began to understand the importance of music and the potential lucrativeness of being an artist, thanks to stars like Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift.

But hope, painstakingly built over decades, can be snatched away in an instant. Just when I thought there was finally a clear pathway to success as a musician, an avalanche of doubt, pessimism, and skepticism crushed the dreams of many young musicians.

I wouldn’t blame any of my fellow musicians for wanting to create a Plan B away from music. Sometimes, I even feel the urge to discourage my young students from chasing their first gigs, suggesting they keep music as a bedroom hobby instead. The media and news have started reporting on the mental health crisis plaguing the music industry and, just as importantly, the financial struggles musicians face. In Australia alone, musicians were among the lowest-paid professionals between 2022 and 2023, earning an average of $23,000 AUD a year, equivalent to minimum wage for hospitality or retail workers.

So, why am I still here, holding onto my dream of being a musician? Why do I stay optimistic and encourage my fellow musicians and students to pursue music as a career?

The answer seems straightforward, especially since I’ve ventured into digital writing and ghostwriting over the last year, with the potential to make ten times more money in a month than I could make in a year as a musician. So, again, why am I staying optimistic and encouraging others to follow this path?

For starters, let me acknowledge the obvious reasons:

• Music, like any art form, is the best way to find yourself and let your soul grow.

• It is a form of storytelling and a way to express emotions when words fail.

• Like sports, it provides entertainment and an escape for those who play and listen.

And of course, there are cognitive benefits for young children and a wealth of research supporting music’s role in preventing Alzheimer’s and Dementia in old age. But these reasons are just the tip of the iceberg and the byproducts of music.

For me, my reasons are more personal. I truly believe that for each person on this planet, musician or not, music opens a portal to finding their purpose and reason to live.

More than just music

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, music has been the one constant thread in my life, not only saving me but also giving me countless second chances in many aspects of my life.

I’m talking about:

• A second chance after my first suicidal ideation

• A second chance to rebuild my relationship with my parents

• A second chance to make a genuine difference

These aren’t just abstract concepts or lofty ideals. They are the very moments that reshaped my existence, guiding me through the darkest times and helping me find light on the other side. Let me take you through these pivotal second chances and show you how music became the lifeline that pulled me back from the brink.

My Temporary Death and Rebirth

Let me be clear — I never had a detailed plan to end my life, nor did I make an attempt.

Every day, I count myself lucky and grateful that I never reached that point. Yet, like millions around the world, I endured a prolonged phase where the thought of giving up was my first waking thought.

In mid-2023, for three harrowing months, I was a shadow of my former self, a ghost aimlessly wandering through life. I was on the brink of surrender, ready to plot my end, when music cast its saving light upon me.

One evening, as I sat down to write my farewell letters to friends, family, colleagues, and students, I found myself drawn to “In My Life” by The Beatles. This song has always been my mirror, reflecting the mosaic of moments that shape my existence.

At 26, I felt I had lived a lifetime, despite the torment I was experiencing. But as each note and lyric unfolded, a thought struck me: “This is a song I should be listening to when I’m 60 or 70, not now.”

The first verse hit me like a wave:

I realized that somehow, in some way, I had to navigate through this darkness. This painful chapter was merely one of many in the grand story of my life.

I longed for the day I could sit back and reflect on my life, outliving a few of my inner circle, cherishing the memories we created together. I realized my life wasn’t defined by the pain and struggles I had endured. By choosing to end my life, I would be forfeiting a future brimming with unwritten memories and possibilities.

My life is defined by the relationships I hold dear, by the friends and family who stand by me. I owed it to myself and to them to live out these unwritten chapters. Perhaps in 50 years, I could look back and, only then, feel ready to let go.

John Lennon’s song wasn’t simply a nostalgic reflection; it was a call to rebirth, a celebration of the present.

My death had to be temporary. I accepted that this was a time to reinvent myself, to break free from the clutches of my depression. Music became my vessel, guiding me towards a new beginning filled with hope, memories yet to be made, and countless second chances.

Reconnecting with my family and their heritage

My parents journeyed to Australia, seeking to offer me a life rich with opportunities they never had. They always reminded me of our roots: my mother, from the slums of Saigon, where my grandmother heroically raised eight children amidst the chaos of the Vietnam War; and my father, from the rural villages of Fujian in China, where every meal was a hard-won victory.

At 12, I made the conscious decision to abandon my Vietnamese and Chinese heritage, vowing to fully assimilate into Australian culture. This included speaking only English. While this choice helped me excel in school, thrive in business, and deeply understand the Australian way of life, it also distanced me from my family and heritage. There came a point where the only proof of my lineage was in legal documents and blood tests.

As I grew older, a sense of shame festered within me for having abandoned my roots, feeling as though I had severed a vital part of my soul. In my quest to reconnect with my family and rediscover where I come from, music became the bridge to this lost world I was born into.

Much like jazz and blues encapsulate the stories and struggles of Black Americans, the folk songs of my heritage are a vital tapestry of stories, values, and history. Through their infectious melodies and cadences, I began to relearn the language I had forsaken for a decade. For much of my childhood, I could barely communicate with my parents, a consequence of my selfish decision to not speak their language. Little did I know, in doing so, I had severed the spiritual cord connecting me to generations of culture and heritage.

To many, Cantonese and Asian pop songs might seem like mere love songs, but to me, they are lifelines — gateways to relearning the language embedded in my DNA, portals to reconnect with my family after a decade of estrangement.

Thanks to this musical journey, over the past three years, I have uncovered profound stories about my family’s history, such as:

• How my father became the first in our family to break the chain of poverty.

• How my grandmother, with unparalleled resilience, raised eight children as a single mother during the Vietnam War.

• How my girlfriend’s family tree is lined with uncles and aunties who bravely fought against communism, standing up for their human rights.

Music, once just a passion, has now become the vessel through which I reclaim my heritage and heal the fractured bonds with my family. Through every note and lyric, I am piecing together the story of my ancestry, finding my place in a lineage rich with sacrifice, strength, and unspoken love.

A chance to make a real impact in people’s lives

You might say I’ve saved the best reason for last.

For me, all these reasons are equally important, but perhaps this final one is my legacy, the part of me that will live on beyond my time.

We often speak of making a difference in the world, no matter the scale. For some, it’s about demonstrating that anyone can succeed while staying true to themselves. For others, it’s about proving that with passion and dedication, dreams can be realised.

For me, it’s about offering hope to those who, like me back in mid-2023, need a small reason to see another day.

Until the pandemic in 2020, music was just a creative pursuit, a way to revolutionize acoustic guitar playing. I aspired to follow in the footsteps of greats like Tommy Emmanuel and join the ranks of contemporary guitarists like Mike Dawes and Andy McKee, bringing a new style to the world.

As thrilling as that was, it wasn’t the true impact of music that I would come to understand. In 2020, I discovered the profound, transformative power that music holds.

In the last four years, I’ve seen a surge of young students battling depression, suicidal thoughts, and severe anxiety. These students and their families long for one thing: for their children to feel valued and belong in this world.

I’ve witnessed this firsthand — Teenagers from homes scarred by domestic violence find calm and peace through the cathartic thrashing of drums. Young seven-year-olds overcome their stutters and anxiety by playing and singing their favourite tunes on the guitar. These moments are priceless and immeasurable, speaking volumes about the deeply human impact music has on people.

Music became their sanctuary, a portal to a world where they believed in their purpose and found a connection. It became a lifeline, giving them the strength to endure the tough days and the hope for better ones.

Why The World Needs Music More Than Ever

So, I’m confident this isn’t the article you expected when you saw the title.

There are countless stories online about why the world needs music more than ever. They highlight how music provides children with the creative space they desperately need or discuss the potential of music therapy in treating mental health disorders. These are all vital reasons, and I wholeheartedly agree with them.

But let’s be honest.

While these reasons are well-intentioned and valid, they miss a fundamental truth about why music has been a cornerstone of humanity throughout history.

It’s the humanity that music brings.

If I had written an analytical essay, filled with statistics and data, you probably would have lost interest after the third or fourth paragraph. But if you’ve made it to the end of this piece, I want to say thank you. I truly appreciate you taking 15 minutes of your day to read what is essentially an extended journal entry.

More importantly, I hope my story, reflections, and experiences have shown you why music is so essential. Perhaps it’s even made you think about the times music has been there for you during your most significant moments.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what style of music you listen to, what era of music resonates with you, or what instrument you picked up because it was the only one left in the school band. Music is the one constant thread throughout history that has always brought out the best in humanity.