Sometimes all you need is a reminder

When you’ve been doing something for so long, it’s easy to forget why you started.

Since 2021, I’ve found myself drifting further away from the reasons I became a guitar player and music teacher.

I know so many musician friends who feel the same. On one hand, they’re proud of their success, but on the other, they’ve lost touch with the music they play.

And hey, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that—after all, bills don’t pay themselves.

But it wasn’t always that way for me.

The first time I felt this disconnect was in 2021, when I started my jazz degree at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music.

At 23, I was one of the older students starting their first year. While the other students were 18 or 19, still living with their parents, I’d been working and saving for six years.

On top of that, I was moving out of my parent’s house, and into my first apartment the day the semester began. Big day!

IIn that first week, I noticed the younger students were full of energy, excitement, and joy.

It felt like they had “made it” by being accepted into one of Australia’s most prestigious jazz schools. Their next four years would be spent playing jazz for 12 hours a day, jamming with Australia’s finest musicians, and attending after-hours parties.

For me, though, it was a reminder that playing music for a living wasn’t just a dream anymore—it was a necessity.

I wasn’t just there to study; I was there to secure my future.

On the surface, I looked down on those younger students, but if I’m being honest, I envied them. I wished I still had their passion and fire for music. I had forgotten what made me love music in the first place.

Thankfully, I was reminded by a friend of mine—Calum Graham.

Let me tell you a bit about Calum.

He’s a Canadian fingerstyle guitar player, and if you like Tommy Emmanuel, Andy McKee, or Mike Dawes, you’ll definitely love Calum.

He’s not only an incredible guitarist who can create the sound of an entire orchestra with just one guitar, but he also embodies everything I try to share with the world.

Calum has been on the scene for over 15 years, starting when he won the Canadian Guitar Festival in 2010. One of his videos, Phoenix Rising, went viral in 2013, racking up over 5 million views.

(Check it out down below)

But despite his early success, Calum has always done things his way.

Instead of chasing millions of streams like many artists feel pressured to do today, he focused on crafting music that would resonate with a smaller, more intimate audience. His shows range from 300 to 1,000 people, and each performance feels like a personal connection.

Calum has always stayed true to his story and his fans, and this authenticity is one of the reasons his music is so powerful.

I first met Calum at the Canadian Guitar Festival in 2017.

I was surprised by how shy and laid-back he was. I had expected a big personality, someone eager to share wisdom and advice.

Instead, unless he was talking with someone directly, he stood in the corner with his hoodie up, quietly watching the performances.

As we talked more, he told me that music had always been his best friend. Like me, Calum struggled with depression in high school, and writing music became the companion that kept him going.

That’s why I feel so connected to his work. Every song he writes feels like a conversation about struggles, loneliness, and pain, but with an enduring sense of hope.

When Calum came to Australia in September, I knew I couldn’t miss his show.

I took my girlfriend and a couple of my guitar students along. My girlfriend was especially excited, knowing that I had met him before, but I downplayed it, saying, “He probably just sees me as a fan.”

Boy, was I wrong.

Towards the end of the show, Calum gave me a shoutout in front of 353 people. Afterward, while signing autographs, he took an extra 10 minutes to talk with my students, encouraging them to keep going and praising their playing.

In that moment, he reminded me of why I wanted to play music in the first place.

Music was never just about making a living; it was a way for me to feel like I belonged and to help others feel the same.

This hit even harder because, during the COVID years, Calum and I exchanged messages, wishing each other well. We both knew we weren’t doing great mentally, but we still found solace in music.

I had lost my reason for playing music—but thanks to Calum, I found it again.

Over the last few years, music became my job.

And that’s okay.

Musicians need to make a living, just like anyone else. But I felt trapped in that job, and because I love music so much, the feeling was even more painful.

Every day, I was making decisions based on:

• Growing my content

• Marketing my brand

• Handling finances and admin

I was terrified that I would start to hate my job and, worse, hate music.

This was especially true when I was teaching.

I originally became a teacher to help kids gain confidence and realize they could express themselves through music. But lately, it’s felt more about preparing them for exams and academic achievement.

Seeing how Calum spoke to my students, calling them “superstars” and making their day, reminded me why I love teaching music.

Calum has found his path, with a loyal fanbase that will follow him anywhere.

He sold out every show on his first Australian tour, and after each performance, he gave every fan a handshake, a hug, and a photo.

In many ways, Calum isn’t just a guitarist—he’s a genuinely kind person who happens to play guitar.

So here’s my reminder to you:

It’s okay to chase bigger dreams. With today’s resources, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to top the Spotify charts or sell out theatres.

But along the way, remind yourself why you fell in love with music in the first place. Those reminders will keep you grounded and help you push through the mundane tasks that come with being a professional musician.

P.S. I know Calum wouldn’t want too much praise, but if you get a chance today, listen to Waiting—one of his songs that I highly recommend:

And if you ever get the chance to see him live, don’t miss it. I promise, it’ll be a show you’ll never forget, and you’ll leave with a renewed sense of hope.