The Day I Walked Away from My Music Dream

December 15th, 2015—the day everything I’d dreamed of was supposed to come true.

I walked through the towering halls of the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, my heart pounding. This audition would decide it all: my future as a professional musician. But as I got closer to the room, something felt off—something I couldn't shake.

The building looked like Hogwarts. Inside, it was a temple—portraits of Bach, Beethoven, Miles Davis—all the greats watching from the walls, like silent gods of music.

This was it. My dream, since I picked up a toy guitar at age 2, coming to life. As I passed the teachers and students, I could already see it: me, learning from Australia’s best, creating music with fellow musicians. The script was set.

But, as I approached the audition room, something strange happened.
A voice.

“You don’t want to do this anymore.”

At first, I shrugged it off—nerves, right? Big moment, big jitters.
But this wasn’t normal. The voice grew louder. Stronger.

As I sat outside the audition door, I could feel it building—a rumbling inside me that wouldn’t go away. Normally, I’d talk myself out of pre-show nerves. Not this time.

The audition went well. I felt it. The panel’s reactions were everything I’d hoped for.
But the voice in my head…
Louder.
Stronger.

I had to leave.

Walking out of the building, heart pounding, I knew something was wrong.
This wasn’t just nerves. This was something deeper.

Now, I wasn’t the musical prodigy everyone talked about.
I was the kid who almost made it.
Almost got into the school band. Almost topped my music class. Almost nailed the big performance.
I was always “nearly.”

But this audition? This was supposed to change that.
The Con was my ticket to proving everyone right—my friends, family, teachers—everyone who said I was destined for greatness.

Two weeks later, the email came:
“Dear Mr. Brian Zhang, we are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into the Bachelor of Music undergraduate course at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music for 2016.”

I’d made it.
Finally. After 13 years of “almost,” I was in.

And yet, within 24 hours, I did something I never saw coming.
I picked up the phone, called the head Dean, and declined the offer.

As soon as I hung up, it was like the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders.

I didn’t realize how much I had been carrying—how much I had lived for everyone else’s expectations. The burden, the pressure to make them proud.

I still loved music. Still loved the guitar. But I knew this wasn’t my path. And that decision—while freeing for me—was devastating for others.

The next few months were hard. Tense conversations with family. Disappointed friends.
I felt like I’d committed a sin. Thrown away my future.

At 18, it’s easy to fall into that trap—of doing what you think you should do. Everyone says, “be yourself,” but the pressure to meet expectations is real. Especially when you feel like your whole life depends on it.

But here’s the truth:
It’s okay to not peak at 18.

It’s okay to not be living up to your potential just yet.
Why would you want to?

If you’ve already hit your dream right after high school, then what’s left? What’s your life supposed to be after that? A slow fade to gray?

If you plan to reach your potential now, you close yourself off to all the adventures and challenges ahead.
You stop learning, growing, discovering new parts of yourself.

Fast forward 9 years.
I’m 26 now, and guess what? I’m still far from my peak. And I’m okay with that.

I’m still that “nearly” kid—so close, yet so far. And that’s the best part. I have no idea what my full potential is. I don’t want to find out anytime soon.

Here’s something no one tells you:
It’s okay not to be the overachiever who peaks early. Life isn’t meant to follow a straight line.

There’s a whole lifetime ahead to discover what you’re capable of. The detours, the wrong turns, the almost moments—those are the parts that make the story worth telling.

Maybe you’re reading this feeling like you’re nearly there, too.
Like you’re close to something, but not quite. And it’s frustrating.

Here’s what I want you to know:
You don’t have to finish writing your story by someone else’s deadline.

Because the best parts of life? They come from the moments when things don’t go to plan. The moments that surprise you, that make you rethink everything.

And that’s where the real magic happens.

Thank you so much for taking 5 minutes of your day to read my story. I hope it resonated with you. If it did, I’d be incredibly grateful if you could share this with a fellow musician or friend who might need to hear it.

I appreciate you all, and I hope my newsletter gives you a little bit of hope for your journey moving forward.

Yours truly, Brian, The Mental Musician.