What happens when our identity as a musician slips into past tense?
It took exactly two months. Someone in the office asked about my professional background — and it slipped out before I'd even registered the cadence:
“I was a musician.”
Past tense.
Just like that, I assumed a new identity - the developer formerly known as an Artist.
By the time I noticed, the moment had passed; the resonance had dissipated. But what does this shift actually mean, beyond the calm of my first Nutcracker- and Messiah-free festive season?
First, don’t get me wrong - this isn’t some grand farewell to music. Quite the opposite. One of the unexpected perks of my new weekly routine is rediscovering music purely for pleasure during my daily commute. Who knew gaelictronica, alt-folk and mournful singer-songwriters would be such wonderful travel companions over the Forth Bridge? (For those who care, currently on rotation: Jacob Alon, Matmos, Clara Mann.)
Music still matters to me as deeply as ever, and my belief that access to the arts is a fundamental human right hasn’t softened. In fact, the existential threats to creative thought and expression in today’s geopolitical gyre only strengthen that conviction. I feel every bit as responsible for turning up on that front line as I did when I was paid to.
But the rhythm of my life has changed irrevocably.
I’ve learned the Monday-to-Friday grind has its own discipline, one that my family and I are still negotiating. And yet, there’s a surprising amount of autonomy in my new world: I pace my work, schedule lunch when I please, and there’s a kind of tempo rubato to the week - leave early today, make up time tomorrow.
I’m lucky to have a manager who understands that human beings have lives. Try telling an orchestra you need to leave rehearsal two hours early because your kid just puked at kindy. In my former career, personal needs came last on the agenda, and that shift in perspective alone has been both profound and welcome.
There is, however, one major philosophical difference: I can no longer pretend my day job is truly in service of humanity.
Even the most laudable charitable initiatives and volunteer programmes big tech runs can’t disguise the simple fact that MAANG* exist to make money. I miss grand ideals and lofty missions, something worth striving for beyond quarterly earnings.
But there are practices from the tech world that I genuinely think classical music could borrow: workplaces here are boundaried, frugal, and data-driven, but still brimming with creative and critical thought processes; meetings start on time, stay on topic, and - wtf - sometimes even finish early; professional development is funded and encouraged; there’s an efficiency and respect for people’s time that I relish.
And what about that Messiah- and Nutcracker-free Christmas? On December 19th, I shut my laptop, said goodbye to the team (no hugs please, we are in tech), and didn’t think about work again until January 5th. Total disconnection, completely guilt-free.
Still, if I’m honest, the silence felt a little empty. Work you can forget so completely is also work that doesn’t quite get under your skin — comfortable, but never quite possessing you.
* MAANG is an acronym for major US tech companies: Meta (formerly Facebook), Amazon, Apple, Netflix, and Google (Alphabet) representing tech giants known for innovation, high salaries, and significant stock market influence. It was originally known as FANG (Facebook, Amazon, Netflix, Google), evolving to MAANG after Facebook rebranded to Meta.
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