Why the lack of "success" doesn't make you a failure

As an artist it is easy to feel like a failure. You look around and it seems like everyone else is doing so much better than you are. They're the same age as you; sometimes even younger, but while you still seem to play in the amateur league, they're riding that high wave you still have no idea how to even reach. And the time is ticking, ticking away and with every tick your life is just passing by - and you just sit in the front row and watch the show!
And you start to wonder, if maybe that is your place! Because we can't all "make it", can we? The ones up there in the light, they need us - if we don't come and watch, who will the show be for? Maybe we are the cheerers, the fans, the audience; never making the leap out of the shadows. Always in that front row, always so close - yet never there.

We have all heard it: Parents (but honestly - do they count!?), friends, colleagues - even teachers when they say: 

"You just haven't found your niche yet! Your place to shine!"

So you go through life, you work hard, every day and you try and try and try - but you never seem to get there. And slowly, very slowly a little thought is born inside of you and it sits on your shoulder and tickles you somewhere in your stomach, every time you hear it again, that "your time will come" and then, one day it has taken over you and your entire belief system:

"Maybe they are wrong. Maybe there is no special niche for me, no corner of the sky reserved for exactly who I am; maybe I am simply not good enough for any of the common places to shine."

And then, a little later, that "maybe" is taken out of the equation and what you are left with is the very simple:

"I am not good enough!"

And maybe in that very moment when we hit rock bottom, when we have come to the conclusion that we are worthless and not good enough - maybe that is a good time to redefine what "success" actually means to us.

I moved to NYC to study Musical Theatre. Everybody who knows me knows that I am a hard worker. Things don't come to me naturally - I have to work for them; so I do! I made it through the most satisfying 16 months of my life and it was all I ever thought it would be - including blood sweat and tears. The time after AMDA was at least as stressful but not quite as rewarding. I worked three jobs to simply afford staying in the Big Apple, I went to as many auditions as possible while trying to maintain, well, a social life. The auditions I did manage to go to during that time were good and I was able to book a couple of small (but still amazing) jobs.

Still, when you look at it from a commercial perspective: I failed.

I didn't make it on Broadway! I didn't get booked for "big" gigs! I couldn't live off performing! I lost a couple of months when I let myself get too involved with a guy who didn't turn out to be what I thought he might.

And when I look at all my friends and what they achieved during their time after AMDA, I failed even more. I am back sitting in that front row, watching them shine and GOD, I am so happy for them and I could cheer them on all day because they deserve it!

But why don't I deserve it too?

A couple of weeks after I came back to Europe I visited my uncle and my aunt. My uncle is a musician too and as we sat there, talking about what it means to be one and what it means to be successful, he said something that made me rearrange my prejudices:

"Success is relative! I would much rather play in front of a small audience but play exactly the music I want to play, my music, instead of changing my music for a bigger 'commercial' success!"

And I asked myself: what does success even mean?

I moved across the world, and I did the best I could. I made it through a 16 month power program while dealing with an eating disorder, depression and anxiety. I stood on my own two feet without my parents sending me money and I did book jobs that I loved. The "Let's Broadway Cabaret" where I was part of the permanent cast and where I had the honor of performing every month was my family and I shared so much more with them than just the stage! And what did it matter how many people were listening? Would I have sung differently if there were 2000 people there instead of 200? Would I have given "more"? Of course not! I was the ballad queen, as my director stated so nicely once: "You're here to make people cry!" - and of course it still meant the world to me when I succeeded at that!

I didn't give up, I fought as hard as I could. And maybe that is already a success. Maybe, for now, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

And if I am - you are too. I believe that a dream we don't follow, a dream we hide away and ignore is a dream that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. So yes, you have to try! Of course you do! But instead of comparing where you are on your path and where everyone else is, just breathe and focus on yourself. Because if you went out there today, if you tried your best - you did succeed!

For success is not something you can measure - at least not before defining what you're going to measure it with!

So what is your measurement: Money? Followers on social media? Oscars? People sitting in the audience when you perform?

Or could it be the simple fact that you took one step today that brought you closer to your goal? That you did something today, that you couldn't do yesterday but today of all days, it worked? That you battled demons no-one even knows of, and you're still here?

Put your art out there. Don't change it, don't modulate it into a key that's more commercially usable. For maybe we should all be a little more like my uncle, more concerned with reaching those few hearts that are meant to be reached with your art than wowing a thousand-people audience with a product that's been washed with fabric softener to make it more "accessible".

Love, Marfa