Ever told your artistic friend they're 'wasting' their talent? Here's why that can hurt, not help.

I need good live music only a little less intensely than a caffeine aficionado needs their next shot of espresso.

And woe to the mortal who gets between me and my fix.

In fact, when I go to events with my friends, I usually have to remind myself that they’re also there to socialize, and it isn’t polite to hiss at them when they try to start a conversation with me. I haunt open mic nights semi-professionally, and I played as part of a duo in Florence, Italy, for more than a year while I lived there.


So it often surprises people when I say that I don’t want to pursue a life as a professional musician.

Although singing is one of the great joys of my life, I would never want to make a career out of it. I would get burned out in a matter of weeks, and performing would lose most of its magic for me.

So although performing live music has become an integral part of my life that I can’t imagine giving up, I’m perfectly content to jam out with a band once or twice a week and sing to myself while I do the dishes (or cook, or clean, or walk down the street, or wait in line at the Chinese place).

Creative expression doesn’t have to be serious to be fulfilling; it only has to bring you satisfaction.

Since we’re talking about musicians, my friend Derek is another good example. He went to one of the best art colleges for illustration in the US, but he’s chosen to pursue a career in music instead. At some point he realized that paid illustration work wasn’t satisfying because of the limitations that clients placed on him, but he found the gratification he was looking for in casual expression.

I often forget about his artistic background until I see him sketching, and I’m always blown away by his talent. And the thought always creeps up in the back of my mind: It’s such a shame he’s not using that talent more.

And I always have to remind myself that he is using it, just in the way that he wants to.

My judgmental, hypocritical ass just needs to take a chill pill and stay in my lane.

The musician that I know best, however, is my guitarist, Francesco. When I watch him work, it confirms everything I’ve come to believe about dedication. He lives and breathes music, not just for school or his various projects (like me), but for the sheer joy of it.

It drives him, the way that stories drive me. I have entire folders full of words that burned me up until I wrote them down. Does it bother me that almost no one is looking at them right now? Sure.

But that hasn’t stopped me, because that’s not why I do it. I write to quiet the ghosts in my head, and whether or not I publish another word won’t change that.

So what do you do when you find yourself with a talent that you don’t want to pursue?

Just let it make you happy. It never needs to be more complicated than that.

This story originally appeared on The Feed and is reprinted here with permission.

Images courtesy of John Scully, Walden University, Ingrid Scully
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Since March of 2020, over 29 million Americans have been diagnosed with COVID-19, according to the CDC. Over 540,000 have died in the United States as this unprecedented pandemic has swept the globe. And yet, by the end of 2020, it looked like science was winning: vaccines had been developed.

In celebration of the power of science we spoke to three people: an individual, a medical provider, and a vaccine scientist about how vaccines have impacted them throughout their lives. Here are their answers:

John Scully, 79, resident of Florida

Photo courtesy of John Scully

When John Scully was born, America was in the midst of an epidemic: tens of thousands of children in the United States were falling ill with paralytic poliomyelitis — otherwise known as polio, a disease that attacks the central nervous system and often leaves its victims partially or fully paralyzed.

"As kids, we were all afraid of getting polio," he says, "because if you got polio, you could end up in the dreaded iron lung and we were all terrified of those." Iron lungs were respirators that enclosed most of a person's body; people with severe cases often would end up in these respirators as they fought for their lives.

John remembers going to see matinee showings of cowboy movies on Saturdays and, before the movie, shorts would run. "Usually they showed the news," he says, "but I just remember seeing this one clip warning us about polio and it just showed all these kids in iron lungs." If kids survived the iron lung, they'd often come back to school on crutches, in leg braces, or in wheelchairs.

"We all tried to be really careful in the summer — or, as we called it back then, 'polio season,''" John says. This was because every year around Memorial Day, major outbreaks would begin to emerge and they'd spike sometime around August. People weren't really sure how the disease spread at the time, but many believed it traveled through the water. There was no cure — and every child was susceptible to getting sick with it.

"We couldn't swim in hot weather," he remembers, "and the municipal outdoor pool would close down in August."

Then, in 1954 clinical trials began for Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine against polio and within a year, his vaccine was announced safe. "I got that vaccine at school," John says. Within two years, U.S. polio cases had dropped 85-95 percent — even before a second vaccine was developed by Dr. Albert Sabin in the 1960s. "I remember how much better things got after the vaccines came out. They changed everything," John says.

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When "bobcat" trended on Twitter this week, no one anticipated the unreal series of events they were about to witness. The bizarre bobcat encounter was captured on a security cam video and...well...you just have to see it. (Read the following description if you want to be prepared, or skip down to the video if you want to be surprised. I promise, it's a wild ride either way.)

In a North Carolina neighborhood that looks like a present-day Pleasantville, a man carries a cup of coffee and a plate of brownies out to his car. "Good mornin!" he calls cheerfully to a neighbor jogging by. As he sets his coffee cup on the hood of the car, he says, "I need to wash my car." Well, shucks. His wife enters the camera frame on the other side of the car.

So far, it's just about the most classic modern Americana scene imaginable. And then...

A horrifying "rrrrawwwww!" Blood-curdling screaming. Running. Panic. The man abandons the brownies, races to his wife's side of the car, then emerges with an animal in his hands. He holds the creature up like Rafiki holding up Simba, then yells in its face, "Oh my god! It's a bobcat! Oh my god!"

Then he hucks the bobcat across the yard with all his might.

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Images courtesy of John Scully, Walden University, Ingrid Scully
True

Since March of 2020, over 29 million Americans have been diagnosed with COVID-19, according to the CDC. Over 540,000 have died in the United States as this unprecedented pandemic has swept the globe. And yet, by the end of 2020, it looked like science was winning: vaccines had been developed.

In celebration of the power of science we spoke to three people: an individual, a medical provider, and a vaccine scientist about how vaccines have impacted them throughout their lives. Here are their answers:

John Scully, 79, resident of Florida

Photo courtesy of John Scully

When John Scully was born, America was in the midst of an epidemic: tens of thousands of children in the United States were falling ill with paralytic poliomyelitis — otherwise known as polio, a disease that attacks the central nervous system and often leaves its victims partially or fully paralyzed.

"As kids, we were all afraid of getting polio," he says, "because if you got polio, you could end up in the dreaded iron lung and we were all terrified of those." Iron lungs were respirators that enclosed most of a person's body; people with severe cases often would end up in these respirators as they fought for their lives.

John remembers going to see matinee showings of cowboy movies on Saturdays and, before the movie, shorts would run. "Usually they showed the news," he says, "but I just remember seeing this one clip warning us about polio and it just showed all these kids in iron lungs." If kids survived the iron lung, they'd often come back to school on crutches, in leg braces, or in wheelchairs.

"We all tried to be really careful in the summer — or, as we called it back then, 'polio season,''" John says. This was because every year around Memorial Day, major outbreaks would begin to emerge and they'd spike sometime around August. People weren't really sure how the disease spread at the time, but many believed it traveled through the water. There was no cure — and every child was susceptible to getting sick with it.

"We couldn't swim in hot weather," he remembers, "and the municipal outdoor pool would close down in August."

Then, in 1954 clinical trials began for Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine against polio and within a year, his vaccine was announced safe. "I got that vaccine at school," John says. Within two years, U.S. polio cases had dropped 85-95 percent — even before a second vaccine was developed by Dr. Albert Sabin in the 1960s. "I remember how much better things got after the vaccines came out. They changed everything," John says.

Keep Reading Show less