How to Ikigai. Tim Tamashiro
on the spot… with one condition. I needed to pass a basic theory test. We shook hands on it. It was as if another pylon had popped up in front of me. I knew what my next step needed to be. Pass that theory exam.
As luck would have it, there was a young woman on one of the surveying crews that was already in the school of music at Red Deer College. She was a guitar player named Nancy Laberge. I asked Nancy if she would be kind enough to help me learn basic theory so that I could come and be part of the music program. Thankfully, Nancy was happy to help out. Over the next few weeks, Nancy taught me what the lines and the spaces on a sheet of music meant. She showed me what the circles, dots, and tails were. I learned about time signatures and note values. Nancy was instrumental in getting me through my theory exam. When it was time for me to take the test, I scored a mark just high enough to be fully accepted to RDC. My excitement swelled in my heart for what my life was about to become. I believed that music was my life’s calling.
Music: The Irrational Career
When I told my parents that I was going to attend music school, they were surprisingly supportive of me and my decision. They saw how I lit up with joy when I plunked the black and white keys and belted out songs on the old downstairs piano. If music was going to be my post-secondary-education path, then they were on board 100 percent. I’m thankful that they were so cool about it. There was just one small concern though.
My sweet dad found time one day to lovingly offer some advice to me. As we sat having a coffee one morning at the kitchen table, he said, “Tim, music is a great hobby, but you might want to learn welding or something to fall back on.” That was entire extent of his wise advice. He made his suggestion, and then accepted that the cards would fall where they would. I’ll never forget his loving gesture to show his concern for my future. I understood that his worry was for my financial stability and well-being. He was doing what parents of the day were expected to do: give practical wisdom. I could never fault him for that. He also trusted that my life would mean more than financial security.
Most people think that a career in music seems irrational. The first thought is, “How will you make money?” What they are really wondering is, “How will you pay rent, feed yourself, get ahead in life, thrive, be successful, make babies, pay taxes, etc.?” How is a music career a rational path? It’s not. It’s a path of fulfillment.
A rational path is the way most of the industrialized world approaches life and career. It’s rational to go to school and get good grades. Grade one leads to grade two. Grade eleven leads to grade twelve. After high school, the world is your oyster. You can do anything you dream of. At eighteen years old, it’s “rational” to know what you want to do for the rest of your life. If you are rational about school and you get good grades, you can go to any college or university you want to. You can learn any skill on the planet. Just apply to the school that offers the classes you need and get “accepted.” When you’ve been “accepted,” then you’ll just pay the necessary fees to attend your classes. Eventually, you will get a diploma or a degree. When you’ve completed all your courses, you’ll be handed your degree and that’s when the money starts rolling in.
It’s rational to believe that, sometime between eighteen and twenty-five years old, you will have your whole life all figured out. You will have a path that will give you a roof over your head, put food in your belly, and ensure your long-term financial success. The rest of your life will focus on your career success and financial goals. Then one day you’ll retire. You’ll finally get to do whatever you want with your time and money.
Is it rational to believe that your life’s purpose is apparent when you graduate high school? Is it rational to believe that good grades will ensure that you will be a good employee and climb the ladder of success, just like in school? Is it rational to believe that your adult life between eighteen and sixty-five is to be spent on building finances and impressive titles on a business card? Where does life’s purpose fit in?
A music career is far from rational.
I chose an irrational path in life. My plan was to immerse myself into the world of music, to learn lessons as they presented themselves, to use my skills and gifts to inch forward. As I learned more and more about music, I began to see the many career paths music has to offer.
In college, I began to hang around a group of young dudes who were fun and talented. We decided to start a four-piece cover band called The Mile High Club. It was easy to get a gig at the college because we knew the decision-makers in the student union. The band played regularly at the college lounge and at special events when headliners would come through. The Mile High Club earned money. In 1980s terms, we could easily make a couple of hundred dollars each a night. It was well worth our while to rehearse new fun music to play for our friends at college. Starting a band was rational.
When I wrapped up at Red Deer College, I started to work at the local branch of HMV Records. HMV was the “hip” record store in town. The staff acted as taste makers for the local music aficionados. My specialty was new hit music. Even though the majority of my time at the store was spent doing inventory to replenish stock, the perks and prestige of working at HMV were worth it. I spent my days hanging out with cool people and sold music to anyone who wanted it. Working at HMV was rational. Plus, I was still playing with The Mile High Club. I was enjoying a career in music with two income sources. Each day was fulfilling and exciting. I loved what I did, and I was good at it, too.
Around a year and a half later, I moved to Edmonton, Alberta. I eagerly began to look for the next steps in my career in music. I still worked for HMV, but now I was in a bigger store. It was fast-paced, and it moved twice the volume. One day, I heard that one of the major record labels was hiring a new rep for the Edmonton region. This made perfect sense as a next step for my career. A regular salary, an expense account, and a chance to sell music to ALL of the record stores seemed rational and, more importantly, fun. I applied for the position.
The branch manager for MCA was a man named Terry McArthur. I wrote out my thin résumé and added a handwritten cover letter that reflected who I thought I was at the time. I wrote, “I’m severely underqualified for this job, but I’m applying for it anyway. If you’re looking for someone who wants to learn, has a gleaming toothy smile and has personality to burn, invite me for an interview.” My cover letter was cocky but riveting; it was a desperate attempt to use charm to get my foot in the door.
Terry had never heard of me. He had a list of candidates already compiled when he was on his way from Calgary to Edmonton to conduct interviews. He rode in the passenger seat during the three-hour drive, so he could look over some notes and contact the people he wanted to interview. As a lark, and at the last minute, he decided to look at my application. My irreverent cover letter served its purpose. It grabbed his attention. He was intrigued. In a last-minute decision, he took out his mobile phone and dialed my number at home. Terry asked me to come for an interview.
The next day, I arrived at Terry’s hotel suite late in the afternoon. We shook hands at the door and Terry invited me to take a seat at the small round conference table in the suite’s common area. Terry was upfront about the fact that he didn’t have any intention of interviewing me. We chatted about music and the Edmonton scene. He quizzed me about business matters. I improvised the whole interview. At the end of the interview, he asked me, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” I answered, “I’ll have your job.” We laughed out loud.
The interview went well. In fact, the interview was fun. I shook Terry’s hand one last time as I left, and thanked him for taking the chance to interview me. I was happy I made it as far as I did.
An hour later, my phone at home rang again. I picked it up to discover that it was Terry on the phone. He wanted to know if I would like to go grab a beer with him. He offered me the job.
At twenty-four years old, I had a job with an expense account, a car allowance, and an endless supply