A Case of the Mondays

A day of busking begins early. I hit the snooze button around 6am and by 6:45, I am out the door and ready to sign up for my spots for the day. As I ride the metro during the morning rush, this becomes the only part of my day that makes me feel like I am a part of regular, working society. For a moment I join the heaps of people who, at this ungodly hour, actually have somewhere important to be. The experiences that make up the rest of my day seem to create a gap between me and the rest of the employed world. And today that gap seemed so big that for a moment, I envied the nine-to-fivers.

There are a number of social conditions which nobody has any control over that have a great impact on the income of a busker. At this point, I would say that the number one condition that can stand in the way or give birth to my monetary success is the weather. We had a long, harsh winter in Montreal this year. And if that isn't bad enough, spring is in late bloom. So today, as the skies threatened rain and as a cold wind blew, I stood in the metro singing and playing bass anyway. What did I learn? Seasonal depression is a real thing. And furthermore, it seems that with the lack of light in the sky, people lose their peripheral vision. That last one is just a theory. But as I stood in that cold, underground tunnel I realized something real. It doesn't really matter how early I get up, how hard I work, or how punctual I am. I have no boss to realize my efforts. I have strangers who I encounter for an average of 8 seconds until we are gone from each other's lives completely. I don't have a full day or week of work to prove that I deserve to be rewarded. I have 8 seconds.

This is one of the hardest things about busking. It's not the sometimes awkward encounters, the unpleasant conditions, or the sense of vulnerability that lingers at times. It's the big question that stays unanswered at the end of every day: Is playing music really worth the hardship?

There's a common belief that if you can do what you love for a living then you're a pretty lucky person. I think what most people forget is that with this type of scenario, you're likely unable to separate your feelings of self- worth from your success. And when you have a bad day, you feel like you've failed yourself.

But here's the thing. Doing this job is a lot like telling someone you love them. You whole-heartedly (and maybe foolishly) put yourself out there. There are two things that can happen. The first: you receive the love you give. The second: you don't. A lot of people aren't loved in return and go on to love again. They do this because that first experience of love is like a fire burning in your chest. It fills your body with so much energy that you're glowing. And even though it's slightly uncomfortable, you feel empty when it's gone.

So it would give me great stability and ease of mind to turn my passion into a hobby and go out there with the nine-to-fivers and get a real job. But fire's burning.