Josh is a writer who lives in Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina with his wife and four children. For more than a decade he has worked with university students, helping them tell better stories with their lives.
For about a decade, I was in a band. I played guitar, wrote music, and performed shows. My band mates were talented and creative—my wife was one of them. We made some good music. We thrilled a few crowds. But we never made it out of the shadow of obscurity.
To some people we were something. But to most people we were nothing. We never felt the warm spotlight of fame.
However, we experienced something better— the joy of creating.
For millions of creatives in the blogosphere—writers, musicians, speakers, philosophers, theologians, artists, leaders—fame is the bright star that pulls them forward. Most of us wouldn’t put it that way, but the longing for fame throbs through the LAN lines.
We want to be read.
We want to be heard.
We want to be noticed.
We want to be respected.
We want to be famous.
We long to pull ourselves out of the dark shadows of obscurity into the light of . . .
the best-sellers list,
Late Night TV,
high-paid speaking engagements.
We want people to memorize our lyrics and quote paragraphs from our tome and spend hours watching our youtube channel. If we are honest, we not only want people to know our name, but to name their kids after us.
This is the allure of fame. But be warned: fame is over-rated.
A Case Study in Fame
During my music days, we used to play the open mic competitions at Eddie’s Attic in Atlanta. One night we lost to two guys who called themselves the “Lo-Fi Masters.” John and Clay had dropped out of Berklee School of Music to pursue success in the music industry. They had a real chance to make it.
They were regulars at Eddie’s so we saw them off and on during that year. I remember one show attended by 50 or so people and we sat so close I propped my feet up on their floor monitors. When they came out with their first EP, I bought one right away. It was four songs they had pressed themselves at the CD reproduction company where they worked. The song titles were handwritten with a sharpie on the disc.
They were always looking for gigs, so we asked if they wanted to open up for us at one of our shows the next month. We traded numbers (John had a beeper, it you remember those) and planned to play together the next month. Then we lost touch.
That summer I graduated from college and moved overseas. When I returned, two years later, John was headlining festivals and filling auditoriums. He was a rising star, and the name John Mayer was a constant on the radio stations.
Since then, he has won seven Grammys, dated half of Hollywood (for example, Jennifer Anniston and Jennifer Love Hewitt), and made enough money to trade in his beeper for a real cell phone. John Mayer is famous. But is he happy.
Here is what a recent Google search for “Is John Mayer happy?” turned up:
What? In Hawaii with Katy Perry? He must be really happy, right? And it looks like they will go the distance. I guess my theory about fame is off. Let me just scroll down the search results a little.
Well they almost made it two months. Looks like he wasn’t very happy.
Now he’s dating Taylor Swift? again?
Well, maybe he is happy apart from his dating life. Not according to this interview in the Guardian a few years ago:
“I bought a Ferrari and drove it to Las Vegas on the day I bought it . . . You don’t buy a Ferrari when you’re happy: you buy a Ferrari when you’re sad. You buy a Ferrari when there’s a piece missing inside of you. All of these things are absolute tickets out of the game: you have to enjoy your life without indulging so much that you lose it.”
The John Mayer I knew back at Eddie’s Attic was a happy guy who spent his nights writing songs to perform for free to fifty people. Now, he has to lock himself up in a friend’s basement, just to get the privacy to make an album he hopes will beat expectations.
This seems to be the normal experience of famous people. You’ve seen the “Behind the Music” episodes and read the headlines. It seems fame has a dark lining. So why do we fight and scrape to get it?
Bottom line, we desire fame because we think it will validate us.
But fame is not the place to seek validation. So what should we—the non-famous creators of the internet, the folks who count their page views in the hundreds and not the millions—do about this?
Enjoy your obscurity.
Enjoy the freedom to create without consequences.
Enjoy the truth that if your song/book/post/speech sucks, not that many people will know.
Enjoy creating for the sake of creating.
Enjoy where you are right now. Because I believe it is the only way to prepare yourself for whatever comes down the road.