Grieving the Musician I Thought I'd Be

By Matthew Wilson

At one point, I imagined the musician I'd eventually

become. Around 2015, I began exploring what that might

look like. Back then, it was a Korg Kaossilator, a Zoom

recorder, and 8-bar loops. Nothing fancy, nothing difficult.

I thought my routines would stick, that repetition would

create confidence, and that collaborating would be

anything but mentally exhausting.

I expected familiarity. I expected things to become

instinct. I expected songs, workflows, and ideas to stay

with me instead of slipping away.

Instead, I've found it difficult to retain terminology and

maintain a working memory for the things I love. I listen

to and make music, talk on my ham radio, and enjoy the

technical side of both hobbies.

What I wanted out of all of it was consistency.

I was often learning and relearning, relying on my notes,

forgetting about workflows, and having a hard time

recalling things under pressure, knowing all the while that

comparison is the thief of joy.

Sitting down to relearn something I knew before has got

to be one of the biggest blows to the musical identity I

imagined for myself. It isn't that I can't learn. I usually

can. Learning something once didn't mean it would

become a dependable part of me. Eventually, I stopped

asking, "Why can't I remember this?" and started asking,

"How can I work with the mind I have today?"

For me, that's where grief came in. But I don't think I'm

alone. Many people living with invisible or chronic

illnesses eventually grieve the life they thought they were

moving toward.

Schizoaffective disorder is an illness that includes

features of both schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. The

illness affects cognition and requires medication. The

medication comes with trade-offs. Without blame, both

the illness and its treatment have shaped my life.

Some people think that more effort can fix the problem.

But I learned that trying harder only frustrated me more. I

eventually realized effort wasn't the missing ingredient.

I finally found my own musical voice: spoken word set

against ambient soundscapes. I began writing more

reflectively and exploring philosophical ideas through

music. I stopped trying to make music the way I thought

musicians were supposed to and instead embraced the

way I actually could.

I learned not to resign myself to my limitations, but to

work within them. I took more time, wrote notes,

simplified my workflows, and embraced slower progress.

I gave myself permission to work differently.

What is success? For me, success is communication,

healing, connection, reflection, and honesty.

Along the way, I created Songwriting Monthly. It became

part of my healing. Building Songwriting Monthly taught

me that music could also be about listening,

encouraging, and creating a place where people feel

heard.

Instead of becoming the fastest, most technically gifted,

or best collaborator, I became more reflective, patient,

philosophical, compassionate, and persistent.

Making music, for me, is a must. And while I still wish

some things were different, I still grieve. I still struggle.

I’m also proud that I kept on creating. Maybe that was

enough all along.

Creativity, Identity & Belonging

This essay is part of a collection exploring creativity, identity, mental health, uncertainty, music, and community.