Being a Whore Doesn't Pay

Check out this great article http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7369199/site/newsweek/
It's a really interesting look into a way a musician tried to pay her bills while breaking into her career, and found it drained her so much that she didn't have any artistic energy left. For a musician, the dream day job pays $20 an hour and you only have to work three days a week, the rest of the time you can spend on your music. The problem is, many jobs that fit that formula require so much preparation, and drain you so much that your creativity is sapped by the time you enter into your free time (where you thought you'd be so productive). Jobs like teaching travelling music lessons, and tutoring, seem perfect for a musician or writer, but they often fall short of the win-win expectations. In this author's case, she even had moral issues with the position she held, so she had to add self-hatred to the job's downsides. I felt the same way (though perhaps not as dramatically) about the last job I held. I had to work side-by-side with deeply conservative people who were sometimes kind, but also racist, sexist, and deeply self-absorbed. Being around people with such narrow world views was so stifling to my creativity. I felt like I was being someone else every day - I didn't join in their racist jokes, or even laugh at them, but I didn't tell them exactly what I thought of their close-minded, compassion-less attitudes, and that in itself was a farce.
Not only did the owners of the business have regrettable attitudes, the store engaged in some shady accounting and Machiavellian sales ploys that I had to overlook, or even subtlely participate in. And I did this all, just to live near my work and not have to think too hard while I was there. Which, supposedly, is a musician's dream. I did have plenty of time to work on my musical pursuits, but no energy, or specifically, no drive. I spent my days off numbing my mind with compulsive behavior, and I realize now that I was trying to erase the memory of the guilt. And I tried to blame the feeling of guilt on everything except the job itself, because I felt I needed it for survival.
The moral of the story, of course, is that being someone else to faciliate self-expression backfires. I have yet to find the ideal artist's life - the one where the artist has peace of mind, a healthy lifestyle, and productivity, but I'm no longer convinced that it's an impossibility. Funny how one opportunity can turn you into an optimist.