I Might Never Get What I Set Out For (And I'm Fine With That)

On surrendering the need for a dream in favor of what you've always had

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I was meditating the other morning,

giving the French press some extra time to brew…

When it hit me.

I might never get what I set out for.

I might never write chart topping hits or have a massive impact on the music industry.

And I’m okay with that.

Not because I feel like I’ve done enough.

Sure, I’ve had songs on the radio. I have over 100 million streams as a writer/producer. My music has been placed in film and TV. I’ve even had songs chart overseas.

Those are all things I wanted.

But that’s not all I set out to do.

Eight years ago, I had bigger dreams.

I moved from New Jersey to LA chasing them. Finally ending up in Nashville.

When it comes to music, a part of me has always been attached to an outcome.

That big song that changes your life forever.

Sitting there, breathing, I realized I may never get that.

But I don’t need it.

That’s the thought that surprised me.

I’ve been holding on to the possibility for so long.

Every session, every co-write, every song I’ve put out under my own name, every cut I’ve had for someone else…

I was always betting on the big one.

The one that gets you into rooms with the biggest artists and producers in the world.

I never imagined a future where I wouldn’t eventually achieve that dream.

Now, I’m not saying wanting that is wrong.

Wanting more is what drives you to keep working after years of disappointment.

But somewhere along the way, that wanting turned into needing.

And to need something makes you a slave to that thing.

You can want something and still be free. Needing something is a different story.

I can’t make a hit happen.

I can’t make a song go viral.

Those things were never mine to control.

But what can I do?

• I can write the best song I’m capable of writing.

• I can say yes to an opportunity that might move the needle.

• I can show up every morning and lay my pen at the feet of the muse.

Those things are mine to control.

And the only real choice I have is what I do with them.

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I think about how I once pushed myself to write a song a day for 100 days.

By day 97 I was completely spent.

There was no part of me that wanted to write a song.

So I set a timer for twenty minutes and tried something I never thought would work.

Before I knew it, time disappeared. Timer be damned.

One hour later I’d written one of my favorite songs up to that point.

That's what surrender looks like in practice.

It’s not giving up, but continuing to work without needing to know how it ends.

If I’m doing the work I’m meant to be doing, there’s nothing else I need.

The hits, the impact, the Grammys and the gold records…

those things would all be swell.

But they’re not the prize.

The prize is getting to sit down with my guitar and a cup of black coffee before the sun comes up and try once more to turn air into magic.

It's a co-write with a total stranger that turns into a decade-long friendship.

It's a couple I've never met asking me to play my song for their first dance.

Those are the moments that make all of this mean something.

So when I say I’m okay if the big one never comes, I don’t mean I’m okay with losing.

I mean there was never anything to lose in the first place.

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And just like that… 20 minutes was up.

Meditation over, I opened my eyes.

Got up from the couch and poured my coffee.

Same living room. Same stack of books on the coffee table.

Nothing had changed.

Except now I knew something I didn’t know 20 minutes before.

I might never get what I set out for.

And that’s fine.

Because I already got what I came for.

If you enjoyed reading this, the highest compliment I can think of is if you restacked it or shared it with one person who you think it would help.