The Retired Pianist
Retired musician. In a world where performers offer one farewell tour after another, it would seem that “retired musician” is an oxymoron. Those who don’t leave the stage usually fall into one of two categories—musicians who can’t afford to retire, and musicians who love the stage so much that they refuse to retire. There’s little written about musicians who have the resources to retire and choose to, and almost nothing about how to find new ways to channel our creativity when no longer on stage.
I am fortunate enough to have been able to choose my retirement, and to do it while I still have my health and plenty of energy. My departure from music happened in stages, a process I wrote about in my post, Going Amateur. I had many reasons for making this decision, the primary ones being I wanted to devote more time to my writing and do more traveling. A third reason sprang from seeing too many musicians continue to give public performances well past their prime. As a firm believer in the maxim, “change before you have to,” I chose to leave the stage before my skills left me.
It helped that I was a “journeywoman” pianist, not a big name. I supported myself in multiple ways. Concerts, recordings, and multiple opportunities to teach piano on cruise ships were the most glamorous, but not the most profitable. Teaching and gigs—which ranged from accompanying to musical theater direction—created the bulk of my income. I feared I’d miss the buzz of playing for others, but found that giving up the stage was the easiest part of walking away from a musical career. This surprised me, but not as much as other people’s reactions to my decision. Some are confused and want to know why I gave up something I loved so much. Some are threatened and start justifying their own decision to keep performing. Many ask me if I still practice the piano. There’s a fair amount of skepticism when I tell people that I’m content to play the piano every day and I don’t need an audience when I do so.
The thing I’ve found most challenging about being a retired pianist was something I hadn’t anticipated at all—the need to find a new musical purpose. Classical pianists begin their training at a young age and choosing to make a living in music required me to be extremely goal focused. Being only as good as my last gig spurred my practicing; assuring that I got another gig spurred my marketing efforts. When I retired, it was just me and the piano, and I had to find a way to forge a new relationship with it in order to remain musically alive. This process has taken me 3 years, and I know I’m still working on it.
One of the first things I discovered was that when my professional goals and obligations disappeared, I felt rudderless. My days were my own but in a sea of so many options it was challenging to discern what I wanted to do. I looked in vain for an overarching life goal and what I’ve discovered (thus far) is that my interests have led me into short-term projects, not a new life passion. But as my retirement continues to be a journey of self-discovery, this may change sometime in the future. The important thing seems to be to sit with the aimlessness and (at times) boredom long enough that direction shows up. I don’t know about others, but I find that the next idea or interest always seems to appear in an area where I least expect it, or (sometimes) least want it.
Another thing I’m discovering is how powerfully important it is to examine my old unfulfilled dreams. Some of these dreams may be things I can pursue in retirement. Others are ones I’ve needed to mourn and release. Simultaneously, it helps to look back and congratulate myself on the things I did accomplish. Anyone who has created a career in music—regardless of how humble—should be commended for succeeding in a field renowned for burnout and failure.
This stage, for me, is also one where I’m surrendering the limelight to younger musicians. When I was building and maintaining my music career, I had to spend a lot of time and energy gaining publicity and hustling for work. Now I have the joy of watching talented Millennial and Gen Z players create their own musical paths. And, through No Dead Guys, I’m able to give many of them some of the publicity I needed so much when I was playing professionally.
Aging (especially as a woman) requires everyone to accept becoming irrelevant and invisible. Retirement just adds to this sense of disappearance. I knew I needed to accept this when I chose to retire, but found the emotional adjustment to this new stage more challenging than I expected. It wasn’t until a year ago that I was able to recognize and celebrate the freedom that comes with irrelevance and invisibility. The knowledge that people have few (or no) expectations for me has given me license to release many aspects of the musician persona that I constructed in order to have a career. Now I have the freedom to create music as my own quirky self.
Retirement is broadening my creative horizon. Because I don’t have to be laser focused on my particular musical niche, I’m free to experience all styles of music. Inspiration comes in through literature, art, the natural world, conversations with other people, travel—basically all of life. This makes the music I practice each day richer and deeper. I play things because I’m drawn to them, not because I’m preparing for an upcoming performance. The “purposeful purposelessness” of this sort of practicing is a delicious treat I give myself each day when I sit down at the keyboard.
None of these rich discoveries have sprung solely from myself. I’ve had the examples of older friends and many fine writers who continue to help me embrace freedom and creativity as a retired musician. They’re teaching me to separate process and results. And through their examples and words, I’m learning to stop planning every move and simply jump into moments and days. Some days are dramatic and exciting. Others, like today, are full of the simple joys of music, writing, conversations with loved ones, and good food and wine. My daily accomplishments may be minimal, but they are days well spent.
Reading suggestions:
Chittister, Joan. The Gift of Years. Katonah: Bluebridge Books, 2008.
Gurian, Michael. The Wonder of Aging: A New Approach to Embracing Life After Fifty. New York: Atria Books, 2013.
Osborn, Carol, PhD. Older, Wiser, Fiercer: the Wisdom Collection. Nashville: Fierce With Age Press, 2019.
Rubin, Rick. The Creative Act: A Way of Being. New York: Penguin Press, 2023.
Photo by Aaron Burden, courtesy of Upsplash