Now What?

Why every accomplishment doesn't need to become a staircase to something bigger

“Now what?”

Those two words have probably caused me more frustration than any other combination of words since I’ve been a musician.

Why are they at the root of so much frustration? At least mine, anyway.

I think it’s because it speaks to our tendency to always want more. To keep upping the ante.

You finally win a Grammy. Now what?

After several years of being in the grind, you get featured on the cover of a prestigious magazine. Now what?

And after a few years of promoters passing on your group, you finally get to play the major festival you’ve dreamed about. The concert ends, you walk offstage…Now what?

And unfortunately, it never really stops.

The problem with “now what?” is that it turns every destination into a layover. It basically robs us of being able to fully experience our victories because we’re already negotiating the terms of the next one.

I’ve had numerous “now what?” moments throughout my career.

One that immediately comes to mind was the first time I received a rave review in The New York Times for a concert I led. The review was so complimentary that a few musician friends jokingly asked me, “Did you write that review yourself?”

Yes, there was gratitude when I first read it. But that was short lived. Then it became, “Okay, now what?”

I started thinking about all the people I could send it to: promoters, record labels, managers, presenters. All of the usual suspects of the ecosystem of that time. Surely this would open some doors.

But as you can imagine, none of that really materialized.

And because it didn’t lead to the next thing, I gradually started seeing the review as less valuable than it actually was. It had failed to satisfy my “now what?”

Looking back, I think the healthier response would have been to share it with a few friends, some family. Maybe even splurge for a nice frame for it. In other words, appreciate it for what it was. Then move on with my life.

The same thing happened when I received my first five-star review in DownBeat for a solo album. Instead of enjoying the accomplishment, I immediately began calculating what opportunities might come from it. What gigs could it generate? What doors might it open?

Again, very little changed.

What I eventually learned is that these moments are often not launching pads. They’re landmarks. They’re part of the larger story you’re building around your work and how it was received.

And don’t get me wrong, this is not an assault on ambition. Ambition gets us out of bed in the morning. It’s the catalyst that pushes us to practice our instruments, create new music, and to strive to get better.

But ambition makes a terrible place to live.

Because when one accomplishment is expected to automatically produce the next accomplishment, we’re no longer enjoying our lives. We’re feeding a supply chain for the ego. And the moment that chain gets interrupted, we’re left with an aftertaste of disappointment.

Not because what we achieved wasn’t meaningful. But because somewhere along the way, we convinced ourselves that its value depended on what came next.

Maybe that’s why I’ve become suspicious of those two words. Now what?

Perhaps, we need two different words. I’m good.

And I don’t mean in the sense of giving up or settling. But in the sense of allowing ourselves a moment of rest. A moment to simply feel some sense of arrival.

A chance to appreciate what happened before rushing off to manufacture the next milestone.

Because not every accomplishment needs to become a staircase to something bigger. Sometimes it’s enough to let it be a landing place.

Sometimes it’s enough to say:

“That was meaningful.”

“That was enough.”

“I’m good.”