How To Make Your Move From Hobbyist To Contender

0 CommentsSunday • October 14, 2012 • by Imei

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“Hey, I heard you’re a  [fill in the blank for your art form]. Are you like, a Professional?”

If you’ve been actively creating in your art form (dance, music, visual arts, theater, other performance arts), chances are you’ve been asked this question. Without hard numbers for benchmarks, it’s hard to know how to judge when it’s time to step up your game, and when to stop thinking of what you do in the art world as this “thing” that doesn’t really mean much to you.

A few years ago, I listened to a well-respected blogger advise a room of people at BlogWorld that the most important way to know you’re good at something is that you express PASSION for what you do, and you are simply BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. That might work with selling a product, but with art, everyone can express passion, and so many people can be really, really good at what they do. Now what? I began thinking that there was a difference among these bloggers. Some of them were blogging “just for fun”. Others were blogging for their livelihood, to sell a product, or to promote a cause. Although I was completely new to blogging back then, I realized I was a “nOOb”; that is,  a person who appears to know much more about a subject than s/he actually knows, mostly because people assumed with my knowledge base on my subject that I must be a Contender (that is, a person taken seriously when it comes to my art). I made a note that I had better catch up on the actual knowledge base of blogging, Social Media, and community building in order to move away from a nOOb status, and plant myself firmly in the land of Contenders.

How do you know when you’re no longer a Hobbyist? Whether it be painting, modern dance, or music performance, , can you measure success by the number of fans you have on Twitter, or the amount of dollars collected for a show? How do you move from being a Hobbyist to a Contender in the world of art?

 

What’s the Difference?

Sometimes the difference between Hobbyist and Contender involves superficial things that are hard to put your finger on. It’s the difference between the confidence of the smile and handshake, or the willingness to accept a compliment for a job well done instead of deflecting one. Maybe it’s the comfort a Contender has with what s/he has made, so much so that she’ll stand right next to her art on the wall without fidgeting, even when person after person walks by. Other times, it’s just the fact that you keep seeing this person show up to every small, medium, and large event that has to do with that art form.

I know it when I see “it” – this Transition – on someone else. When they’ve crossed over in their bodies, if not in their heads, from treating themselves as a Hobbyist to living life as a Contender, a new picture begins to form:

- a part of their home gets converted to a dedicated workspace for their art.
- there are bits and pieces of their art with them at all times (car, bag, studio, office, home, etc)
- they start dressing differently, as if there is a uniform associated with their art
- their social lives fill with people who like or do the same kind of art
- their free time becomes saturated with more events that intersect with their art
- business and their art begin to merge (i.e. business trip may be combined with art interests if it works out that way)
- in some cases, their bodies change to accommodate the lifestyle (in positive and negative health states)
- they begin to display expertise or access to resources that are a step ahead of others, because they are willing to do the work

For my dancer pals, I’ve seen this transition happen many times. While they might first start dancing in front of their bathroom mirror, eventually their living room gets a makeover, or an office gets turned into a mini dance studio with paint job and a mirror. Men who started taking salsa lessons once a week find themselves out every night they have to spare, dancing with new and old dance partners, trying out new moves, and asking others about comfortable dance shoes. People who started out with a simple PAS (point and shoot) camera one year end up investing $15K in a new camera, lighting equipment, a website, and other photography gizmos, while saying shyly, “I’m just getting started.” Next thing you know, they have a gorgeous website with their photos on it, replete with copyright stamps and watermarks to prevent others from stealing their work.

In the recent months, I’ve been working my way from Hobbyist to Contender in a completely different forum: running. Running was something I gave up six years go because of nagging injuries that wouldn’t go away. After a respite and physical therapies such as yoga stretches and Shiatsu massage, I’m back to running every other day, hoping to build up the ability to complete my first half-marathon with people still running behind me [translation: I'm not the slowest for my age group, gender, or slowest overall] . When I first started running in May 2012, I mostly ran alone, rarely if ever greeted by fellow runners decked out in cool gear and tech fabric shirts. I borrowed a baseball cap with a broken bill from the Man-Geek to shade my eyes. I wore plain cotton sport socks. Runner after runner passed by. Nothing. Not even acknowledgement. There were ladies with their bright colored water bottles on a hand strap. Men sported cool watches that measure heart rate, caloric burn, distance, and speed. I didn’t have any of that, except a new pair of sneakers, and socks that kept annoyingly slipping under my heel. I felt alone.

This little voice nagged inside my head to figure out how to run and look cool. I have no clue where that came from, as I feel perfectly comfortable as a geeky person without a sense of socially acceptable fashion. In other words, I wear the fuck whatever I want without a lot of consciousness of whether it’s the “right” thing to wear, as my pal SuperBetch on Twitter has kindly pointed out. Frankly, when I run, I imagine myself looking like a frightened chicken, arms flailing, mouth open, sweat pouring down my face and dripping onto a nasty cotton T-shirt that sticks to my underarms and belly in a most unflattering way. If you think this sounds silly — this attention to how you look while you run — think about the dance hall, and how much primping goes on there. You have to wear the right shoes. Your skirt has to flow or your pants need to have a certain crease or  give. You need to know what looks like a “I’m here to dance” shirt, and what makes you look like “I’m about to head back into the office” apparel. You see, when it comes to dance,  I know what I’m supposed to wear to look and act and move and think and eat and smile and sleep like a dancer.  But when it comes to something new like running, it took me awhile to realize that my Nike shorts from six years ago – the kind with the built -in comfort panty and the drawstring on top had been replaced by Three’s A Company white piping trimmed shorts from the 70′s. My Saucony’s in dark, nature-inspired colors like black, brown, and tan had been overrun with shocking neon colors of orange, green, yellow, and cobalt blue, and narcissistic names.

Part of the transition from a Hobbyist to Contender mindset is that you envision  yourself as that Professional, and that Professional has no problem equipping him or herself with the tools of the trade. While I’ve heard some trash talk from experienced belly dancers towards younger dancers who buy expensive costumes beyond their skill level, I understand how these costumes make us feel: Marvelous. Beautiful. Resplendent. Radiant. Joyous. In the world of running, a professional video of your running to analyze your form and correct problems before injuries occur is available to all, not just the pros. New runners can improve faster with the same tools the Contenders and Professionals use. Why shouldn’t I try them?

 

Decked Out

And so I did. One Sunday, after completing my first 5K and 10K races, I set out on an easy run wearing the following:

- one pair compression calf sleeves

- tech shirt (that does not stick to my belly in an unflattering way)

- water belt (with pocket to hold your phone and keys)

- Garmin watch (beeps every mile, displays pace and distance)

Something weird happened. Other runners smiled at me as we passed each other on the same trail I had run at least a dozen times before. I thought something was wrong, like I was showing camel toe  my female bits and pieces. I kept looking to see if they were smiling at someone behind me. Nope, they were smiling at me! And they were smiling because I had become one of them. A runner! Me, a runner! [I'm still trying to wrap my head around this.]

You know, I still had to do the work. I still sweat on my face and run like a chicken down hills. But this lesson got me thinking:  it’s the minute I treat what I do as something not only fun to do, but with a certain response-ability to it to treat it with a high degree of seriousness mixed in with my enjoyment. It’s work, and it’s play; it’s what I love AND I find myself talking for hours about my Craft with others, teaching people on my own hours, and sharing what I do with others.

Can you identify the Contenders all around you? What might be the missing element as you transition from Hobbyist to Contender?  Share your stories of your crossover, or what you think might help you make that transition.

 

 

 

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