I feel like I’m seeing a lot about “journeys” lately—weight-loss journeys, wellness journeys, etc. I’ve been reflecting on the burnout that I felt through most of the last few years and I’ve been reframing it as a “burnout journey,” which feels right to me.

For most of 2022 and 2023, I had no vitality, and I use that word really specifically. I think of vitality as life-giving energy; or to change the order, energy-giving life. It’s an energy that is somehow self-sustaining and exponential: You always get more back than you expend. We were coming out of the pandemic, my two kids were still very small (toddler and infant) and everything took effort, even the simplest things. My kids didn’t sleep, we were back in building- mode in the band room, and that is the capacity that I had. In other words, no composing was getting done. I had one COVID-commission, which became my SATB a capella work, Nothing Gold Can Stay, commissioned and premiered by the A Capella Choir at Bowling Green State University and directed by Dr. Mark Munson. I’m so proud of that piece, but it took everything I had to write which, admittedly, was not as much as I wish it were. It felt good to write, but I couldn’t quite sustain it – there was a noticeable absence of vitality.

I’d also done a lot of soul searching over the last two years about my relationship to composing and art-making. I remember reading a quote in my twenties that’s always stuck with me: A writer writes. In other words, if you want to call yourself whatever—an artist, a sculptor, a brewer—you need to actually do that thing instead of just living the label. And the truth is that I wasn’t really composing and the whole world kept going. Was I even a composer anymore? Bands kept playing music, other composers kept writing, the big publisher catalogues kept coming out year after year, and I was thinking to myself that if I stopped writing music, nothing would happen. As composers, we really do need to push so hard to carve out for ourselves and our music. The current of the band industry is so strong, fast, and relentless.

I really had to check in with myself. What am I even doing here? What is the point of all this? What was I chasing? And there was a lot to unpack there. Is it about self-worth? Self-esteem? Ego? Is it about belonging to something? I really didn’t know.

And as I unpacked it, I kept coming back to one central idea: Contribution, and particularly in the Canadian Band landscape. It’s the same reason why I’m a teacher (and why so many of us fellow educators are too): We have something to give to our community, especially if this community has given so much to us.

Later in 2023, I formalized the premiere around a piece of mine called Black Bear, which is a setting of a traditional folk song from Manitoba, specifically the Interlake region, which is where both me and the commissioning ensemble are from. In fact, my Alma mater, Gimli High School in Gimli, MB premiered the work, under the baton of the inspiring and brilliant music educator, Rob Chrol. At said premiere, Rob talked about the connection between all of us and that the meaning is deepened because of our shared experience in place and in history. It really challenged something inside me, actually. Yes, band goes on without me, but this experience with these kids is particularly special and unique. It probably could have been replicated with another composer, but something was different because it was me.

I think that’s true with all musicians, artists, and makers of things—it’s different because it’s you. That’s one of the things that pulled me back in. What can I contribute? What is mine to share that might benefit others? What experiences can I facilitate for students?

When I went to Midwest this year and looked at my boothmate (the dynamite composer and music educator, Matt Neufeld) and I’s table, it was stacked with music was meaningful to us. Pieces about hope, about loss, about joy, about Canada, and many other things. When people came to our booth to talk about music, we had so much to share. A Level 1 about hope? We got you covered. A Level 3.5 about the importance of kids having a place to gather? Done. A Level 4 about people are who are the keystone of our community? You betcha. A Level 2 about the prairies? Signed, sealed, delivered. And also, giants, valkyries, Iceland, death, euphoniums, haunted houses, and so much more. Our booth was—and is—so uniquely us and, let me tell you, we were busy for three days straight.

If you are an artist, a musician, a woodcrafter, a painter, a sketcher, a potter, a brewer, or whatever artistic maker of things, no one has your precise mixture of life experience, artistic vision, and years of practicing your craft, so while these industries can go on without you, they are not as rich if you aren’t in it. And so, my creative besties, take a deep breath in and let’s get making.

-Kenley