Burning Out:

‍Hi Fefu, I have been working to "establish" a "career" in the theater since I was a teenager. I've worked at some prestigious theaters and previously felt like I was on a path that made some sense. Some unfortunate, consecutive layoffs a few years back really knocked me out, and in the time that has passed, I feel like I’ve lost any momentum I had. I feel myself starting to age out of the nebulous category that is typically considered "early-career," and the administrative jobs I am both good at and experienced in never seem to be open anymore.  If they are, it is astonishingly competitive for even the most basic of office manager jobs (per a friend who got further than I did in a hiring process and was told the number of applicants). I have been stuck in a dismal theater-adjacent day job for a few years, applying for the rare jobs that pop up, but not making any progress. For lack of a better question...is that all there is? Or am I being tempted to call it quits too soon, like the meme of the guys digging tunnels looking for diamonds? Was I crazy in my 20s to think that if I just *kept going*, the years of grinding would one day coalesce into a career? Or is “I will succeed because I’m crazy” the mantra you need to live by to continue doing this? I know these are not unique or novel experiences, but I’m having my bimonthly crash-out.

-

Dear Burning Out,

I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t start this response off by saying that I (who has the type of “career” you might be trying to “establish”) am also having my bimonthly, burnout-driven crash-out. I don’t know if that’s affirming or even more terrifying for you, but it’s the truth. That meme is such an apt metaphor!

I want to throw a question back to you. When you imagine your “career” in arts administration, what is your dream role or path? As someone working in management at a non-profit theater company, every single one of us on staff (myself included) works at least one other job or creative contract. Some of this is to fuel our creative urges (we’re grant writers AND playwrights, managers AND directors, etc.). I’m grateful that my organization makes space for us to take that production meeting during the day if we make up the hours elsewhere because it keeps me connected to the art, which is how I got here in the first place.

But for nearly all of us, the multi-hyphenate title is also a financial necessity; unless you’re getting support elsewhere, there will still likely be more work needed to fill the gaps and build a sense of financial security. For the first seven years, I didn’t mind it. I was caught in the hustle, and I loved jumping between projects and roles. I found that energy to be fueling. As I’ve continued, I’ve started to find it increasingly draining, which was among the harder realities for me to sit with as I grew into the career I thought I had always wanted (and the spark of my current crash-out).

Not to be all fatalistic, but I’d encourage you to sit with some of the numbers that feel right for you personally. How many hours are you willing to work a week? How much income do you want to bring home each month to feel financially safe? For how long would you be willing to work the unpredictable hours that are often mandated by theater careers? Compare those numbers with what you’re seeing on jobs boards, or talk to your friends who might have roles closer to what you’re eyeing. Do they add up for you? If so, AWESOME! Please keep up with the pickaxe—I assure you those diamonds are reachable. But if they don’t, that’s ok—we don’t need to keep digging away for what might just be a pile of quartz.

As soon as I wrote that, I almost regretted it—I swear, I am actually so humbled and grateful to have built the career I have. But I’m going to keep it in because I think it’s important, and I’ll pair it with one final piece of advice: the most engaging work I’m doing right now isn’t necessarily from my admin job meant to pay the bills. So if you keep pursuing this path, I’d encourage you to find the gig work or fun fuel that WILL bring you joy. Hold onto it—it becomes the landing pad from the crash-out.

May we soon have water to douse the burnout fire,

Fefu

‍