Waking Up From the Dream Career

Waking Up From the Dream Career

For over a decade, I lived a dream career. At least, that’s what I told myself. I traveled the world, performed for thousands, and made a living doing what I loved. On paper, it was perfect. People envied it. I was my own boss. I got paid well. My face was on posters And marques, I had a show that people lined up to see.

But here’s the thing about dreams: you don’t always realize when they’ve turned into nightmares.

The cracks had been forming for a while. The show that once felt like an extension of myself had become a well-oiled, predictable routine. The thrill of discovery had been replaced with mechanical repetition. I wasn’t a person anymore—I was a product. And the moment I set foot on a cruise ship, something inside me broke.

I hated cruise ships. I hated their fake grandeur, the way they isolated you from the real world while pretending to offer the best of it. I hated how they ran on exploitation, from the overworked staff to the artists they abused regularly. I hated how I felt trapped, both literally and creatively. I didn’t just do cruise ships but they became my dominant client toward the end.

And yet, I kept taking the gigs. Why? Because I thought I had to. Because this was my career. Because I believed that if I stopped performing, if I let go of the momentum, everything I had built would vanish. And worse—I believed that if it all vanished, so would I.

The Fear Machine

Fear runs deeper than we realize. It disguises itself as logic, as responsibility, as ambition. It says, Keep going, because if you stop, you’ll fall behind. Keep earning, because if you don’t, you’ll lose everything. Keep pushing, because if you let go, you’ll become nothing.

And so, I obsessed over my show. Over bookings. Over money. I believed that every year had to be bigger than the last, that every lull was a failure, that if I wasn’t grinding, I was falling apart. I lived inside the fear machine, and I didn’t even know it.

Then, one day, I stopped.

Not in a grand, dramatic way. There was no breakdown, no final performance where I threw my props into the ocean and walked away. It was quieter than that. It was the realization that I didn’t have to keep playing the game. That the thing I was clinging to so desperately had already lost its meaning. That I didn’t need to fight my way out—I just needed to step back.

And the moment I did, a massive veil lifted.

Seeing the Machine for What It Is

Once you see the fear machine, you can’t unsee it. When you stop producing both physically and mentally to a system that is designed to keep us from who we really are its so obviously intentional.

It runs everything. The economy. The entertainment industry. The news. Politics. The way people interact with their own dreams. The way they define success.

It’s not just external—it’s internal, too. The fear of not being enough. The fear of disappointing people. The fear of obscurity. The fear that if we stop chasing, we’ll disappear.

But the truth is, the machine needs us more than we need it. It only works if we keep believing in it. If we stay afraid. If we keep feeding it with our energy, our stress, our need to prove ourselves.

When I stepped back, I saw how much of my life had been dictated by illusions. I saw how much of my self-worth had been tied to validation, applause, and financial security. I saw how deeply I had been programmed to believe that struggle was necessary, that anxiety was the price of success, that life was a never-ending climb with no summit.

And I saw how free I could be if I just stopped playing along.

What Happens When You Step Out

People talk about “making it.” But nobody tells you what happens when you stop trying to make it and just exist.

At first, it’s terrifying. The noise quiets down. The pressure evaporates. And you realize how much of your identity was built on fear-based momentum. You feel like you’re floating in space, untethered.

Then, something unexpected happens: the joy comes back.

For me, it started small. Making music just because I felt like it. Playing with my kids without worrying about being productive. Feeling present in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Life didn’t fall apart when I stopped chasing—it actually started to feel real again.

And here’s the thing: everything I was afraid of losing is still here.

Money still flows in. Opportunities still arise. But now, they come without desperation. Without attachment. Without the weight of needing them to define me.

The machine doesn’t own me anymore. And once you step out, you realize it never did. It only had the power you gave it. Who’s with me?

The Great Illusion

Most people will never step out. They’ll spend their whole lives running on the hamster wheel, believing they have to. They’ll stay in jobs they hate, relationships that drain them, cycles of stress and burnout that leave them exhausted but convinced they’re doing the “right thing.”

And why? Because they believe there’s something waiting for them at the end of the road. That if they just work hard enough, push long enough, suffer enough, they’ll finally arrive.

But there is no arrival. There is only now.

The entire structure we call reality is designed to keep people in fear. Fear of losing. Fear of failing. Fear of slowing down. Because the moment you stop being afraid, you become free. And freedom is the one thing the machine can’t control.

I used to think success meant hustling harder, being seen more, making more money. Now I know success is waking up every day and not needing anything to be different. Not needing to chase. Not needing to prove.

For all the disillusionment, I’d never trade the years I spent performing. It was a gift—one that took me to places I never imagined, introduced me to incredible people, and gave me stories for lifetimes. I’m deeply grateful for every stage, every audience, every bizarre and beautiful moment along the way. It shaped me, challenged me, and gave me a life few get to experience. It served me—until it didn’t. And when it was time to let go, I did. Not out of regret, but out of the knowing that something new was calling me forward.

I lived the dream career. And then I woke up. And I’ve never been more alive.

If you want to learn more about me and this journey I'm on there are a lot more layers to this story and I'm happy to write about them if people wanna read. So let me know! Oh and I haven’t taken down my instagram yet so if your curious on who I was professionally here it is.