The Price of Passion: Redefining Success in a World of Expectations

By Justyne Greenlaw / Fall 2024

Song to listen to while reading…

Underneath the dazzling lights and the thundering bass, I’ve lived the dream so many aspire to as a DJ. Opening for huge artists, standing behind the decks with a sea of people cheering—it was electrifying. The pulse of the crowd synced with my beats, and for those fleeting moments, I felt like I was on top of the world. But beneath the glamour, a harsh truth settled in: passion doesn’t always pay the bills. Every night on stage, I felt a fire within me—a connection to the crowd that was raw, electric, and unrepeatable. It was as if the universe aligned in those moments, and for a few hours, I became part of something bigger than myself. Yet, when the music stopped and the lights dimmed, I would find myself standing in the quiet aftermath, questioning everything. My heart was full, but my pockets were empty. I had given the world my soul through sound, but in return, it left me chasing a dream that felt impossible to hold onto. The weight of unspoken expectations sat heavily on my shoulders. It whispered that passion wasn’t enough, that if I wasn’t earning or climbing higher, I was failing. I internalized these whispers, letting them seep into my confidence. Friends would congratulate me for sharing a stage with legends, but they didn’t see the exhaustion, the self-doubt, or the quiet nights where I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake pursuing something I loved so deeply.

The decision to step away from that life was gut-wrenching. Music wasn’t just a job—it was my identity, my voice, and the one place I felt truly alive. Turning toward school felt like abandoning a piece of myself, as if I was leaving behind the only version of me that mattered. But buried in that sorrow was a quiet realization: I wasn’t losing my identity. I was reshaping it. Walking away wasn’t giving up, it was choosing myself. It was a leap of faith that the joy I found in music could live alongside a new chapter. I didn’t have to be defined by a dream I had outgrown or shaped by the expectations of others. What I wanted wasn’t just success—it was peace, purpose, and the freedom to live without the need for validation. The happiness I’ve found in letting go of what the world expects from me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s quiet but steady, like the hum of a perfectly tuned bassline. I’ve stopped performing for approval and started creating for myself. The applause I once craved has been replaced by a deeper satisfaction: the knowledge that I’m living authentically, with no need to prove my worth to anyone but myself. I am no longer chasing an illusion of success. I’ve found it, here in the space where I can breathe, where I can dream without limits, and where I can rediscover who I am, one day at a time.

The reality was stark. Gig after gig, I poured every ounce of energy into my craft, fine-tuning every set, investing in equipment, and traveling from one venue to another. Yet, no matter how big the stage, the financial reward never matched the emotional high. The societal pressure to succeed, to turn a passion into a lucrative career, loomed over me like a heavy shadow. It felt like a battle between what the world expected and what I could give.

When I decided to return to school, it wasn’t because I gave up on music. It was because I realized I needed a different foundation—something to complement my passion and redefine success on my own terms. Success, to me, isn’t about the zeros in my bank account or the names on the billboards I’ve shared. It’s about the moments where my heart aligns with my work, where I’m creating something meaningful, whether it’s for a crowd or a classroom. Walking away from the spotlight to return to school felt like admitting defeat in the eyes of society. But in reality, it was an act of reclaiming my narrative. I had to redefine success, not as the world sees it, but as I feel it. To me, success is no longer about the size of the stage or the paycheck. It’s about passion meeting purpose, growth, and authenticity. It’s about knowing I can pour my heart into something, whether or not it results in a standing ovation.

This journey has taught me that success is deeply personal. For me, it’s about fulfillment, about knowing that I’m growing, learning, and staying true to what makes me feel alive. DJing will always be a part of me, but so will the lessons I’ve learned from the challenges I’ve faced along the way. My story is a blend of passion, resilience, and an unshakable commitment to authenticity. That’s what success means to me. The societal narrative was clear: if you love something, pour yourself into it until it pays off. If it doesn’t, maybe you’re just not good enough. This expectation weighed heavily on me. Every set, every track I produced, I questioned: Was it enough? Was I enough? The pressure wasn’t just about proving myself to others; it was the internalized belief that success had to look a certain way—profitable, glamorous, and validated by external approval. Letting go of societal expectations has been one of the most liberating and fulfilling decisions of my life. In surrendering to authenticity, I’ve found happiness in ways I never imagined. I’ve stopped measuring myself against impossible standards and started embracing my journey for what it is: imperfect, personal, and profoundly meaningful. No longer weighed down by the need to “make it,” I’ve given myself the space to simply exist and thrive on my own terms. I’ve discovered joy in the little things—like crafting a new mix just for me, without worrying about whether it will be a hit. I’ve found peace in learning, in growing, and in building a life that resonates with my values. The freedom to live authentically, to create without the pressure of proving myself, has brought me a happiness deeper and more sustainable than any applause.

The pressure to succeed isn’t just personal—it’s woven into the fabric of our lives. It’s in the conversations that begin with “What do you do?” and the way people’s eyes light up when you tell them something impressive. It’s in the social media highlight reels, the endless stories of people turning their passions into empires, and the unspoken message that if you’re not climbing, you’re falling behind. For so long, I felt caught in that narrative. Every set I played wasn’t just about the music; it was about proving something. I wasn’t just spinning tracks—I was trying to spin a version of myself that would be admired, respected, and, most importantly, validated. The world seemed to say, “If you’re not making money, if you’re not getting bigger, you’re not really succeeding.” I carried that weight until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

These feelings aren’t unique to DJs or artists. They’re everywhere. The pressure to be successful seeps into our careers, relationships, and even hobbies. It tells us we have to monetize our passions, turn every dream into a hustle, and measure our lives in accomplishments that can be quantified and shared. It leaves little room for failure, for change, or for simply being. When I finally chose to step back, it felt like I was rejecting that pressure, but it wasn’t easy. I had to unlearn so much—to silence the voice that told me I was only as good as my latest achievement. The hardest part was realizing that I didn’t need to chase someone else’s definition of success. I didn’t need the world’s approval to feel worthy.

As I recount my story, I think of how the personal is political. The pressure to succeed is not just an individual struggle; it’s deeply political, rooted in the systems and structures that shape our lives. Society teaches us that success is a meritocracy, that if we work hard enough and follow the rules, we’ll achieve our dreams. But this narrative ignores the systemic barriers that dictate whose dreams are more easily realized, and whose are dismissed as impractical or unworthy. As a DJ, I saw this firsthand. The industry, like so many others, thrives on connections, image, and privilege. It rewards those with the means to invest in expensive equipment, market themselves endlessly, and take unpaid gigs “for exposure.” For someone without those advantages, the climb is steeper, the sacrifices greater. The world may cheer for the artist on stage, but it rarely considers the inequities that shaped their journey to get there—or the sacrifices they made just to stay afloat.

The political became extremely personal when I realized how much of my identity was shaped by these pressures. The expectation to monetize my passion wasn’t just about me; it was a reflection of a culture that commodifies creativity. The societal narrative that equates success with financial stability isn’t neutral—it’s political, tied to economic systems that value profit over people. It left me questioning not only my worth but also the broader structures that make it so hard for artists, dreamers, and anyone outside the mainstream to thrive.

Stepping away from the DJ booth and returning to school was, in itself, a political act. It was a rejection of the idea that my value was tied to my ability to “make it” in an industry designed to exclude. It was a decision to invest in myself in a different way, to reclaim my narrative and redefine what success means on my own terms. The personal is always political because the systems we live in shape how we see ourselves and what we believe is possible. My struggle with societal pressures wasn’t just about me, it was about living in a world that glorifies success while ignoring the uneven playing field it creates. Recognizing this has been liberating. It’s allowed me to let go of the guilt I once felt for not “achieving enough” and instead focus on building a life that aligns with my values, not the world’s expectations.

This wild journey has taught me that personal choices, choosing authenticity over approval, redefining success, stepping back to reflect, are acts of resistance. They are a refusal to conform to systems that don’t serve us, a way of reclaiming agency in a world that often tries to take it away. And in that resistance, I’ve found a deeper sense of purpose and freedom than I ever imagined. Letting go of that pressure has been freeing in ways I never expected. It’s allowed me to see success not as a destination but as a feeling, a sense of alignment between who I am and what I do. It’s no longer about the crowd’s roar or the size of the stage. It’s about creating a life that feels like my own, where my choices aren’t driven by fear of judgment or failure, but by what truly makes me happy. The truth is, the pressure to succeed will always exist. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t have to define me. We all deserve to rewrite the story, to find fulfillment in ways that make sense to us, not society. For me, success is no longer about standing out; it’s about standing firm in who I am. And that, I’ve realized, is more than enough.

If there’s one thing I hope you take from my story, it’s this: you matter, just as you are. No stage, no paycheck, no title, and no external measurement can define your worth. The world will try to tell you otherwise, that success is only real when it’s grand, profitable, or celebrated. But that’s not the truth. Success is in the quiet, personal victories that often go unnoticed by others but mean everything to you. Every small step you take is a success. Getting out of bed on a tough day? That’s success. Choosing to try again when you feel like giving up? That’s success. Making space for yourself to rest, to dream, or to heal. That is success. You don’t need to perform for the world to matter. You don’t need to climb some imaginary ladder to prove your worth. Every time you listen to your heart, every time you honor what you need, you are succeeding in the most profound ways possible. The journey of life isn’t about constant achievement. It’s about being present for yourself,and others,  in every small moment, and recognizing the beauty of your unique path. Your story matters, and you are enough. No applause, no accolade, no external validation can ever take that away.