Define the Rules to Win

I walk through the city with AirPods in my ears and my phone in my hand. I half-focus on what is in front of me while scrolling through the endless supply of music that Spotify offers me. I go through my personal suggestions. After skipping some songs, I finally hit one I like—one that I really like. I can’t wait to blast it for hours on repeat until I get sick of it (as one does). But first, I check out the artist. With a song this good, I can’t believe that I haven’t heard of him before. My eyes wander to the “monthly listeners” section. I expect high seven figures, maybe even eight.

He has about 50,000 monthly listeners.

I can’t believe it. Automatically, my brain defaults to the conclusion that this song can’t be as good as I think it is. I suffer from a severe case of conformity bias. As if an arbitrary number makes music better or worse than it is. Still, I can’t deny that this number has its effect on me. Numbers on the internet, like clicks or likes, influence our perception of what is good and what isn’t. But the internet has also destroyed entry barriers for artists because uploading one’s music today costs nothing. But it wasn’t always this way. For years, the music industry had gatekeepers—people who decided what was marketable and what wasn’t.

And then this one thought enters my mind: “What if the music of the greatest musician to ever live never reached us because of the subjective gatekeeping of creative industries?”

Because of this, it is still very common that great artists change their unique style to appeal to the tastes of the masses. They sacrifice a part of themselves for the chance of winning it big. But is losing a part of oneself truly worth it? I don’t know, but I’ve certainly experienced something similar: I also fell victim to the conformity trap. For the longest time, I didn’t realize how goal-oriented I am. I’d sacrifice the present moment for an arbitrary goal that I didn’t even know I’d enjoy if I were to achieve it—a goal defined by someone else.

What an empty chase.

If you define the game, you can’t lose. Let’s say you want to become a better painter. If your goal is for one of your pieces to be picked up by a major museum, you’ve given all your power away to other people. You can’t control their decision on what gets put on the wall. But if your goal is to enjoy painting more, you will fall in love with the process. Then you decide the rules—and they play in your favor. It’s impossible to please everyone, so you might as well create something that you yourself can be proud of.

Don’t let the subjective view of someone destroy your trust in your objective brilliance.