This Jock Wonders What It's All About
by Stace
Is there a moment when you finally feel like you're where you're supposed to be, career-wise? I think that moment may have actually been happening to me for a while now, but it seems like I'm finally figuring out who I am and where I'm supposed to be in this crazy radio business.
When I was 9 years old, listening to Casey Casem's American Top 40, I could only dream about what it would be like to actually be the person on the other side of the speakers. I imagined that there would be fans and musicians lining up against the glass of the studio, just trying to get a glimpse of me sitting there at the microphone playing the hits.
Obviously, that's not the reality. I have yet to find anyone pressed up against the glass, other than a program director that was trying to get my attention so that he could later dismiss me, but that's another story. Radio is one of the most solitary businesses around. It's all about imagination and creativity, and not about glory and fame. We leave that for the artists we play.
I've been in radio for nearly 20 years now. Twenty years of struggling, earning sub-par wages, 20 years of dealing with program directors who were nothing more than talking heads of corporations who lost sight long ago of what fun our business could really be. Twenty years of getting up at 3 a.m., going to bed at 9 p.m., missing out on everyday stuff because I was just too tired to move out of my chair. Twenty years of a career I love with such a passion that I put up with all the negativity that went along with it. And now I'm here.
After 20 years, I sort of feel like I'm accepted into the party. Last year at the Gospel Music Association's GMA Week seminars, I found myself sneaking around. I wasn't registered, so technically I couldn't go to any of the showcases or events that were happening onsite. I felt like that kid in the song " Jukebox Hero," where he's outside the arena, hearing the sounds of the show. You're so close that you can almost feel a part of everything, but so far that you feel like you'll never be in.
This past year, my on-air partner and I received nominations for Personality of the Year. I also received a nod for Music Director of the Year. Big awards in that they are voted on by your peers. I honestly felt that I didn't have a chance. After all, last year I was that fly hanging on the wall, hoping that no one would come over and smash me to bits. While my partner and I lost to our night guy, I found myself shocked to be named MD of the Year. In all honesty, I have no idea what I said in my acceptance speech. I hope I thanked all the important people, and that no one felt slighted. I just kept thinking, How did I get here?
I am trying to figure out how you get to the point of accepting accolades for what you love to do, for what you would do for free, if need be, yet at the same time wanting to yell from the highest rooftop, " Hey, all you P.D.'s who fired me, look at me now!" It's a crazy position to be in.
So now I have a couple of really cool pieces of hardware on my bookshelf at work. What do they mean to me? What happens next? I think, for me, they are finally admission into the party. I think I'll always feel a bit like an outsider, and I hope I always will. I want to know the hunger of trying to overcome being the underdog. I think that is what true success is all about.
