The Price of Cognitive Dissonance

I am reading Robert Burton's On Being Certain: Believing You Are Right Even When You're Not, and like many authors who write on similar topics, he discusses cognitive dissonance: the unsettling phenomenon of adhering to two conflicting beliefs at the same time.  In a strange bit of synchronicity, I received some practical advice from another composer this week about pricing music composed for advertising.  He has done quite a bit more negotiating than I in this arena, and he has worked out a system which makes a great deal of sense.  There was one bit that he said that completely floored me, however: "Basically, just figure out the rock-bottom dollar amount you need from the project and start the negotiations at ten times that."

Cognitive dissonance sets in for me because I am confident that he knows what he's talking about, and yet I have concerns about pricing myself out of a project.  The underlying belief is that my time or my abilities aren't worth that much to other people.  It isn't that I think my time or talent isn't valuable -- although I'll freely admit that my mind can slip back to that paraphrasing rather easily.  When I dig down into it, it's the belief that other people don't see the value of what I have to offer, and therefore I can't possibly start off negotiations by asking for ten times what I absolutely need to make.  Three times that figure, maybe.  Any more than that just flies in the face of what I think about other people's ability or willingness to value... well, me.

I know that negotiations for a commercial project are different from collaboration with a music non-profit or a specific chamber ensemble, but in the more "artistic" arenas, I am even more likely to sell myself short because of my beliefs about non-profits and musicians and money.  The key part of my fellow composer's advice, though, is to start negotiations at ten times what I absolutely must make to undertake the project.  That also implies a willingness to come down as far as what I determine to be rock-bottom.  If I start at rock-bottom, I have no room to negotiate, and I won't be giving anyone a chance to see greater value in what I have to offer.

If I never challenge my beliefs about what value other people are capable or willing to see, they are not likely to change. But having a concrete dollar figure as a starting point for negotiation gives me a framework to experiment with my beliefs, which is in my opinion, a healthy way to confront cognitive dissonance.  If I believe two conflicting ideas, I could just choose one arbitrarily.  I could just live with the mental discomfort.  I could develop other beliefs to make sense out of the dissonance.  Confronting the competing beliefs head-on has the potential to lead to a stronger conviction in one direction or the other, and the best way I know to confront the beliefs is to test them where it's possible to do so.  Spiritual beliefs are somewhat immune to testing, but beliefs about negotiating a price for a project (and many other beliefs about myself and other people) are quite easily tested.

So, basing my numbers on a formula that has been tried and tested by a reliable source, I can determine the absolute minimum amount of money I need to receive in order to make a project worthwhile, and I can resolve not to allow negotiations to dip below that absolute minimum amount.  Multiplying that figure by ten gives me the starting point for my end of the negotiations, combined with the time-frame I believe I'll need to complete the work.  From there, the experiment will play out, hopefully over a series of projects, and I'll have a set of clear empirical data against which I can measure my beliefs about what my work is worth.  I can formulate hypotheses ahead of time, but the strong beliefs I have are hypotheses in and of themselves.  Ten times what I absolutely must make still seems exorbitant, and yet a part of me knows that it's an appropriate place to start.  The most challenging part may be to set aside the cognitive dissonance for awhile and allow my beliefs to be effectively tested.  The reward is a sense of personal value based on actual experience rather than whatever I invent inside my own head.  In other words, the high stakes are worth the challenge. 

A Real Job

When I was on the threshold of adulthood (on which I sometimes feel like I'm yet lingering), my stepfather asked one evening, "When are you going to stop this music crap and get a real job?"  Or something to that effect.  My mind may not accurately recall his exact words, but I do remember him suggesting that I could be a dishwasher for a local restaurant if that's what it took.  Although at the time my reaction was fueled by teenage rebelliousness, there are still moments when I struggle with that question.  I have nothing against dishwashers, but after earning a doctorate degree, teaching at colleges, and directing a multi-disciplinary, inter-generational arts program, expecting to thrive on creating music sometimes seems like cheating somehow.

My stepfather's question made perfect sense to him at the time.  He chose a profession that reflects his strong work ethic, the kind of blue-collar career in which you know that you've been working at the end of the day.  He respects people that stand on their own two feet, people who are responsible for themselves.  A music career equated with a pipe dream of fame and fortune, slightly more respectable than winning the lottery, but less likely to happen.  Especially in the small town where we lived.  It has its own share of culture, but it simply lacks the critical mass of population to attract much attention.  No wonder he would suggest a more realistic course than being a musician.

Even then, I didn't see a music career quite the same way as he.  I simply wanted to get paid for creating music, in whatever forms that would take.  It wasn't as though I wanted to be handed something for nothing, I just wanted to make money doing what I loved to do.  Recently, I have made decisions as if I needed to earn money somehow so I could indulge in creating music.  I could see music as a luxurious destination, but not the path.  Somewhere along the way, I became unconvinced of the feasibility of just creating music and getting paid enough as a result.  Even though that had been the reality previously in my life.  Bizarre.

Relocation was an opportunity for me to hit the reset button on a few things, though.  I decided to identify myself (to myself and to others) first and foremost as a pianist and composer, and to trust that to be enough.  I don't need to add anything or take anything away from that.  It is an act of faith, and it is an act of authenticity.  At the same time, it is based in reality.  There are certainly people of my skill level and less who are doing just fine in music careers.  Perhaps partly because they believe it's possible to do so, at least most days.


Now I believe that it really boils down to authenticity.  I don't quite believe in "Do what you love and the money will follow."  I do, however, believe in "Do what you love and the satisfaction of doing what you love will follow."  I think that when people are doing something that has personal value, they will do it well enough to be satisfied.  Different people are satisfied by different levels of success, of course.  My stepfather is satisfied, at least in part, by doing something at which he excels, with the confidence that his effort is worth his compensation.  As it turns out, we have that in common.

Adventures in Beaurocracy

There isn't much need to carry cash anymore.  Or checks for that matter.  Everything is payable by plastic, or else it's gone completely electronic.  All of the vendors that are providing some utility or service for our home encourage automatic payments, taken right from a bank account without me even lifting a finger.  Of course, I still have to remember that money is being virtually vacuumed out of my account, but I certainly don't have to write a check or hand over any paper bills to anyone.  In fact, the only legitimate business I have seen in recent history that required payment by cash was a parking garage during a special event when the fees were different than usual.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that renewing a driver's license in the state of Texas required payment by cash or check.  The last time I renewed my license, I did so online.  It was quick and convenient, and I used a debit card.  Imaginary money was magically transferred from my electronic account to the Department of Public Safety's account without anyone needing to write a check or count any dead presidents.  This time around, however, they required that I appear in person to fill out a little form, have my vision tested, and get an updated photo.  I walked in to the driver's license facility to see the expected throng of waiting people, sitting in chairs or slowly queuing through lines.  I assumed they were queuing, at least.  They weren't actually moving, but the impression was that infinitesimal forward motion was indeed taking place.

I went first to the information desk, since a large sign on the door instructed me to do so.  It was right next to a large sign that admonished against bringing food or drink into the building.  Nearby were several signs advertising the convenience of renewing one's license online and some other signs that got lost in the overwhelming visual chaos of messages.  The kind lady at the information desk told me I needed to fill out a short form and wait in one of the lines.  Easy enough. 

"Do I need anything else?" I inquired.

"Just your old license," she replied.

Simple.

So, I filled out the form and stood in the line.  It moved.  Slowly.  I watched people, generally calm, perhaps a bit bored, waiting in their respective places in their respective lines, and before long I was next.  I had my form, I had my license, I was ready.  A surly older woman who was pushing retirement called me up to her window and asked for the form and my license and $25. 

"Is a debit card OK?" I queried innocently, expecting that any form of payment that would work for the Department of Public Safety website would surely work in person.  Not so. 

"Cash or check," she snarled, adding a snippy, "The sign on the front desk says so."

I took my form and license and left, rather disappointed, frustrated, a bit angry, and perhaps a smidge indignant.  I did glance at the front desk on the way out to observe a small square sign that read: Cash or Check Only.  It was posted at waist-height, amid all of the other informative signs about how easy it is to navigate the DPS website.  Part of me wanted to make a scene, to play the victim, to demand to know why a form of payment accepted across many parts of the civilized world for almost any service or product imaginable was not good enough for the Department of Public Safety.  Instead, I decided that there are simply some times when you have to play by someone else's rules.

Determined to renew my license on the day I intended, after lunch I stopped by the bank and made my way back to the DPS office, expecting that the lunch break crowd would have cleared out and that I would quickly slip back it and take care of everything.  Incredibly, the information desk line was nearly out the door and the throng seemed even denser than before.  I slipped past the information desk and to the end of the renewal line, feeling a little conspicuous.  I already had my form and knew where I was supposed to be, but I felt sure I would be "caught" disobeying instructions. 

It wasn't quite this bad.

No one said a word, and I settled into the line behind a trio of older women complaining about how long they had been waiting.  Their complaints became a bit louder until a deputy eventually came over to check on them.  Had these women been thuggish young men, the scene would have seemed even more tense.  The ringleader, a woman in her 70s, explained that she had been waiting for two hours and was too old to be standing around.  She had other things to do, after all.  The young, authoritative deputy sternly explained that this office had to handle licenses and identifications for all of the millions of people in the city, and she would have to be patient.  Wrong answer.  Her quick retort was that they should have a proportionate number of workers for all those millions of people they had to serve, which elicited some agreement from the officer as he departed around a corner.

A second gentleman came by a few minutes later, and he kept the ladies entertained for a while longer.  He explained about the new system that was being installed, and that change takes time.  It would have been nice to get the new system up and running without interrupting the normal business of the office, but sometimes the most ideal solution isn't possible.  They were calling more workers in to assist with things in the meantime, and the line should get moving along more quickly very soon.  Improvements for the long term are worth a little inconvenience in the short term, but he understood her frustration.

He was smooth.  And he was right.  Not long after he promised it, more workers appeared and the line began moving more swiftly.  Before I knew it, I was handing my form and my old license to a calm, polite gentleman, although a part of me had secretly wished for the surly woman who had sent me away earlier in the day.  My vision was tested, picture was taken, I provided my signature and my thumbprints, and while his computer was busy doing something, I said, "I hope the improvements will make your job a little easier."

"Nope," he replied.  "We've gone from three screens to 50" (referring, I assume, to the number of click-through screens on the computer to complete the process).

It seems that change can be a challenge for everyone, and it's not always easy (or preferable) to contain one's frustration.  Improvements can be double-edged.  Improving one part of a process may make other aspects more cumbersome.  And all of the challenges may not even be foreseeable.  I started the afternoon angry at the surly woman, the Department of Public Safety, myself, and the whole situation in general.  By the end of it, I was seeing the tenderness of humanity.  In the surly woman and the polite gentleman who were both facing an exponential complication to their jobs.  In the complaining women who basically wanted to be shown a little respect.  In the deputy who tried to use his authority to maintain peace.  In the gentle bureaucrat who successfully conveyed information with compassion.  In myself for missing a vital piece of information and doing what was necessary to accomplish what I set out to do.

I almost felt ashamed paying for my new license in one-dollar bills, but I was thankful that I had talked myself down from the stiff-jawed desire to pay in pennies.

The Year in Review

Earlier this week, when I inquired about purchasing some lily essential oil (for a little "aromachology" exercise), the gentleman behind the counter said, "You won't find that here or anywhere else for that matter... genuine lily essential oil is highly poisonous and is absorbed easily through the skin.  You may want some lily fragrance oil instead."  Immediately, I felt very ashamed for not having had that knowledge, and I remember being in classroom situations in which I was expected to arrive with built-in knowledge rather than actually learn.  I quickly realized, however, that the only way to learn something is to admit that you don't already know it.  As someone who values learning, it is something of a gift to realize that there will always be something I don't know.  The humility to admit that I don't know something opens the door for me to keep learning.

That little lesson got me looking back at what I have learned over the past year, and so I share with you now just a few of the things that have stuck with me from my journey of the last several months.  I'll go ahead and start with: It's alright to admit I don't know something.  It bears repeating, for my own sake at least.

Another big one from 2010 is: Money isn't everything.  So many of the paths I have started down over the past year have ultimately been about finances.  I wanted to be a responsible person, I wanted to monetize my passions, I sought guidance from a variety of sources, and ultimately I have come to realize that, for me, it doesn't work for me to focus on a dollar figure.  The things that matter most to me are not things I can purchase, and when I become focused on the financial equation, it's easy to lose focus on the things that matter most to me.  I have learned a lot about money this year, and I have crossed some thresholds in how I think about money.  I know now that it isn't something that I want to pursue.  Money is merely a byproduct.

There are a lot of voices chattering about money, though.  And they chatter about success and freedom and all sorts of other topics.  Testing what people say and observing the results in their own lives is a great way to confirm who to trust.  Sometimes I really want to trust what someone is saying, and sometimes there is something within me that just cringes at a particular idea or individual.  Without any actual data, I'm just going on my own intuition, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but data helps cement my trust of a concept.  The challenge is that sometimes the data goes against someone or something I had really wanted to trust.  As difficult as it may be to admit it, if a hypothesis doesn't hold true in the laboratory of my life, honesty with myself is still the best policy.

I've also come to realize that: Fiefdoms aren't worth the battle.  In different roles, in different organizations, I have encountered people who operate as if they are running their own little kingdom.  While I may have something of value to add to the organization, and while I may get something out of my participation, when it comes down to it, it's a poor use of my energy to challenge someone behaving like a local lord.  It's easy for a person rooted in their beliefs and their pockets of power to develop a closed mind.

This has come up for me in part because I have begun to really understand for the first time that: It's good to play out loud.  As a pianist, I have constantly found myself in places where I am asked to back off on the volume.  Sometimes, as a thinker I have met with similar resistance.  Recently, I have had a few opportunities where I was urged to play out louder as a musician, and it has been a lot of fun.  There is a tremendous amount of freedom when I know I can play loud, and it is immensely satisfying to know that people genuinely want to hear what I have to offer.

Which is why: It's important to find a place where loud is accepted.  After hearing for so long that I need to be a bit softer, it sometimes bleeds into my own personal evaluation of myself.  In my own life at least, I want to encourage my own peak volume.  But there are other places, too, where people want to hear me, as a musician, as a composer, as a thinker.  Finding those places is more satisfying in the long run than screaming in a library.  Especially since, most of all, I believe that what I have to offer has value, and I would prefer to find ways for that value to be what people notice first.

So, that brings me to two last big ones that I have known for a long time, but have only started to really believe.  Focusing on what's most important to me is the best way to live a meaningful life.  Of course, it can be a challenge to know what's really most important, but for me it includes having creative outlets, making music, the connections that I have with other creative people.  It's important for me to respect and tolerate other people's spiritual expression, even as I seek an ideal way to define and live out my own spirituality. 

Lastly, as much as I want to be understood, admired, and respected, as much as I want to be able to use my strengths and capabilities in service to others, my first priority is to live in a way that makes sense to me.  To live in a way that I understand and admire and respect.  To make choices that magnify my strengths and capabilities.  I don't have to justify my life or choices to anyone, but I want to be act with integrity in accordance with who I am at my core.  When I choose things that don't really make sense to me, why would I expect to be understood, admired, or respected by anyone else?  Harmony within hopefully paves the way for harmony without.

It has been a very fruitful and satisfying year, all things considered.  If you stick around on the journey, we'll see how many of these lessons I keep learning further up the spiral...

Finding Focus

At a recent recital, I was playing piano for several high school musicians. We had rehearsed together a few times, and I felt confident going into the performance. Then little details started whittling away at that confidence. The piano was arranged in such a way that I could not see the performers well, so I missed some opportunities to coordinate. The room was cold, and the resulting stiffness in my fingers reduced my dexterity. I hadn’t had a chance to practice in that space, so my ears were not accustomed to the reverb…

It looks like a list of excuses from where I am sitting, and perhaps that what it ultimately is. But my performance that day was not what I would have liked it to be. I am convinced that the real reason is simply that I don’t practice as much as I used to. Without frequent practice, the muscles and the mind lose a bit of capability, and I no longer spend the 4–6 hours practicing every day that I once did. If I were to focus my career on being a pianist, I would need to make some adjustments.

Instead, I have concluded that having money is the result of helping other people. I want to find ways to engage my passions in helping other people, and I want to create ways for that to be an income stream, so I am not sacrificing my own well being for the sake of my passions. In fact, that kind of sacrifice is the stuff of martyrs, and I’m not submitting any more applications for that position. But not every opportunity to help others is equally satisfying or equally compensated. As much as I have enjoyed playing the piano and the connections with young musicians, accompanying middle- and high-school musicians frankly doesn’t pay well enough for a person to make that their entire source of revenue.

So I am faced with a challenge of focus. As I began exploring what I wanted my life to be, I realized that I had been playing small for a long time. My first goal was to spend more time creating music and seeking opportunities for it to be heard. Pursuing that goal initially resulted in some short term jobs to meet immediate financial needs, and in less than six months, I now have an exclusive publishing contract for one of my pieces, which can be a stepping stone toward long-range success as a composer.

There have been other things occupying my attention, however. I became an independent contractor in a wellness business in order to develop residual income which would allow me to take full advantage of the freedom of time and location I had gained. As a result, I have been learning and honing some entrepreneurial skills I never saw a use for in previous positions. It has definitely ramped up my personal development, and the skills I am learning are transferable to every other area of my life. Although I haven't yet replaced my old salary, if I were to truly focus on developing this business, I can see the potential to do so in a short period of time from where I stand.

And yet, I still have a passion to help others deepen their purpose and build a strategic vision for their own goals. Although my wellness business can offer this in a very focused way, some people aren't looking for an entrepreneurial opportunity. They want to engage their passions differently, create something bigger than what they thought possible, or just find greater meaning in what they are currently doing. Helping people find purpose and create a vision energizes me and fuels my own creativity. So I am creating Envisionability, a newsletter about purpose, vision, and creative solutions. I see how this can help other people, serve my own personal growth, and ultimately serve as another revenue stream so that I can keep spending my time helping people, composing, and simply enjoying life.

My challenge now is focus. Do I focus on the thing that I most want to do, or the thing that can bring the most financial freedom? Do I split my focus on three different endeavors, recognizing that they all provide some transferable skills and learning? How will that impact my ability to accomplish my goals in each of those arenas? Will other people see how the different elements of my path are linked, or will they judge me as lacking credibility or clarity? Or is my focus actually on something other than the activities of my journey?

Establishing Value

Over the last few weeks, I have appreciated the chance for some last-minute accompanying opportunities. I didn't expect to be available for music gigs until the end of the year, so I hadn't really done much advance planning for December. As I was confronted with the question of how much to charge for rehearsals and performances, I realized that it was time to deal with some beliefs about money once and for all.

Money has never been a preoccupation for me. I would prefer not to have to worry about dollar signs at all and just compose, collaborate with other musicians, and spend time connecting with and inspiring other people. There is nothing distinctly economical about the culture of integrity, gratitude, and grace I envision, although people would probably make different choices with their money if they acted more out of gratitude than fear and embraced integrity. But coming to terms with my beliefs about money will be a big part of how I am able to create what I want in the the coming months.

When I had a full-time job in a related field, my bills were getting paid, but I wasn't spending the time and energy I wanted to creating music. Even as I tried over the last year to develop ways to perform the duties of my job in such a way that my creative goals were also being satisfied, I encountered communication hurdles that consumed a lot of the time and energy I freed up. Some of the people who had control over my position had expectations that were different than what I was trying to create, and it ultimately resulted in my vision taking me away from that position.

Looking back at that situation, it was a convenient way for me to avoid addressing the issue of money. Having a salary meant that there was a concrete dollar value already placed on my time and expertise. Anything I was able to create in my "spare time" didn't need to have any financial specifics attached, because the money I needed for survival was coming from another source. Asking for more just seemed greedy.

Now I am recognizing that the money I earn from my music is a byproduct of my music having an opportunity to impact people's lives. I also realize that it doesn't serve any part of my vision to undervalue myself. Having a clear and specific dollar figure in mind for accompanying jobs, music preparation projects, and commissions doesn't mean that I can't be flexible. But it sets the stage for a better financial foundation for what I want to create in the world. Stepping away from fears about survival or an attitude of neediness opens space to actually have all of the ingredients my vision requires. I believe big dreams are best supported by fully acknowledging my capability and value.

Being Greedy

Over the past year, I have been committed to stretching beyond my comfort zone and engaging my full capability in the world. I'm not there yet. Granted, it's a moving target, since my capability will hopefully continue to grow in different ways. But, there are still some things that keep me from allowing myself to shine as brightly as I could be. A year ago, I was placing the blame on external circumstances, but when I look at things honestly, most of the limitations are still coming from the same place they always have been. Me.

In the noblest part of me, I want what I create to contribute to making a more harmonious world. This goes for musical creations and otherwise. I want my music to be a part of creating a sustainable culture of grace, integrity, and gratitude. So, when someone asks what I want to do with my music, the answer has been deepening even as it has grown in clarity. It's certainly a long range goal, but there is no honest reason for me to avoid working toward it right now.

It has been more challenging for me to pin down an answer to the question: How much money do you want to make from your music? In some moments, I don't really believe I deserve anything for it, and in others I am disheartened that some of my pieces haven't earned more. When I try out a dollar figure, though, it often strikes me as being greedy. I somehow lose sight of what I actually want to create when money enters the picture. It becomes a bit of a stumbling block.

What I am realizing is that, although money is not the end in and of itself, it is a significant factor in allowing my music to have the impact I want. It seems logical to conclude that if I want what I create to make a difference in the world, it would have to be out in the world being heard or experienced. And if I earn money because of royalties, it means that my music has been out in the world being heard. Which means that when I cling to a belief that I am being greedy if I want my music to earn money, I am actually working against any efforts I may take toward putting it out into the world. I am at cross purposes with myself.

While I don't know what is possible, I do know that I have been in some ways keeping myself from reaching as far as I can be. I am willing to let go of the "greedy" label. What I actually want is more valuable to me than the lie.