The Musician I Let Pass Me By

I shuffled through songs in the car as I searched for parking in Beverly Hills on a Tuesday afternoon. The stakes were high. I needed the perfect song to end my drive with. As I heard the first chords, I knew the shuffle gods had not abandoned me, as much as I felt like God, good ol’ Hashem, may have. The song always made me smile. I had known The Musician back when I studied music in Colombia.

Just enough musicians have been in and out of my dating pool to make this difficult to pinpoint– for those who know me and may be wondering who I’m talking about. I was the only Jew at my little music conservatory in Bogotá, a Berklee College of Music sister school, where Musician and I took a couple of classes together. He was a bit younger than me at a time when I exclusively dated older men. Musician always asked me about my long-distance boyfriend, and I did my best to hide that the relationship had grown sour. We partnered together on assignments and scribbled games on each other’s notebooks to pass the time. For me, it was completely platonic.

Musician’s first hit song came out of nowhere. I was already living in Los Angeles when I heard it. I immediately loved it, but it took me a moment to register his voice. Scrambling through my contacts, I realized I didn’t have his number and wondered if I ever did. I remember his family hadn’t supported his big dreams. He left our little music conservatory after one semester. I cried tears of joy for him as I played the song on repeat, realizing he made his dream come true.

I don’t think anyone would have thought it was possible just by looking at him and his barely grown-in beard. He was sweet, studious, smart, and stood up for me when the teacher shit talked Israel and Jews. The guys I dated were more outwardly charismatic. What surprised me wasn’t that he was talented. I already knew that, but I never imagined the quiet guy passing me notes in music theory would one day have thousands of people in arenas across the world singing his lyrics back to him. He knew before anyone else did.

There is a certain charisma that feels more like the guys I’ve dated than the ones I should have given a shot to. Sometimes I’ve equated big personalities with ambition and follow-through, though I’ve learned they’re not the same. In politics, public life, and in dating, charisma goes a long way.

The past few years of my career have made me question the obvious qualities we value in the people we look up to. Leadership demands something more difficult to communicate than popularity. It demands discipline, resilience, and the willingness to keep going long after the applause fades. We convince ourselves we know how to spot these qualities and cast our votes or hit follow, but what if we’re misjudging their potential because of how passionately they deliver their message?

Looking back at Musician, I don’t think I overlooked him because he lacked something. I thought the characteristics I admired would announce themselves. It turns out ambition can sit quietly, ask you about your boyfriend, and disappear only to turn up on your Spotify Discover Weekly five years later.

I don’t think I was consequential in Musician’s life, more like a girl he thought was cute and then forgot about completely. After October 7th, as people who had nothing to do with politics found that everyone wanted them to have an opinion on an event that had changed the world, his band put out a statement reflecting on unity, hoping their music would always be a space to come together. It wasn’t flashy. In fact, it was criticized for being bland. The comments section demanded they boycott Israel, though that would have been louder than it would have been useful.

When the band put out their statement over a black background on their Instagram, I recognized the quiet guy from music theory. I wondered if perhaps sitting next to me in class had anything to do with this measured response, a response I’m certain many in public relations would have advised against. Measured responses don’t get as many clicks. An aggressive public persona is not just the language of politicians– it’s the language of celebrity.

For the last few years, a big part of my job has been to stand in the uncomfortable middle, to listen to the other person I may not agree with and make them feel seen. Listening has not only been a communications strategy, but a challenge to my own perceptions. That exercise in understanding where another person is coming from so we can move forward together is best done quietly. Many people do that kind of work, with others and by themselves. They’re just not as loud about it.

Out of all the people in that little music conservatory based out of the Executive Director’s childhood home, Musician became the most successful. If you’d asked any of us to predict that at the time, I doubt any would have. We think conviction is loud. We think leadership announces itself. We think we’ll recognize greatness when we see it. Sometimes that’s not the case. Sometimes it sits next to you, doodles in your notebook, and keeps believing in a future no one else can imagine.

I parked my car and took a minute before getting out, letting myself imagine what it would have been like had I dated him instead of the other guy. I’d like to think maybe he would have written songs about me.