Several years ago, Sandy, a family “friend” gleefully presented my mother with an article on the “least valuable” college degrees. “Your kids have all these useless degrees!” she announced after reading about majors least likely to lead to employment. My siblings and I had indeed studied music, religious studies, anthropology, art history, philosophy, and voice—arguably a collection of statistically “useless” degrees. Yet despite this ignominious distinction, our degrees have actually paid off. We’re all successful and satisfied in our careers, but none of us would say our jobs are our singular passions.
You might find that surprising, coming from me. I’m passionate about music and truly love working with singers, but when I do something just for me, I head to the kitchen or grab my camera. My brother graduated from the French Culinary Institute and is a successful pastry chef. He loves music too and is a tenor in an elite Episcopal church choir, so sometimes we talk about singing and other times about food. My sister, with degrees in anthropology and art history, has a career that I wouldn’t have known existed were it not for her: she manages the transportation of fine art for the world’s most prestigious galleries and museums. She’s one of those people who needs a passport with extra pages—and still fills them up. Her passion for art is obvious, but through her travels she’s also become an avid wine connoisseur. I was shaking in my boots when I introduced her to the director of education at my favorite local wine shop, but they got along swimmingly, and I was relieved. Whenever my siblings and I manage to be together, we’re never short on conversation.
Our parents never dictated our paths and were very supportive. There was no pushback when it came to my decision to pursue a music degree. It seemed practical at the time: I enjoyed music, was good at it, and my parents had already invested in my training from second grade onward—paying for lessons, music, instruments, workshops, and festivals. Moreover, my mother had a master’s degree from Columbia Teachers’ College, and my great-aunt Vanda had retired from a long career as a public school music teacher on Long Island. Without anyone saying it outright, the message was clear: find something you like, something you do well, and something that will pay the rent. Nobody thought I would get rich (they were right), but nobody worried I would starve (also correct).
In a broader sense, however, I believe this guiding idea—“find something you love and do it”—has gone off the rails, especially regarding degrees in musical theater. There’s a massive gap between “pursuing your passion” and “doing a job you detest,” yet many young theater enthusiasts today fixate on Broadway as the one path to a life of singing. I completely disagree. In this section, we will explore the experiential and structural forces that not only fuel this false narrative but also capitalize on it.