When you are an artist trying to colour outside the lines, the traditional system will often try to remind you of your place. Sometimes they do it through a grading rubric, and sometimes they do it with a delivery box.
There is a really funny story from my early university days that always makes me smile. Twice, during formal, high-stakes piano showcases, I sat down at the grand piano ready to pour everything I had into a performance. And twice, right as my hands hovered over the keys, the performance was abruptly paused because a fast-food pizza delivery had arrived backstage for the department coordinator. I was told to wait at the bench while the transaction was sorted out. Waiting for pizza to be dealt with in front of the entire piano faculty was awkward and at the time I didn't even realize it was a massive breaking of performance etiquette to hear “wait Andrew, pizza's here” while everyone sits and has to watch me sit there awkwardly.
At the time, it felt like the ultimate administrative ceiling. The message was clear: your art, your time, and your voice are secondary to our temporary convenience. It is easy for a young musician facing that kind of casual dismissal to feel entirely minimized.
But looking back, I realize it was the greatest lesson I could have ever received.
It exposed a fundamental truth about institutional gatekeeping: academia is often preoccupied with its own insulated appetites, while the real world is hungry for true connection.
The ultimate irony of my career is that the system once chose to hit pause on my music for a pizza. Fast forward to today, and my entire musical life is built on a completely different relationship with food. Through grassroots street busking, public pop-up pianos, and the incredible generosity of the community in Almonte and Carleton Place, the "Something for Everyone" campaign raised over $13,000 and 55 pounds of food for The Hunger Stop.
I went from sitting silently at a conservatory piano waiting for everyone's dinner to get into the buikding, to using my music as a driving force to ensure that no family in our community goes to bed hungry.
To any young creative sitting at a literal or metaphorical bench right now, feeling like your wings are being clipped by the people holding the rulebook: The classroom ceiling is not your career ceiling. They might control the stage inside their walls, but they do not control the open sky. Don’t let their distractions rewrite your worth. Take your music directly to the people who need to hear it—because the world outside is hungry for what you have to give.
