We have recently spent a lot of energy on attracting new talent into our industry, and rightly so. How do we attract young people? How do we diversify our workforce? How do we create better career pathways? These are all important questions. But there is an issue that is rarely mentioned, except in hushed tones and anonymised social posts. What happens to our workforce, having devoted many years to live events and touring, when they decide it’s time to leave? Perhaps it’s time we normalised an exit strategy.
Through hosting The BACK LOUNGE we’ve had a growing number of people reach out, not because they’re looking for the next gig, but because they’re struggling to imagine what comes after. Perhaps this is due to the opportunity to share in a safe space, or maybe we are becoming more comfortable talking openly given the post-pandemic focus on mental health issues.
As to why this is more on the agenda, the reasons are as varied as the people asking how to plan leaving. Retirement is the obvious trigger. After decades of a high-stress lifestyle, whether it’s managerial, loading trucks, climbing trusses or living out of a suitcase. The thrill of chasing the next show has long gone, and there’s a point where enough is enough.
But retirement isn’t the only reason to exit. For some, it’s physical health. Their body simply won’t do what the job demands anymore. For others it’s mental health, burnout, or the relentless uncertainty that feels ever more present these past few years. Some feel the industry has changed beyond recognition. Technology evolves at a pace they no longer want to keep up with. Others quietly admit something that many probably feel but rarely say out loud – ‘I just don’t think I’ve got the appetite for it anymore’ followed by, ‘but it’s all I’ve ever done and what else would I do?’
None of this should be viewed as failure. A career in this industry is lived at full throttle. Few professions demand the same level of immersion or the depth of commitment required to succeed and remain in it. That intensity shapes not only how we work, but often how we live. For many of us, this is our identity. It’s our friendship group, our social life, our purpose and, in many cases, the thing we’ve been doing since we were barely old enough to know there were other options. Whilst this might explain why leaving can be a terrifying prospect, it doesn’t explain why there is little support for people when they reach this point. Leaving isn’t just about finding another job and walking away isn’t like changing employers – it’s leaving a lifestyle and a tribe.
If you’re employed, perhaps there’s a retirement conversation or an HR process. But what if you’re freelance and/or work under contract? Who sits down with you and who helps you think about retraining? Who talks about the emotional impact of losing the community you’ve spent years building, your change in status, and who asks whether you’re actually OK?
The answer, more often than not, is nobody and perhaps that’s something we should challenge. Not because the industry can solve every problem, but because surely our duty of care shouldn’t begin on someone’s first day and end on their last show.
How do we help navigate this inevitable transition that will happen to us all? Maybe supporting people before they reach a crisis is just as important as supporting them afterwards. Maybe creating spaces where people can have honest conversations about moving on is every bit as valuable as mentoring someone who’s just arrived.
I’m afraid I don’t have the answers, but I do think it is time we started asking the question. If we are serious about saying people are the greatest asset our industry has, then surely that must include the people who decide it’s time to hang up the radio, pack away the steelies and discover who they are beyond the next load-in.
After all, every career has an ending. It’s time we started treating it as an important stage of the journey too.
Words: Suzi Green
