Issue No. 15: "Perpetual Underdog Syndrome"
In this issue I am going to discuss a sensitive topic, an attitude that I believe plagues those of us in creative fields.
It’s sneaky. Oh-so subtle. It undermines us marvelously because it seems as if it is working for us. Goodness knows I lived with it for a long time and still must shake it off occasionally.
I call it Perpetual Underdog Syndrome and it can have long-term negative effects on one’s mental health, creative work, and career.
What is Perpetual Underdog Syndrome?
We all love a good underdog story, don’t we? It forms the basis of so many “hero’s journey” tales our culture reveres - everything from Rudy to The Hunger Games to Karate Kid to Lord of the Rings. We are attracted to stories of the champion no one saw coming, the kid from the sticks who makes good, the person without formal training or resources who emerges as the victor. It’s Buster Douglas defeating Mike Tyson in 1990, it’s the United States men’s Olympic hockey team beating the Soviets in 1980, it’s the three hundred Spartans mounting an impressive stand at Thermopylae.
A life in the arts can often feel like such a story, with obstacles aplenty, courage to be mustered, competitions, inner demons, external foes, and more. So we empathetic creative folks naturally identify as underdogs who are battling our way toward an artistic/financial summit. We climb and scrape by and aspire and dream and kick and gnash teeth.
As artists, we secretly enjoy having something to fight against. After all, upsetting the status quo is something we’ve been known to do (intentionally and not) for centuries. Unfortunately, a lot of the time the only thing we end up fighting is ourselves.
It’s totally okay to acknowledge yourself as the underdog when the situation actually warrants it. But I would caution against internalizing as your default mindset that the odds are forever stacked against you. This is the dreaded Perpetual Underdog Syndrome: believing that in order to be an authentic creative artist one must continually encounter resistance, oppression, or hardship.
It is fun to win, to achieve, to meet your goals. It’s extra satisfying when in doing so we prove our nay-sayers wrong (come on - we’ve all been there). However, we can become addicted to needing a nay-sayer to do our work; consequently, creativity is no longer about building the positive but annihilating the obstruction. Resentment follows. And who wants to create for decades upon decades when fueled only by that particular rage?
Examples, Please…
So how might Perpetual Underdog Syndrome manifest in our thoughts, actions, and words? See if any of these phrases seem familiar to you:
“I mean, I’m a classical musician. It’s not like I’ll ever get rich doing any of this…”
“The kind of music I write isn’t exactly the type that wins awards and grants. It’s too experimental…” [Or “too conservative,” or “too commercial,” or “too academic,” or “too genre-bending,” or “too genre-based”… whatever. The adjective doesn’t matter.]
“My reed is too hard of a strength for me, but I cannot make a good sound unless I feel that amount of physical discomfort.”
“After twenty years of being a musician, I still spend seven hours each day practicing otherwise I’ll never make up for my complete lack of natural talent.”
“I prefer it when only a few people show up to my gigs. That means I’m making real art, ya know?”
“Honestly I’m not even supposed to be a performer. None of my degrees are in performance.”
“I’m not a bona fide composer since I never studied it formally…”
“I’m a jazz musician. Dying in obscurity is my destiny.”
“I went to a state school so I will never have the opportunities that conservatory kids enjoy…”
“Every arts field is a racket and a rigged game. Why do I even bother?”
“Hell yeah I barely sleep and eat garbage food. I’m an artist.”
“The music I make isn’t music I like, my friends like, or that earns money. LOL.”
“My back kills me after I perform but… oh well. Price we pay, right?”
“Composing is always like pulling teeth. If something comes quickly to me, it’s a sure sign it sucks.”
“If I make too much money or become too content or go to therapy or rid myself of anger or get a career coach, I’ll lose my ‘edge’ and my creativity will leave.”
The list of self-deprecating, self-abusive, pessimistic, and fixed-mindset statements and behaviors goes on and on, of course, but hopefully this is enough for you to get the point.
Look. There are genuine hardships we encounter in our careers. That’s life and that’s reality. But if you habitually encounter in your heart several of the above bullet points (or the like), I urge you to deeply examine how much of what you’re feeling is objectively true or if it’s a case of Perpetual Underdog Syndrome run amok. Are you, in fact, getting in your own way more often than the outside world is?
Why Do We Do This?
If we construct an identity that is centered around the idea of being an underdog, what happens when we are finally in a situation where we have command and control?
Declare victory and ride off into the successful sunset?
Maybe.
But what’s more likely - if we have Perpetual Underdog Syndrome - is that we will create obstacles to make tasks harder than what they are so we feel the hardship we believe we should be encountering.
Why would anyone actually do this?
Because the human desire to retain identity often compromises our longings for growth, achievement, or happiness.
I believe this explains why so many artists plateau and plateau hard immediately after their schooling concludes (or about ten to fifteen years after).
Perpetual Underdog Syndrome is an act of self-sabotage that can burn us out, ending careers and killing creative impulses. By casting ourselves as the perpetual underdog we are surreptitiously, subconsciously giving ourselves permission to fail. Of course we didn’t win that competition - we didn’t go to the Ivy League program (better not submit next time). Of course our composition was not a hit - composing new music is for only super small audiences and always such arduous work (better make sure we beat our heads against the wall even harder for the next piece). Of course we didn’t make a ton of money from our last album - classical musicians aren’t supposed to be rich. Of course our bodies ache from performing - being an artist exacts a serious physical toll on us weaklings.
We hedge our bets against the hurt of rejection and of hard work that doesn’t pay off the way we think it should. This makes sense. It’s a natural strategy. However, it is one that comes with absolute limits.
By never envisioning our stories as those ending in assured victory, we are writing ourselves a blank check - but one that will always bounce.