Introduction

The Berklee Performance Center sits at the corner of Boylston Street and Massachusetts Avenue in Boston, just a short walk from Fenway Park. A home for Berklee College of Music since the 1970s, it brings some of the most talented musicians from around the world to campus. When I was a student I watched countless performances in the theatre, feeling a mix of awe and anxiety. While in the audience, I’d often imagine myself on stage, hoping that one day, if I worked hard enough, it would be me up there playing.

It was in this theatre — during my final semester as a Berklee undergraduate — that I sat waiting for a masterclass from one of the school’s most successful alumni: John Mayer. Mayer had been on campus all week as a special guest, giving lessons, performances, and workshops. He had recently finished a summer tour supporting his album Continuum, his third straight multi-platinum release, which had won him two Grammys and included his most popular song to date: Waiting on the World to Change. Campus was buzzing with his presence, and today all 1,215 seats in the theatre were filled with students eager to listen to him. Yet, I didn’t really want to be there. 

It was the fall of 2008 and I was struggling through my last weeks of school. Though I was taking some incredible classes — playing guitar synthesizer, studying the history of western music, performing with other talented musicians in the Joni Mitchell ensemble, and challenging myself with advanced harmonic concepts — I wasn’t excited for any of them. I felt apathetic. Frustrated. Tired. Burnt out. I was learning so much, but didn’t know what to do with any of it. 

I had come to Berklee to learn how to be a professional guitarist, but after four years of practicing, performing, and trying, I had learned that it wasn’t for me. I felt like I was failing at life, and graduation loomed over me. 

Walking into the class, I thought I knew what to expect. I was an angsty, wannabe jazz guitar student — John Mayer was living the rockstar dream. Though he was an incredible guitarist and songwriter, I thought that he would be corny. I wanted to push boundaries with music, he was writing Top 40 hits. I was excited to see him play guitar, but speak about his success? I wasn’t so sure. 

But Mayer didn’t flash his guitar-god status or brag about his ability to write hit songs. Instead, dressed in a black zip up hoodie with one hand shoved in its pocket, he grabbed the microphone and said something that shifted the way I thought about music, success, and life in general: “Right now you’re being inundated with information...and your hardest job here is to convert that information into your inspiration, and that’s something nobody can tell you how to do.” 

Referencing the 1974 album Inspiration Information by enigmatic guitarist Shuggie Otis, Mayer told us the story of one of his early transformations. During his first semester at Berklee, Mayer was too focused on becoming the best guitarist at the school. He expected himself to stand out and show his teachers and classmates what he was made of. This is the type of goal setting you hear from many motivational speakers: Chase your dreams — no matter how lofty they are — don’t give up and you will be rewarded. But as Mayer’s focus on this expectation increased, he found it increasingly difficult to connect with anyone on campus. He may have been getting better at guitar, but nobody seemed to care. This made him frustrated, unmotivated, and anxious. 

He described a moment from his first holiday break when he was back home in his room, trying to figure out if he had a future in music. Listening to some of his favourite artists — Radiohead, Ben Folds Five, Erykah Badu — the words “best guitarist” bounced around his head. What did that even mean? Soon, he realized: nothing. None of these artists he was listening to were trying to be “the best”, yet he couldn’t stop listening to their albums. So what were they trying to be? What was the expectation? On stage in Boston, Mayer described it in one word: “listenable”. 

In his second semester, Mayer chased a new dream. Being listenable meant expanding his focus at school, developing his songwriting and arranging skills, playing with other musicians, and studying the musical climate of the day — not getting stuck on being the best guitarist. He began to enjoy Berklee, made more friends, and started to feel happier about himself and his path. That semester he wrote and recorded demos for songs that would soon become some of his early hits, leading him to leave school and become the superstar we know today. He credits this to a shift in expectations and context. To be the best guitar player, you have to be better than everyone else. When trying to be listenable, there is no competition. You’re either listenable, or you’re not. By shifting his expectation from being the best to being listenable, Mayer found something that he was good at. 

In that moment sitting in the theatre, it was difficult for me to hear this from someone like John Mayer. He is one of the most famous singer-songwriters of the 21st century. Ironically, by focusing less on guitar, he became one of the best guitarists in the world. Although we both went to the same college, his musical talent is at a level I couldn’t reach. But I could learn from his reflections on setting and shifting expectations. I was overloaded with information — from my classes, teachers, books, and peers — and I couldn’t put it all together correctly. For years, I focused on becoming the best guitarist possible, but like Mayer, I figured out this wasn’t the path to success. 

We might have dreams of where we want to be someday, but it’s not enough to say we want to be “the best” or a superstar. When Mayer asked himself what being the best meant, he didn’t have an answer. Being listenable felt more realistic, he could feel a path forward. Mayer explained that to him success meant reflecting on your strengths, weaknesses, and setting expectations around them. It means learning and growing. There is no single marker of success. If I wasn’t going to be a professional player, I needed to figure out what “being listenable” meant for me.

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