In the 1950s, decades before he became a well-renowned composer, Philip Glass was a young man who recently moved to New York City to start his education at a prestigious art school, the Juilliard School. 

His first home was in a room on the fourth floor of a brownstone in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, just a block west of Central Park. In the evenings, he often worked at a diner nearby, sipping on coffee while completing his harmony exercises as well as composing his own music in his notebooks.

One night, Philip noticed an older man in his 60s doing the same thing—composing music. He writes in his memoir, Words Without Music, “It was a piano quintet (piano plus string quartet) and, from my few quick glances, it looked very well thought out and ‘professional.’” 

If you were in Philip’s position, you might think that this older man hadn’t seemed to gain much success with his music. You might even worry that would be your fate; after decades of dedication, there you were, still toiling away in obscurity in a diner with someone decades your junior. 

That thought didn’t cross Philip’s mind. Instead, he writes:

Now, here is perhaps the most remarkable part of the story, and something I didn’t understand until many years later: I wasn’t at all upset by this nonencounter. It never occurred to me that, perhaps, it was a harbinger of my own future. No, I didn’t think that way at all. My thought was that his presence confirmed that what I was doing was correct. Here was an example of an obviously mature composer pursuing his career in these unexpected surroundings. I never knew who he was. Perhaps he was there, escaping from some noisy domestic scene—wife, kids running around, too many guests at home. Or, like me, perhaps he was simply living alone in a single room. The main thing was that I didn’t find it worrisome. If anything I admired his resolve, his composure. It was inspiring.

Creative commitment expresses itself in all different types of ways. Success can be one signal of it, but it’s no more than that. And there are plenty of serious people who don’t need to broadcast success to be a sign of their commitment, just as there are plenty of spouses who don’t need a big diamond ring to let the world know that they are happily married. (Many artists, including Philip, worked day jobs before they could focus on their art full-time. If you’re participating in this tradition, you’ve joined a long lineage.)

As long as you keep practicing and working on the craft, you’re taking it seriously.