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WHEN LIFE INTERRUPTS THE MUSIC; Series 4

Returning With a Different Perspective

Sometimes, you return to the place you left, but you are no longer the person who left.

Coming Home With “Nothing”

I did not plan the return.

There was no carefully prepared timeline. No grand announcement. No sense that everything had worked out exactly as I had hoped.

It was sudden, unplanned, and, at the time, it felt almost like the end.

After a long period of labour and a series of unpleasant experiences, I found myself going back home with what, from the outside, looked like nothing.

No significant achievement to announce.

No great story of success. No evidence that things had gone according to plan.

Just me, returning home.

I remember the feeling.

There is a particular kind of disappointment that comes when reality does not resemble the picture you had imagined.

You leave home believing you are going to build something.

You worked, endured, and made sacrifices.

You keep hoping.

And then, unexpectedly, you find yourself coming back, wondering what exactly you have to show for the journey.

But something happened when I arrived home that I did not expect.

My Children Were There.

They were shocked.

Then excited.

My wife was happy to see me.

And in the middle of everything I had been carrying, something shifted.

For a moment, I wasn’t thinking about what I had lost.

I wasn’t thinking about what had gone wrong.

I wasn’t thinking about what I had hoped to accomplish.

I was simply home.

And there was a little joy in that.

It was not the kind of joy that solved every problem.

It did not suddenly change my circumstances.

But it reminded me of something I had perhaps allowed the pursuit of other things to overshadow:

There are things more valuable than the achievements we spend our lives chasing.

Sometimes, Coming Home Is Not Going Back

Before that experience, I might have looked at returning home as simply moving backwards.

But I began to see it differently.

I was not returning as the same person who had left.

I had experiences I did not have before.

I had been tested in ways I had not anticipated.

I had encountered uncertainty.

I had experienced rejection.

I had learned to function in unfamiliar circumstances.

I had discovered things about myself.

And perhaps most importantly, I had developed a different understanding of what really matters.

So although the return looked like a setback, I was carrying something home with me that could not be seen in a suitcase.

Perspective. Experience. Wisdom. Humility. Resilience.

And a deeper appreciation for family.

The Season Was Heavy

The months that followed were not easy. I was given one month notice to evacuation where I was staying with my family.

There were days of uncertainty. There were disappointments.

There were moments when rejection made me question what was next.

There were times when I had to confront the emotional weight of everything that had happened. My blood pressure rose up.

I also had to navigate other difficult personal seasons that affected me physically and emotionally.

There were moments when the pressure felt overwhelming. Some came from people who were supposed to encourage and support me at my down moment.

But somewhere along the way, I came to a realisation:

I am too loaded to give up now.

I don’t mean that life suddenly became easy. It didn’t.

I mean that I had accumulated too much experience, too many lessons, too much responsibility, too much love, too much purpose, and too much understanding to allow one difficult chapter to become the conclusion of my story.

I had people depending on me. I had people I had influenced. I had things I still wanted to contribute. I had lessons that had cost me something to learn.

And I began to understand that survival itself can sometimes be an act of courage.

My Perspective About Family Changed

Coming home changed the way I looked at family. Sometimes, we can become so focused on providing, achieving, building, and pursuing that we forget that the people we are building for are also part of the reward.

Coming home and seeing my children again reminded me that presence has value.

Not everything meaningful can be measured by income.

Not everything important can be displayed as an achievement.

Sometimes, sitting with your family after a difficult season is itself a victory.

My wife’s happiness at seeing me reminded me that partnership is not only about celebrating success together.

Sometimes, it is about having someone who is simply glad that you are home.

That changed something in me.

My Perspective About Music Changed

My relationship with music also changed. Before, I could easily think about music in terms of achievement, performance, growth, opportunities, and professional development.

But after everything I had experienced, music began to feel deeper.

I began to see it not merely as something I do, but as something through which I can serve, teach, communicate, influence, encourage, and connect with people.

I became more interested in the person behind the musician.

• What does music do to someone’s confidence?
• How does training shape discipline?
• How can a teacher help a young person discover potential?
• How can leadership develop people rather than simply produce performances?

These questions became more important to me.

My experiences had changed the questions I asked.

And sometimes, a change in the questions is evidence that growth has already begun.

My Perspective About Leadership Changed

Leadership also began to look different. I had previously thought a lot about building. Building teams. Building musicians. Building programmes. Building curriculums. Building platforms.

But difficult seasons taught me something about leadership that success cannot always teach:

People need leaders who understand what it means to struggle.

You cannot always lead from a position of strength.

Sometimes you lead while rebuilding.

Sometimes you encourage others while you are still finding your own footing.

Sometimes you have to admit that you don’t have all the answers.

Sometimes leadership is simply refusing to surrender your responsibility to hope.

That experience gave me greater empathy for people who are struggling silently.

I became less interested in judging people’s seasons and more interested in understanding them.

Rejection Does Not Have to Become Identity

One of the difficult things about rejection is that it can become personal.

An opportunity is rejected, and we begin to think we are rejected.

A plan fails, and we begin to think we are failures.

A door closes, and we begin to believe there are no more doors.

I had to learn to separate an experience from my identity.

A rejection is an event. It is not necessarily a definition.

A difficult season is a season. It is not necessarily a destination.

A failed plan is a failed plan. It does not automatically mean a failed person.

That distinction became important as I began rebuilding.

I Had to Learn to Live Without Having Everything Figured Out

There is a pressure many adults carry—the pressure to know what comes next.

We want the plan, the timeline, the certainty, the answer.

But life does not always give us those things. Sometimes you have to take the next step without seeing the entire road.

That was one of the lessons this season taught me.

I could not control everything that had happened.

I could not immediately control what would happen next.

But I could control how I responded.

I could keep learning, working, showing up, loving my family, developing people, keep creating and believing that the story was not finished.

That was enough for the next step.

I Came Back, But I Did Not Come Back Empty

This is perhaps the biggest lesson of this chapter.

I initially thought I was coming home with “nothing”

But I eventually realised I was carrying a lot.

I came back with experience. I came back with stories. I came back with lessons.

I came back with a deeper appreciation for family.

I came back with a different understanding of leadership.

I came back with a broader perspective on people.

I came back with greater resilience.

I came back with a clearer understanding of what matters.

And I came back with a renewed appreciation for the gift of music.

Perhaps I did not return with everything I wanted.

But I returned with something I needed:

Perspective.

The Person Who Left Is Not the Person Who Returned

This is what I want to emphasize most.

Sometimes we define success by what we bring back.

The money. The position. The certificate. The business. The opportunity. The achievement.

But perhaps we should also ask:

Who did the journey make you?

Because sometimes, you return with fewer possessions but greater wisdom.

You return with fewer answers but better questions.

You return with fewer plans but greater clarity.

You return with less certainty but greater resilience.

You return thinking you have lost something, only to discover that you have gained a deeper understanding of yourself.

That was my experience.

And Now, Another Birthday

As I celebrate my birthday today, October 5, I find myself reflecting differently on the journey.

I don’t want to pretend that I have arrived. I haven’t. There are still things I am working toward.

There are still questions I don’t have answers to.

There are still areas of my life that require growth.

There are still dreams waiting for expression.

But I can say one thing with honesty:

I am not the same person I used to be.

And perhaps that is worth celebrating.

Not because everything is perfect. Not because every prayer has been answered. Not because every plan has worked.

But because I am still here. Still learning. Still building. Still loving. Still teaching. Still creating. Still dreaming. Still becoming.

I May Not Be There Yet

I have learned to appreciate this sentence:

“I may not be there yet.”

There is humility in it.

But there is also hope. It means I recognise the distance between where I am and where I want to be.

It means I refuse to pretend.

But it also means I haven’t given up.

I may not be where I thought I would be by now.

But I am not where I used to be. And that matters.

Growth is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is simply becoming more intentional, more patient, more aware, more grateful, more resilient, more responsible, more compassionate, more willing to learn, more comfortable with the process.

The Lesson I Carry Forward

If the past few years have taught me anything, it is this:

Life can interrupt your plans without destroying your purpose.

You can lose an opportunity and still find yourself.

You can return home and still move forward.

You can experience rejection and still have value.

You can go through an unfamiliar season and still develop capacity.

You can feel like you have nothing and still be carrying something priceless.

And sometimes, the person who emerges from the difficult season is better equipped for the next chapter than the person who entered it.

“Sometimes, returning is not going back. It is coming home with a perspective that only the journey could have given you.”— Victor Adenola

A Reflection for You

Perhaps you are also in a season that doesn’t look like what you planned.

Maybe you have had to return.

Maybe something you built has ended.

Maybe an opportunity didn’t work out.

Maybe you have experienced rejection.

Maybe you are rebuilding.

Maybe you feel as though you have very little to show for the years you have invested.

Please don’t be too quick to measure your life only by what you can show.

Ask yourself:

• What has the journey built inside me?
• What have I learned?
• How have I changed?
• What capacity have I developed?
• Who have I become?
• Who have I influenced?
• What do I understand now that I didn’t understand before?

Because sometimes, the greatest evidence that a season was not wasted is not what you acquired. It is who you became.

And as I celebrate another year, that is where I find some of my gratitude.

I may not be where I want to be.

But I am not where I used to be.

And I am still becoming.

Coming Next — Series 5: When the Music Plays Again

After the pause, the interruption, the unfamiliar season, the ending, the return, and the lessons, one question remains:

What happens when you are ready to play again?

Perhaps the goal is not to recreate the music exactly as it was before.

Perhaps the next movement requires everything the journey has taught you.

In Series 5, I reflect on new beginnings, intentionality, purpose, family, music, and the courage to begin again—not as the person you were, but as the person you have become.

WHEN LIFE INTERRUPTS THE MUSIC; Series 3

Finding Yourself in the Interruption

Sometimes, life takes you somewhere you never planned to go—and in that unfamiliar place, you begin to discover a different version of yourself.

There are seasons when you think you understand the next chapter of your life.

You have a plan. You know what you are good at. You know what you want to do.

You may even have a clear picture of how you expect the journey to unfold.

Then an opportunity comes along, and suddenly, everything changes.

Some years ago, I had an opportunity to begin something new outside my home country.

I went with the expectation that music would remain at the centre of what I was doing.

After all, music had been such a significant part of my life.

It was familiar. It was what I knew. It was where I had experience, confidence, and a sense of identity.

But life had a different arrangement.

I found myself having to do things that were not related to music at all.

It was unfamiliar territory.

And, for a period, I struggled with it.

When What You Do No Longer Matches Who You Think You Are

There is something uncomfortable about finding yourself in an environment where your previous experience does not seem to carry the same weight.

You know what you can do. You know what you have accomplished. You know the areas where you are confident.

But suddenly, you are doing something completely different. You are learning new things. Starting from unfamiliar ground. Adjusting to a different environment. Trying to understand new expectations.

And somewhere in that process, a question can begin to emerge:

“Who am I now?”

I experienced some of that.

For years, music had given me a strong sense of identity. I knew what I was doing when I was teaching. I knew what I was doing when I was leading musicians. I knew what I was doing behind the piano. I knew how to communicate musical ideas. I knew how to develop people musically.

But being placed in situations outside that familiar world challenged me differently. There were things I had to learn from the beginning. There were situations where I was not the expert. There were moments when my previous musical identity did not provide an immediate answer.

And that was humbling.

The Unfamiliar Can Be a Classroom

At first, it can be tempting to think:

“This has nothing to do with my purpose.”

I could have easily looked at those experiences as interruptions—something outside the path I believed I was supposed to be following.

But with the benefit of hindsight, I now see them differently. They were not wasted years. They were capacity-building years.

I was developing abilities that I did not realise I would eventually need.

I was learning how to adapt.

• How to communicate with different kinds of people.
• How to function in unfamiliar environments.
• How to handle responsibilities outside my comfort zone.
• How to observe before assuming.
• How to learn from people who had different experiences from mine.
• How to work through uncertainty.
• How to remain useful even when I was not operating from my strongest area.

Those lessons eventually became part of the person I brought back into music.

I Was Learning More Than I Realised

Sometimes growth is happening while we are busy wondering why we are not where we expected to be.

That season taught me that not every valuable experience will look relevant at the time you are experiencing it.

Some lessons need time before their relevance becomes obvious.

The communication skills I developed became useful in leadership.

The adaptability I developed became useful in music education.

The patience I learned became useful in mentoring.

The understanding of people became useful in relationships.

The experience of navigating unfamiliar environments influenced how I approached family and responsibility.

The ability to function outside my comfort zone helped me become more flexible as a professional.

In other words, I wasn’t simply doing something unrelated to music.

I was becoming a person who could approach music differently.

Capacity Is Often Built Outside Your Main Skill

This is one of the lessons I wish more people understood.

We often focus on developing the skill that defines our profession.

A musician practises music.

A teacher studies teaching.

A businessperson learns business.

A leader studies leadership.

But sometimes, the capacity you need most is developed somewhere else.

A musician may need communication skills.

A teacher may need emotional intelligence.

A leader may need patience.

A business owner may need resilience.

A parent may need adaptability.

A creative person may need discipline.

And these qualities are not always developed in the places where we expect to find them.

Sometimes life takes us outside our speciality precisely because we need to develop something beyond our speciality.

I Had to Become Comfortable Being Uncomfortable

Being unfamiliar with something can affect your confidence.

When you are accustomed to being competent, being a beginner again can be uncomfortable.

You may find yourself asking questions you would normally be expected to answer.

You may make mistakes.

You may need help.

You may have to observe others.

You may discover that your previous achievements do not automatically make you excellent in a new environment.

But there is humility in being a learner.

And there is strength in admitting:

“I don’t know this yet, but I can learn.”

That mindset became important to me. It helped me understand that competence is not only about knowing what to do.

Sometimes, competence is knowing how to learn what you don’t know.

The Experience Changed How I See Leadership

My understanding of leadership became broader.

Previously, it was easy to associate leadership with directing people toward a goal.

But unfamiliar experiences taught me what it feels like to be the person who is learning, adjusting, and depending on others for understanding.

That perspective matters.

A leader who has never been a learner may struggle to understand the vulnerability of those they lead.

But when you have experienced being outside your comfort zone, you may become more patient with someone else’s learning process.

You begin to understand why people need encouragement.

Why mistakes can be part of development.

Why correction should not destroy confidence.

Why people sometimes need someone to believe in them before they believe in themselves.

These lessons have influenced how I approach mentoring and music education.

It Changed the Way I See Relationships

Living and working outside my familiar environment also gave me a different perspective on people.

You discover that people can have completely different ways of communicating, working, thinking, and responding.

You learn that what seems obvious to you may not be obvious to someone else.

You learn to ask questions. You learn to listen. You learn not to assume.

And those are not merely professional skills. They are relationship skills.

They matter in marriage, parenting, friendship, leadership, and in music.

In fact, the more I have learned about music, the more convinced I have become that good musicianship requires many of the same qualities that healthy relationships require—listening, awareness, timing, sensitivity, communication, and adjustment.

I Returned With More Than I Left With

When I eventually looked back at that season, I realised something.

I had gone into it thinking primarily about what I would do.

I came out of it with a deeper understanding of who I was becoming.

That distinction changed my perspective.

I didn’t simply return with professional experience. I returned with life experience.

I had developed capacity. I had seen things from another perspective. I had experienced unfamiliar responsibilities. I had learned from environments outside my normal world.

And all of that became part of how I approached music, leadership, mentoring, relationships, and family.

The interruption had changed the musician because it had changed the person.

Perhaps the Season Was Not Taking Me Away

This is something I think about often.

When we are in an unfamiliar season, we can easily assume we are moving away from our purpose.

But what if we are actually being prepared for a broader expression of it?

What if the experience we are calling a detour is developing something we will need later?

What if the season that feels unrelated is actually expanding our capacity?

What if the pause is not removing us from the journey but preparing us for the next movement?

I cannot say that every difficult experience has a predetermined purpose.

But I can say that we can choose to learn from our experiences rather than allowing them to become wasted seasons.

That choice matters.

Don’t Waste Your Unfamiliar Season

If you are currently doing something that seems unrelated to what you believe you are called to do, don’t be too quick to dismiss the experience.

Pay attention.

What is it teaching you? Are you becoming more disciplined? More adaptable? More patient? More observant? More compassionate? More resourceful? More confident in unfamiliar environments? Are you learning how people think? Are you learning how organisations function? Are you learning how to manage pressure? Are you learning how to communicate? Are you developing skills that your current profession may eventually need?

You may not see the connection today.

But that does not mean there isn’t one.

The Music Was Still There

Interestingly, even when I was doing things outside music, music had not disappeared from me.

The experience was simply changing the way I understood it.

I began to appreciate that being a musician is not only about playing an instrument.

It is also about how you think.

How you listen, relate, solve problems, how you respond when things do not go according to plan, how you lead, teach, adapt, communicate.

The music was still there.

I was simply hearing it differently.

What That Season Taught Me

Looking back, I would summarise the lessons this way:

1. An unfamiliar season is not necessarily a wasted season.
2. Your current role does not completely define your identity.
3. Capacity can be developed outside your primary field.
4. Being a beginner again can build humility and adaptability.
5. Life experiences can reshape how you lead and mentor others.
6. What you learn about people can become as valuable as what you learn about your profession.
7. Sometimes, life expands you before it expands your platform.

And perhaps the most important lesson for me:

“Some seasons may take you outside the music, but they can still prepare you to make better music, lead better, mentor better, and live better.”— Victor Adenola

A Reflection for You

Maybe you are in an unfamiliar place right now.

Maybe you are doing work that has nothing to do with what you studied.

Maybe you are building a business while waiting for another opportunity.

Maybe your career has taken an unexpected turn.

Maybe you have moved to a new environment.

Maybe you are carrying responsibilities you never planned for.

Maybe you are wondering whether you have lost your way.

Before you conclude that the season is wasted, pause and ask:

“What capacity is this season building in me?”

You may not have chosen the classroom.

You may not have chosen the lesson.

You may not even understand its relevance yet.

But don’t leave the classroom empty-handed.

• Learn
• Observe
• Adapt
• Grow

Because one day, you may look back and realise that the season you thought had taken you away from your purpose was actually preparing you to approach your purpose with greater depth.

Coming Next — Series 4: Returning With a Different Perspective

After experiencing unfamiliar places, changed responsibilities, difficult decisions, and seasons of personal growth, returning to what you love can feel different.

You don’t return as the same person who left.

In Series 4, I reflect on what it means to return to music, leadership, relationships, and purpose with a different perspective—and why sometimes the goal is not to go back, but to move forward with what the journey has taught you.

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