Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan: Having the courage to pursue your passion

When my cousin Dustin answered that familiar question, "What are you going to do after you graduate?" people laughed in his face. When they realized he was serious, though, their amusement turned to puzzlement and dismay.

His answer? "I'm going to be a rock star."

You haven't heard of him because he's not a rock star yet. He's even way beyond the age when people stop thinking it's cute when you tell them you're going to be a rock star or president or an actress or anything of that nature. He's in his late 20s and, by all conventional wisdom, should be settling down into a steady job and a lifestyle that doesn't include amplifiers and rhythm guitars.

But Dustin's not one to listen to that sort of wisdom, and I love him for it.

His ambitions are not completely groundless, mind you. He and his band, Magic Bullet Theory, are damn good and fairly popular in Tampa -- they play the dive bars and the big venues, have been heard on local radio and open for some pretty big-name groups when they swing through town. They've got loyal groupies and a brand-new CD. You might even say they are poised for a breakthrough.

They're not there yet. Maybe they never will be. But listen to him play for five minutes and you start to wonder. Listen to Dustin talk about his passion for music and the doubts disappear.

Dustin wasn't always such a dreamer. He went to college with secure plans many a struggling undergrad would envy: a full ROTC scholarship, a computer science degree and a home in the Air Force when he graduated. Sure, he spent his free time as a sensitive singer-songwriter in campus coffeehouses, but this guy was practical. He had direction. His head was on straight.

Until one day, it just wasn't right. True to artistic form, Dustin told me he had an epiphany: one day, the story goes, he woke up completely sure he could become the musician he had always truly wanted to be. Suddenly, the pilot plan just wouldn't do. That very day he walked into his superior's office and signed the papers -- now he had to pay tuition, but he could also do exactly what he wanted to with his life.

I'm sure that if Dustin had questioned this epiphany of his and asked someone for advice, he would have heard mostly one of two lines of response. One, the don't-quit-your-day-job school of thought, would have straight-out called him crazy and told him to get his head out of the clouds.

The other would have been more subtle criticism from the same kinds of people who congratulate you heartily when you graduate high school and advise you earnestly to "find your passion." It doesn't take too long to realize what everybody really means by that golden clich‚: as long as your passion will get you a steady, risk-free paycheck.

Good thing he didn't ask.

To be fair, I must note that Dustin does have a day job. When he's not practicing with the band or rocking out on one of Magic Bullet Theory's gigs, he's teaching creative writing and literature to high school students. Hey, gotta pay the rent somehow, right? He actually loves being a teacher, but make no bones about it: were the band to be signed it would be goodbye, classroom; hello, tour bus. I don't blame him. His heart and soul belong to his music, and who could deny a lifestyle like that?

But think about it for a moment and you'll see that lots of us do deny it. I'm sure you know someone who used to daydream about a seemingly out-there profession (Painter? Opera singer? Wrestler for the WWE?) but decided instead to go into something practical and safe. Someone who would be happy for the rest of her life if she could succeed at something risky, but doesn't think she could cut it, so she doesn't even try.

Even an impossible idealist like me can admit that not everyone's big dreams will pan out. And there is something comfortingly prudent about the thought of a real job with two weeks of paid vacation to take you through to retirement. See, it takes courage to stake your life on being a rock star -- and that's why Dustin is so inspiring. When so many people give up before they even start, he has the balls to go for it.

Once, when telling Dustin about my own post-graduation plans, I said, "I want to be a writer." Immediately he interrupted, "No, say, 'I'm going to be a writer.'" How much of a difference would it make if we all had someone to say that to us? How different would our lives be if we believed it?

My cousin Dustin is going to be a rock star. Magic Bullet Theory, people. Get in on the ground floor.

Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan is a senior communications major from Wheaton, Ill. Six Feet One appears on Tuesdays.

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