Dating a Touring Musician
How I Learned to Choose Love Through Uncertainty
WRITTEN BY SAMMI CARAMELA (SST MEMBER, WRITER & EDITOR)
Falling in love with a touring musician was not on my late-20s bingo card. Early 20s? Sure, why not give it a try, traveling the country (or even the world) with a rockstar while writing poetry about our love? It’s every young writer’s dream.
But in my late 20s/early 30s, when I’ve been there, dated that, and am looking to settle down and find a companion? Not so much.
I’ve never been the long-distance type, cursed with a brain that has an out-of-sight, out-of-mind protective mechanism. And as someone who naturally over accommodates until they turn themselves into a martyr (I’m working on it), I didn’t think I had it in me to be the supportive, selfless partner my boyfriend deserved.
Which is exactly what I told him when he first confessed his feelings for me. We were on FaceTime, as we’d been almost every night when we were “friends,” each sipping a glass of wine and avoiding the elephant in the room.
Immediately, hearing of his feelings—which mirrored my own—I panicked.
“But you’re a touring musician,” I said, as though that somehow disqualified him from being my person.
In my mind, at first, it did. But it wasn’t because I didn’t believe in him. I didn’t believe in myself. In my ability to handle such ups and downs—the unpredictability, the months apart, the instability.
As someone who grew up with and still battles obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), I know my limits, and to me, this was crossing them. With OCD, uncertainty feels like a prison sentence. His entire life is like one massive exposure therapy session crammed into what should be a safe and loving relationship. At this phase in my life, I just wanted peace.
“We’re very different people,” I added, reassuring myself that it was best for both of us to remain “friends,” as if we weren’t falling head-over-heels in love with each other by the second. “And we want very different things.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” he told me. “We might be different, but we balance each other out. I think that’s a good thing. And we do have the same life goals.”
“You don’t even want kids,” I reminded him, recalling one of our first conversations early in our friendship.
“That was before you.”
With just one line—just one confirmation—it dawned on me that our conflicting lifestyles had nothing to do with my hesitancy. It wasn’t that we were incompatible. It was that I didn’t trust myself and, in turn, my own strength and discernment.
Before my boyfriend, I dated someone who spoke a big game eerily early on, only to take it all back as we progressed deeper into our relationship. My ex went from writing poetry about tying the knot to saying marriage was just a piece of paper, and that maybe one day he would end up with his first love, because the future is unknown and we should just ~live in the moment~.
I tried to embrace that idea: be present with zero consideration for the future. Turns out I’m not the free-spirited girl I wished to be.
And I couldn’t let that happen again. I couldn’t waste more time on someone who might lure me in with hope-fueled courage and premature promises. I couldn’t allow excitement and lust to cloud his or my judgment.
So I shut the conversation down, telling myself it was for the best not to date someone who was in a different phase of life than I was. That we could never give each other what we wanted. That I would fail in every way possible, and he would grow tired of me, and I would resent him, and we’d end up as strangers. I couldn’t handle that possibility.
‘Love Is a Choice’
We hear the above sentiment often, tossed around by dating gurus and couples therapists. Love isn’t just a feeling—it’s a choice we must make over and over and over again, even when we’re shaking in fear and uncertain of the outcome.
And as it turns out, the same way I couldn’t handle the idea of losing my boyfriend as a friend, I couldn’t handle just being friends either. Because within months of his initial confession, I found myself wondering…Could I actually do this?
For him, I’m now sure, I could—and would—do anything. My love for him has fueled my belief in myself.
I might have felt like I didn’t want this life—the sporadic, rushed calls, the solitude, the absence of a partner during difficult times—but like my boyfriend had said to me during his love confession: “That was before you.”
So, taking small steps, we grew closer. We went at our own pace, and we tackled each obstacle, from his three-week-long studio sessions and month-long tours to my OCD episodes and physical health issues, as a team.
What I didn’t realize was that the person with the most unpredictable lifestyle would provide me with the most stability, security, and reassurance I’ve ever had in a relationship. Not only that, but I’ve been forced to rely on myself and other loved ones when my partner is away, which has preserved my independence and identity outside of our relationship.
And honestly? Two artists dating each other might sound like the ultimate ego battle, but we’ve actually cultivated a mutually creative, inspiring, and supportive dynamic.
On top of that, I’ve learned it’s not about how rocky the waters are—it’s about who you’re navigating them with. Do they take over when you’ve grown too depleted? Do they check in on you? Do they compromise as much as you do? Are they willing to hear your concerns and talk through them without judgment, providing both comfort and solutions? Are you offering the same in return?
If so, you have something—someone—quite rare. It might not come in a neat little box with a pretty pink bow, but most good things don’t. Most good things shake up your world, challenge your perspective, and soften your bitter heart.
Dating a touring musician isn’t easy. I’m not trying to sell you on a life you might not desire—because truly, it isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. It doesn’t make you wrong or weak to choose a different path. But some people—you know, the ones who make you feel at home even when they’re thousands of miles away—are worth leaving your comfort zone for.
