MEDICINE TO SHOWSTOPPERS:
- STEVE DIVINE
- Jul 4
- 12 min read
How Quitting My Job Sparked a Full-Scale Musical & More.
For years, I was trapped inside a cubicle of my own making. It was not just a physical space cluttered with stale coffee mugs and half-finished donuts — it was a mental prison of monotony.
Charts and reports flashing urgent warnings like a cockpit full of alarms, and back-to-back Zoom trainings and recertifications that felt more like a slow death by pixels than actual connection.
The city streetlights bouncing off the windshield of an EMS vehicle cast a cold, relentless glow, illuminating my tired eyes as I shuffled through yet another day of endless calls to aid others.
Every day began with the same shrill buzz of the alarm clock and the bitter taste of coffee that barely stirred me awake before diving headfirst into the endless cycle of the EMS system grind.
My brain felt like a scratched vinyl record, playing the same tired tune on repeat: patient charts, emails, meetings, and the next stressful dispatched alert.
It was years ago since I had seen the spark of creativity I once had. It was beginning to flicker almost snuffing itself out of existence in my world of non-stop Go! Go! Go!. There is a real feeling that is palpable when your opposite brain side is becoming smothered under the weight of relentless routine and growing exhaustion.
It is amazing what that right brain will do to keep the left from having its moment of glory. I was present, but not alive. Efficient, but not fulfilled. I realized I was surviving, not living. And there was constant internal yelling from the left side of my mind. No really, at first I thought I was having a stroke. It is a real voice. You should listen up.
One bleak winter morning, in the midst of a performance review meeting that stretched on like a bad dream accompanied by a chilling wind and thunderstorm, my mind wandered to a wild thought. I have had a habit of these crazy deviations from societal norms for years, what if I quit?
Not in the distant future, but right then. Just close the laptop, walk out, and disappear. The idea was reckless, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. Get ready to breathe this all in deeply folks.
For weeks, I wrestled with that thought, battling fear, doubt, and societal expectations. The voices of reason warned me about financial ruin and regret, but an inner voice screamed louder: I had to break free or break down.
I, the independent and self-assured, confident, analytical behaving youngest son of my family listened and listened so intently to that voice that I made the decision to change my life I quit.
The moment I hit “send” on my resignation email, the ground beneath me seemed to shift. The safety net of a steady paycheck vanished, replaced by the vast unknown. The freedom was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. I was free but completely unmoored.
The Plunge into Uncertainty and Rediscovery
Leaving a structured and dependable life behind felt like jumping off a cliff without a parachute. The first weeks were a dizzying freefall into uncertainty. The bills didn’t stop arriving. Rent was due. The clock didn’t pause. I was terrified but I was also alive in a way I hadn’t been for years.
In the silence left by quitting, I found space. Space to breathe. Space to think. Space to rediscover the parts of myself long buried beneath endless medical classes, calls and emails.
I spent long hours wandering through the neighborhood, clutching a battered notebook, searching for inspiration in the ambient hum of espresso machines and quiet chatter. Slowly, amid the fog of fear and hope, “The Light You Leave” began to take shape a Broadway-style musical weaving stories of heartbreak, hope, resilience, and the messy beauty of human connection.
Writing a musical was an uncharted adventure, and is not for the weak… at well, anything. Its freaking difficult. With no formal playwright training I leaned heavily on my 13 years of competitive piano instruction and everything I had heard and known from growing up in musical theater first.
I stumbled my way through nights filled with frustration and bursts of inspiration. To understand the stories trajectory, I had to have the music move me in ways that would be understood by all audiences. The ability to get mad at a character through songs performed in front of them, and then to feel their pain and joy. Try getting this accomplished with the only audience present for feedback is a 3-year-old Labrador Retriever. I mean really, he thinks I’m awesome even on my worst day. Not much of the critique I was after. There were moments when lyrics and melodies refused to come together, and nights when music poured out of me like a flood.
One particularly wintry night in my darkened studio, with my loyal dog panting nearby, I struggled with the closing scene of Act I. The words felt hollow, the chords flat, and exhaustion threatened to crush my will. Then, from the depths of silence I noticed that my pup was just watching me.
You know, with that no judgement look dogs give you. Without a care in the world. He believed I could do anything. Bless that little Fox Red Labrador.
And from this a melody emerged fragile at first, then swelling into a theme that breathed life into the story.
That moment was a breakthrough and proof I could turn dreams into reality. The result of all that, the composition, “Someone’s Watching” and it ends Act I.
Creativity as a Lifeline and Sanctuary
This musical wasn’t merely a creative project it was therapy. It became the spa day my left brain desperately needed. After years of being a lost soul in the working world memorizing medical terminology and drug dosages, my mind finally had room to play and heal.
Every lyric was a thread sewing me back together, each note a brick in the fortress shielding me from burnout. The process was messy, imperfect, and deeply human. And that made it beautiful.
The Light You Leave, grew into an anthem, a message of light and hope for anyone feeling lost amid life’s chaos.
Today, the album streams on Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Music and countless other platforms.
But its true success lies in the sanctuary it provided me. A reminder that even in the darkest times, there is light. And where that light reaches may surprise even the biggest hardcore skeptics out there.
You may just have been that light someone needed at a moment where they needed to push themselves forward, motivate there mind, be the example of stepping into the light.
That’s the flame you leave behind; it burns long after your light has moved on and is gone.
Enter the One-Man Circus! The Adventures of Ham & Klutz and the Best Buddy Boogies is Born.
Just when I thought I could rest on my laurels, a new challenge emerged: a children’s cartoon series. Yep, you guessed it. I walked myself into the most complicated and intense assignment in the creative world. This project just as the first, I would create entirely on my own. “The Adventures of Ham & Klutz and the Best Buddy Boogie” was no small feat I wrote episode after episode, produced endless motion graphics, designed characters and then taught myself to digitally draw those same characters on screen.
I wrote 13 songs for the album release and an additional 50 background musical numbers for the episodes and then there were jingles that take you to commercials and back. If that wasn’t enough I was going to need a marketing plan and sales pitch to the Cable Networks, Netflix, Cartoon Channel.
Oh, what have I done to myself? I had to find a way to increase my daily schedule to continue meeting the endless list of added items I was pouring out on to the workload.
All this is supposed to continue the joy I had rediscovered in my life. That’s a pretty hard sell let alone conquerable accomplishment. I can hear you thinking the same right about now. Well, it actually was just that! A rediscovery of joy that should be present in your life. Every single day. No joke.
My apartments 2nd bedroom became the center of intense creative work happening at all hours of the day and night. Sitting at the computer for 12 to 14 straight hours became the norm. I was on a role. The words and storylines erupted and as if on perfectly time stage manager cue…. I began to hear music in my head. Each song, every line of lyrics so clear in my mind. The instruments growing louder and louder like a crescendo of the fight song played from a high school marching band moving as one down the city streets in a parade. Now, tell me you wouldn’t jump aboard that train coming around the bend.
In reality it wasn’t that exciting, but I had your attention for a moment – and this had mine. In reality my studio walls were plastered with incomplete character sketches hastily taped between multiple shelves packed with notebooks and empty coffee mugs. My writing desk buried under tablets, microphones, and cables and papers adorned with short measures of orchestrated notes soon to become the kids spectacular that is Ham & Klutz.
Days and nights blurred as I juggled every creative role. Midnight character sketches gave way to dawn theme song sessions, and endless hours wrestling with stubborn keyframes testing my patience and resolve.
I vividly recall a 48-hour marathon when my voice was hoarse, I couldn’t flatten the claw that my typing and drawing hand had become, all from performing every characters line written into the script, singing every word of every song hoping that my no sleep creativity made sense and was as cute or off the cuff funny as my current state told me it was.
The way I looked, disheveled and a mess with my eyes bloodshot from screen fatigue and what little voice I had left was mixed with a 7-day unkempt beard and the loss of the last shower I took. A software crash wiped out hours of work, and frustration boiled over into screams muffled by a pillow. But quitting was never an option.
The Universe Turns Everything Upside Down All at Once
But here’s the part of the story that few know and it’s the hardest to write.
Early on, I thought, “Hey, I’ve taught myself to do everything else in life how hard can animation be?” I’ve always believed that if I set my mind to something, I’d figure it out and be successful. But animation? Animation is a bitch. It’s not just technical; it’s relentless. Every frame demands precision, every scene countless hours of invisible sweat.
That’s when I brought in my little brother, a total genius at motion graphics and digital creation. Having him on board was like a gift from the universe. I could finally hand off some of the creativity and responsibility, and for the first time, it really felt like I didn’t have to carry this mountain alone.
We were unstoppable. And we were inseparable. We’ve been like that since he was 17 practically attached at the hip, 24 hours a day for 16 years. Then, out of nowhere, life ripped it all away. He passed away. Another hidden victim of the opioid crisis. The kid who never let on for a second. Who hid his addiction so well, even after all the crazy things I’ve seen in my lifetime, I had no clue.
Now I’m back to square one. Taking my drawings, my characters, my carefully crafted scenery, everything I’ve lost sleep over, and forcing it into the animation process alone wasn’t happening. Then in that internal self-reprimanding wat we all scold ourselves about the inability to accomplish this simple task. The self-doubt and the isolationism kicked in and it can be deafening and ultimately dangerous to creative minds.
“Self-doubtand isolationismcan be deafening.”
Learning his beloved software Toon Boom from scratch, like a total newbie, eats up every ounce of energy I’d normally pour into writing new stories or composing new songs. And at times I just want to scream about just how hard this is.
There is no one to follow your written staging or a
human actor to put make up on and tell him to follow the script. Every single word, color, movement, expression has to be built one at a time.It’s exhausting.
“Onward and forward, never back,” my brother would always say with a cheesy crooked sarcastic smile.
It left me standing there saying the words I should’ve said a long time ago: ‘I need help.’ It’s time to stop being Superman in my own studio. My brother would’ve kicked my ass if he knew I was trying to carry it all solo again. With him in my thoughts, I’ve finally started reaching out. Onward and forward, never back. Now today that brings a smile to my face. He was such a piece of sh*t, and I loved him with every fiber of my soul.
Madness, Magic, and the Meaning of Doing It Alone
Working alone was simultaneously maddening and freeing. No deadlines but my own, no team to delegate tasks to, no safety net except stubborn will and love for storytelling.
I became a hamster on a sugar rush, sprinting toward a finish line that moved farther with every step. The workload was crushing, the pressure immense, and the rewards intangible.
But in the chaos, I found purpose. Each late night, every tiny victory, every near breakdown rewired my brain and reignited my passion. “Ham & Klutz” isn’t just a cartoon it’s a lifeline, a playground where imagination runs wild, and joy thrives.
Today, the “Ham & Klutz Sing-Along” album streams on every platform you can think of, and the animated series will have its just debut on TV, YouTube Kids or a partner streaming service, ready to bring laughter and dance parties to families worldwide.
Lessons From the Brink of Burnout and Creativity
Through the fire of creation and the depths of doubt, I learned invaluable lessons:
1. Creativity Is Essential Rejuvenation (That Spark)
When your analytical mind short circuits, creative expression is the reset button your soul craves. Songwriting, animating, or simply doodling rewires your neurons and restores your energy faster than any vacation.
2. Embrace the Beautiful Chaos (The Fuel)
Taking on two massive passion projects back-to-back sounds insane because it is. The late nights, endless edits, and relentless self-doubt forge a resilience and grit you can’t fake.
3. Breaks Fuel Comebacks (Your Flame)
Walking away from your career isn’t a detour it’s a supercharger. You return sharper, bolder, and ready to face the next challenge.
The Toxic Hustle Culture & Reclaiming Our Needed Time
We live in a world that worships hustle, glorifies being on the move, and shames rest. Taking time off for creativity can feel counterintuitive, even dangerous.
But this relentless grind often steals creativity, joy, and health. My journey proved that stepping back, embracing play, and pursuing passion projects is the fast track to sustainable success.
The Creative Off-Ramp, Your Fast Lane to Growth
If burnout is flashing red, consider this your permission slip to take the creative off-ramp. Dive into your passion project. Fail. Experiment. Grow.
Building Your Own Playground
Creating ‘The Light You Leave’ and ‘Ham & Klutz’ was more than work it was building playgrounds where imagination reigns, mistakes are lessons, and joy is essential.
For anyone stuck in monotony, creating your own playground can be the reset you desperately need.
Reclaiming Purpose and Passion
Burnout often steals why we do what we do. Through creation, I reclaimed my passion the thrill of storytelling and connection that first drew me in.
Facing Fear and Embracing Vulnerability
Quitting my job and diving into not one massive solo project but two. It was terrifying. Fear whispered, ‘what if you fail’ everyday over and over again like a mother yelling for your 9-year-old self to get up and ready for school in the morning?
But vulnerability became my greatest strength. By leaning into discomfort and risking imperfection, I found true creative freedom that took on a life of its own. Planting myself dead center as all the characters of both productions. At times leading to thoughts that I had actually gone a little crazy in the head.
When it all started to make sense to me, the story, the characters, the lived experiences, the work became art. Telling not just an inner story of self, but the story of so many people I have encountered in my years on this earth.
That’s when the reward made itself known to me. That there were things I needed to process that had become internal roadblocks to further success and a sense of peace inside.
From that came two productions of pure joy. No agenda to push, no scolding to do, no direction or belief system to prioritize over another. Just a moment in time that should cause an audience to do nothing else but have a moment of reflection in their own life, followed by utter joy.
If I can leave you with a basic self-affirmation instruction today. Tell yourself each day, “I will rediscover the joy in my life,” and mean it.
The Road Ahead
With The Light You Leave album streaming worldwide and The Adventures of Ham & Klutz soon premiering and the album now released, I’m not just a survivor of burnout. I’m a creator, composer, producer, and lyricist that is empowered by it.
I’ve taken on the risk again and started a production house named for my best friend that believes in me 100% . Trigger my Fox Red Labrador Retriever.
Each project fuels the next, a chain reaction of growth and creativity. For those wrestling with burnout, know this: your breakthrough could be one brave step away.
One simple piece of advice while you’re up there on the tightwire about to panic for this giant leap you’ve taken. Don’t look down!
Break a leg!
Where to Find the Work
“Ham & Klutz Sing Along” (Kids Album by Steve Divine) is available on Spotify, Amazon, Apple Music and anywhere you like to get your jams.
“The Adventures of Ham & Klutz: Best Buddy Boogie” will be premiering soon.
Artist Pages and Social Media:
© 2025 Trigger Media Group, Portland - All Rights Reserved. All works, titles, musical compositions, photographs, scripts, and creative content contained in this story are the exclusive intellectual property of Trigger Media Group and are protected under United States and international copyright and trademark laws. No duplication, reproduction, or redistribution is permitted without explicit written authorization from the rights holder. Inquiries for licensing or permissions may be directed to license@triggermedia.us. All other names, logos, or marks referenced herein remain the sole property of their respective owners; no endorsement or ownership is implied.
Trigger Media Group Portland
(503) 837-1911
Comentarios