A clear No is an act of compassion.

It's hard to reject someone. It's hard to turn down an opportunity. But it's far worse to leave the other party in limbo.

I work with a wide spectrum of creatives. We're all piecing together a mosaic of a schedule — one gig here, a lesson there, a recording session there.

Coordinating all those commitments, obligations, and opportunities? That’s a full-time job in itself.

And we creatives often genuinely want to seize every opportunity. The lifecycle of event booking — from enthusiastic idea to solidifying dates and times — has a period of tentativeness, a "maybe this works," a negotiation of possibilities. This space of uncertainty is often the most challenging to navigate.

I have been working with a collaborator to book a gig at a fancy venue. The venue offers a date, I check in with my colleague, we agree the date can work. We get to time specifics. The venue wants us on at 7pm. Colleague tells me he finishes his previous commitment at 5pm, then has to do a bunch of stuff before getting there. I offer to help with the "bunch of stuff" to make it so he can leave directly from his last commitment.

There's more complexity involved with how that help can be received. It turns into car swaps, gear loading, timing coordination — a whole operation just to make one gig work.

Whoa. Suddenly, this isn’t music anymore — it’s project management.

I asked — can you be there by 7pm? I don't get a straight answer — I get an explanation of the circumstances. He confesses that he's afraid to commit to a time because he doesn’t know whether his client will need more time, or what traffic will look like on the way to the venue.

My colleague means well. He does not want to disappoint.

But the unclear answer is not a kindness. Maybe it's too rigid a perspective or desire, but I can't help but think to myself:

Make it happen.

Or don’t.

But don’t stay in the maybe.

It doesn't need to be so complicated.

Keeping the optionality alive is stressful. The venue needs an answer — they're held up by our soft commitment — and I want to close the loop on the logistics.

Managing open loops between venues and musicians? That’s the most stressful part of the whole job.

I get it — saying no is hard. Especially when you want to make something work, or don’t want to disappoint.

My hard philosophy: commit to it and make it happen. If you don't want to make it happen, let the event go and give a clear no. There's real compassion in that clarity.

Kill the optionality. It's malignant. It's where all the stress and uneasiness comes from.

Optionality masquerades as flexibility, but it often becomes a burden. Clarity is compassion — for everyone involved.

And this goes both ways — how am I complicit in this dance of optionality and uncertainty? If I recognize someone is not able to commit, I can make the call:
"let me know by this date. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll assume you're not able to make it."
Then move on to finding another solution — playing solo, finding another collaborator, or whatever else satisfies the needs of the event.

So here's my invitation: whatever side of the logistics you're on, give a clear answer early.

Don’t ask someone else to do your logistical Tetris. And don’t solve theirs, either.

Give each person the opportunity to do the work that is theirs.

And if they can’t, take the reins. Do what you need to do to keep things moving.