Alison Balsom is retiring this week, quitting after 25 years at the very top of the classical music world. She is probably the most famous classical trumpeter of her generation, and certainly ranks with the greats: André, Marsalis, Hardenberger, Harjanne (go Finland!). She’s 46.

I have several of her 17 albums, and she is an astonishing player. I've played the trumpet enough to really get how fabulously skilled she is.

So what? You may very well ask. Here’s the thing that really caught my attention. When asked by Classical Music magazine what she was going to do next, she said:

“I’m not going to be a world-famous anything else I don't think, but I really want to paint. I really want to make things, I really want to draw and learn another instrument… I have these recurring dreams about playing the viola and the cello and the violin… also I just have always wanted to design things. I just want to sit quietly and design things. That's what I was maybe supposed to be, a designer.”

She’s world class, and she’s quitting at the very top of her game. I have to respect that, and also, isn’t it an extraordinary thing that she thinks that maybe she should have done something else? She also said:

“I’ve followed my particular path, very honestly and with authenticity and I feel that I've come to the end of that path.”

Knowing when to quit is one of the most important skills in life. Dropping something even though you’re good at it (and she is the best), even when you’re successful, just because your heart isn’t in it any more.

Go Alison.

The night after I found this out, I had a weird dream in which I was at a concert where she was playing, and she was having all sorts of crises of confidence. I told her two things (just to be clear there is absolutely zero chance she would ever come to me for advice. This was my subconscious telling me something).

1. Your true fans care about your wellbeing more than about any one performance.

2. Play the music of your heart.

I’m not in her league in any field, but I am pretty well established in my profession. And yet every now and then (not less than once a month) I wonder whether I’m still doing what I’m supposed to be doing (whatever that means). Am I following my particular path with authenticity?

The one thing that reliably makes me feel like I’m in the right place doing the right thing is teaching in person. Having a classful of students growing in the art with a little help from me. Everything else, the writing, courses, all the extra stuff, is a maybe.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but it feels like a clear reminder that above all else I should be playing the music of my heart, whatever that is.

Maybe you should too?