I recently wrapped up my three-year tenure as a board member for The Push, and I got quite emotional towards the end.

In the lead-up to my resignation, we put up a job ad for new board members. I got a few messages from my network enquiring. What was it like? How many hours did you commit? Was it hard to balance full-time employment with being a volunteer board member? What were you expected to give? I answered to the best of my ability and noticed something curious about my reflections. All my answers weren't actually about what I had to give as a board member, but what I got back.

But let’s start at the beginning, and rewind a few years for my Push origin story. Firstly, The Push is a non-profit, for-purpose organisation that's been doing good since the late 80s. Their mission is to provide wonderful, fulfilling opportunities in music to all young Aussies, whether that be as a musician, punter or industry professional. Until recently we were a Victorian charity, but I'm so proud of us for expanding to be an Australian youth organisation this year.

My first involvement was around 2010 when I judged their iconic FReeZA battle of the bands, followed by being a speaker at their Face The Music conference. Both times I suffered severe imposter syndrome. Surely no one valued my opinion? Despite some intense passion for music, I was still some silly 20-something with barely any industry experience and pedestrian taste in music. But that's The Push way. As an organisation, they deeply value the opinions of everyone regardless of how much they get paid or how 'important' they might be. It's so rare in an industry where it almost feels like a secret roster of experts that get called upon ad nauseam for speaking gigs, and unless you’re on that circuit it’s a bit hard to get a foot in. (Fully acknowledge that I am definitely in this black book as of a few years ago.)

After a few years of being involved with The Push in a variety of different situations, their CEO Kate Duncan hit me up in December 2019 to see if I’d be keen to be a board member. Again, immediate imposter syndrome plus a healthy dose of confusion as to why anyone would want me on a board. I had zero board experience and limited business development skills. We went for a giant walk, and Kate divulged her grand vision for the org, who was on the board, and how she saw me fitting into the puzzle.

I attended my first board meeting in January 2020 with a thoroughly welcoming existing board, and I also got sent off to a full-day board governance training workshop to learn all the finer details. Throughout the past three years, I've learnt so much about how boards operate in the arts and how to be a good board member. What questions to ask, what to think about and when to speak out. Even though I was worried it might distract from my work at Bolster, I ended up learning so much about the music industry and arts orgs through a lens that wouldn't have been possible otherwise. I got to listen in on healthy debates about the state of our industry as it related to young audiences, industry professionals and musicians. I've been introduced to many incredible humans and had so many doors opened.

When I first said yes to Kate, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that a huge part of accepting was that it would look great on my resume. Doing good was a nice bonus, but selfishly my decision largely was to advance my career. But I'm now proud to say that after three years, I'm almost embarrassed by the opportunities, experience and knowledge that I've been gifted by Kate, the board and the young people in their community. They are some of the kindest and smartest in the industry.

If you're reading this and you've ever wanted to be a board member, I'm telling you now. Do it.

P.S. If anyone from The Push is here, FYI I may have left the board but I'm with you for life. xx