Consider the case of Johann Sebastian Bach. Born in 1685 to a long line of prominent musicians in Germany, Bach quickly distinguished himself as a musical genius. In his 65 years, he published more than 1,000 compositions for all the available instrumentations of his day. Early in his career, Bach was considered an astoundingly gifted organist and improviser. Commissions rolled in; royalty sought him out; young composers emulated his style. He enjoyed real prestige.

But it didn’t last—in no small part because his career was overtaken by musical trends ushered in by, among others, his own son, Carl Philipp Emanuel, known as C.P.E. to the generations that followed. C.P.E. exhibited the musical gifts his father had. He mastered the baroque idiom, but eventually C.P.E.’s prestige boomed while his father’s music became passé.

Bach easily could have become embittered. Instead, he chose to redesign his life, moving from innovator to instructor. He spent a good deal of his last 10 years writing The Art of Fugue. This was not a famous or popular work in his time, but one intended to teach the techniques of the baroque to his children and students—and to any future generations that might be interested. In his later years, he lived a quieter life as a teacher and a family man. Bach died beloved, fulfilled, and—though less famous than he once had been—respected.