It Matters and It Doesn't

"Just think, a million people didn't wake up today, but you did. Doesn't that make today a remarkable day?" the guru asked. It was a question that forced a point of view I hadn't considered in a while. I paused briefly, giving thought to my own mortality, but not in some dark or sullen way.

On the contrary, I considered the fact that we'll all die someday as profoundly liberating. What I mean is, it freed me up to realize what I want to accomplish in life is both incredibly important and at the same time, not at all.

Looking back, I would have benefited greatly if I'd given greater thought to life's fickle and swift nature. How many times had I gotten worked up over a scene not going precisely as rehearsed? A bombed audition? A film not being accepted to a festival? It all mattered so much and at the same it didn't.

My point is not to stop dreaming big, or working diligently towards your goals. Goals that resonate with us are what give life tremendous meaning and value. My suggestion is to merely add perspective and emotional intelligence to your ambition.

We can't take our accomplishments, or IMDB pages with us when we go. We can however, leave a legacy of how we lived, and by doing so, hopefully inspire future generations.

Decide for Yourself

This morning I met with a close friend's mother to discuss a project I'd been working on since moving back to Oakland. My idea was to create an online community of like-minded people by building a website that produced only positive news, culture, and events. I knew Mrs. Lee would be an excellent resource since she was such a seasoned and well-respected change-maker in the Bay Area nonprofit world.

I showed up at 10:00 am sharp and was greeted warmly. I took a seat at the kitchen table where a handful of warm blueberry scones and fresh sliced mangos awaited me. I opened my laptop before glancing down at the family's Welsh Corgi who looked at me longingly hoping I'd drop a crumb or two.

We spoke easily as the morning light poured through the large kitchen windows. "Sometimes we get really beautiful sunsets," she said. As I sipped my green tea and nibbled on my pastry, I listened attentively as she navigated me through the complicated nuances and setbacks of starting a business. It was a 2 x 4 of truth across the forehead I absolutely needed, and strangely wanted to hear. My background as an actor had taught me the value of self-awareness and to not fear hards truths. "It's really tough," she said. "Some people make it and some people don't." I nodded. I felt briefly as though I were talking to a casting director.

Just before I gathered my belongings and set to leave she shared a family tale. "Let me tell you a story about my son," she said. "When he was really young he was always into architecture. But as someone who worked in the nonprofit world I knew how hard it was to make a living out of it. Lots of architects end up just drafting. So I suggested he consider graphic design. And he's really good at it and eventually got really lucky and found a good job."

I appreciated the story's moral and gave it some thought. "That's great that he found something he's good at," I said. She smiled.

As I pushed my laptop into my bag I heard Mrs. Lee say, "It's good to have passion." I nodded. "It's good. But sometimes it can be exhausting," I joked. "I just don't know how else to be."

I thanked her for her time and headed to my car. On the way, I couldn't help but think, If I were him, I can't imagine not having gone for it as an architect. 

Neither conclusion was right or wrong. I realized we all just need to decide who we are and how bad we want something.

The Value of a Stroll

The Greek physician Hippocrates once said, "Walking is man's best medicine." As someone who has spent a great deal of time traipsing the streets and narrow avenues of New York, Shanghai, and Budapest to name a few, I can tell you the man was on to something.

The constant cacophony of firetrucks racing down 7th Avenue, or my talent for finding the one person screaming into their mobile phone in a quiet corner of Central Park often left me in a daze. If drama school had taught me anything it was the importance of deep listening.

As I got older, I realized that hearing someone was not just about taking in someone else's words, but attentiveness to the world, and especially your own thoughts.

It was by putting my phone on airplane mode, or leaving it behind all together I began to realize the value of a little stroll. Thoughts and solutions would reveal themselves in ways I couldn't have imagined if staring at a touchscreen, or browsing the Web. My unconscious mind was free, offering a rare moment of peace amidst the lion's den of constant frenzy and distraction.

The next time you're feeling creatively stumped, or need a moment to collect your thoughts, consider lacing up your shoes and taking a little walk. It may do you more good than you realize.

Fear Not

Within the span of about ten minutes, I spoke with two young actor friends who both reached out hoping to gain a shred of insight on the recent setbacks they'd experienced in New York and Los Angeles. There must be something about Sunday, I thought to myself. Unlike it's more festive and spirited younger brother Saturday, Sunday has always seemed to offer pause for thought, a bigger pool for deeper introspection. At least it always has for me.

On the surface, the two were wildly different in just about every way, including the places they chose to pursue their careers and hang their hats. Still, what they both shared, at least this afternoon, was a desire to talk about acting and purpose.

As I listened to Stephon, a recent MFA graduate, confess that he'd inexplicably felt no desire to perform in a Fringe show he'd auditioned for, I could feel the tension in his voice on the other end. It was a familiar tale that I'd not only heard before, but also experienced firsthand. Why did I go through all the trouble of becoming an actor if someday I'd no longer want to do this.

Aurora on the other hand was wrestling with figuring out the different nuances, valleys, and peaks Los Angeles offered that New York didn't. She eluded to being excited about the new opportunities but at times feeling rudderless and overwhelmed.

After speaking with each of them for about half an hour, I tried to convince them they were in good company. Regardless of one's endeavor, even the most productive and fulfilled people feel doubt from time to time about their careers. Just because you love something doesn't mean its meaning will not occasionally wane. "They key is to find other things that interest you, find other like-minded people, and whenever possible, volunteer. When you're serving others you don't have time to worry about your own challenges. Even better, it puts yours into context."

Each conversation ended on a high note and I was confident both would land on their feet and do remarkable things. Uncertainty is an essential component for growth. Actor or no actor.

Protect You Dream

Saturday mornings have seldom, if ever, been a day of idleness in my life. And today was no exception. I left the house just before 8:00 am and headed over to San Francisco, grinning from ear to ear as I crossed a nearly empty Bay Bridge. My friend Julie was hoping to get together so we could catch up after several months apart. She also wanted me to see her son, who somehow, was already two years old.

As the three of us constructed Lego cities and pushed trains along a windy track, we talked about what people tend to talk about: work, family, and the future. Julie was one of the most successful people I knew. She'd attended Ivy League schools, was thriving at her law practice, and married an ideal partner. And now, she also had a beautiful son.

Despite all of that, she confessed to still feeling a certain level of angst and judgement from her parents about what she could be doing better; a confession that completely confounded me. What could they possibly have to gripe about? I thought.

I then began to think about my own life and the many friends I had back in New York and Los Angeles; actors that had experienced the same protests for pursuing unstable and profoundly difficult careers in the arts. Admittedly, I'd felt the same worries from my own folks from time to time. Though they were patient and supportive in many ways, they didn't fully grasp their child's desire to live life on stage, or in front of a camera.

It dawned on me that good parents, friends, and colleagues would always offer feedback, which would sometimes take the form of criticism. As earnest as someone's intentions can be, it's often just a projection of their own failures, or regrets for not chasing their own dreams.

As an artist there are countless challenges you will face, including the inevitable, and sometimes very loud call to conformity. This morning, after realizing that even conventionally successful people experience the same strain, my takeaway was this: be grateful you have people in your life who care enough about you to offer their take then hug your dream even tighter, protecting it at all costs.

You're the only one who needs to understand why you do what you do.

Abundant Creativity

One of the many incredible parts about living in New York is the abundance of wildly different ways creative expression is shared all around you. From the New York Philharmonic to the Brooklyn Museum to art shows in makeshift galleries, there are stories being told constantly in countless mediums.

It wasn't until I arrived in New York and began studying theater that I realized ideas cross-pollinate and cross-inspire. Looking at the detail of an Edward Hopper painting at the Museum of Modern Art made me approach dialogue in a Pinter play with a new sense of heightened awareness.

Observing the amount of energy and commitment it takes for a dance company to bring a recital to life at Alvin Ailey, nudged me to dig my heels in a little deeper with the likes of Shakespeare and Brecht.

And listening to the nuances and rhythms of a blues band one evening on MacDougal Street taught me we practice tirelessly to gain freedom within a structured environment.

Seek inspiration whenever and wherever possible. It may influence your own craft in delightfully unforeseen ways.

What's it to You?

Years ago, after a play I'd performed in came to a close, I walked up East 8th Street with my cast-mate and good friend Sarah. "What was that point of that?!" I cried. "There was nobody even in the audience." The little black box theater I was referring to was once a haven - a gritty little space where compelling stories were told in front of intimate, but packed rooms of 20. My frustration that evening reminded me just how distant a memory those performances now were.

As I paced back and forth just outside a busy apartment complex, Sarah listened patiently. The truth is, I 'd been struggling to find my meaning as an actor for quite some time - a realization once as clear as the sight of the Statue of Liberty from the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now, I'd lost my sense of purpose. The days where I believed a monologue I delivered, or a scene I was part of would somehow make a dent in the world by shaping the mind of someone who sat raptured in those creaky black chairs had come to close, or at least a long sabbatical. If people weren't even willing to show up why even bother? I thought.

As my little rant finally came to a close, Sarah offered a positive word or two of encouragement. But it took me quite some time to realize something that would thankfully realign me with my old perspective on the importance of artistic expression.

Before it matters to someone else, it must first matter to YOU.
  

Why We Do What We Do

"Beautiful," she said. Years ago, when I was still a second year grad student, I went to see the Broadway production of, Frost/Nixon. The play starred Frank Langella as former U.S. President Richard Nixon and Michael Sheen as the English journalist, comedian, and writer.

I recall having great seats that afternoon a few rows left of the stage, but only a handful of seats from the action. "Student Rush" tickets were always a great alternative for the young people in and around the city who studied acting and wanted desperately to catch a show without paying premium prices. And depending on the popularity of the show, or length of the run, they were often not even available.

Still, they were great when you could get them even though one never had control over where those little stubs would take you. I once sat in the front row for a production of The Caine Mutiny and in the very last to catch Mark Rylance in Boeing Boeing. But today, I'd finally stumbled upon my Goldilocks moment. I was not too far or too close. My view was just perfect.

Perhaps more importantly, I thought the play was terrific. The story had a clear beginning, middle, and end, and not to mention a compelling cast. But the most notable event of that cold spring afternoon occurred during a monologue Frank Langella delivered toward the end of the play.

During the scene, Richard Nixon phones David Frost after having perhaps a drink too many and launches into a tirade that reveals the 37th president's masked insecurities and vulnerabilities. "No matter how high we get they still look down on us...We still feel like a little man, a loser...We're gonna show those bums, we're gonna make em' choke!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pT9GPloXjA8

When Frank Langella finished his monologue you could hear a pin drop in that old theater. And just as the next scene was set to begin I heard an elderly woman sitting directly in front of me whisper under her breath, "Beautiful." I had goose bumps and realized in that moment it was why I wanted to be an actor in the first place. I wanted to make people feel the same way Frank Langella had made that woman in the audience feel that brisk spring afternoon.

You're More Versatile Than You Think

I once hear someone say,"Sometimes it's not about moving on, it's just taking a break from everything, and concentrating on yourself, because at the end, who's there? You." If the day finally arrives when you need a pause from your creative endeavors, fear not.

I certainly felt signs of doubt first nudge, then tug, before the echoes within were simply too loud to ignore. I still loved being an actor and writer but my soul was telling me it was time to explore what else the world might have in store for me.

"But what to do?" was the question I kept returning to over and over. Since the age of 11 there was only one thing I cared to do. I didn't know how to regroup and start the long road of finding another calling, if one even existed. Moreover, I felt like I was only qualified to do one thing - perform.

But as time went on I realized I'd been equipped not just for delivering a monologue on stage, or hitting my mark on a film set, I had been given tools to contribute to the world in much broader and creative ways than I could have ever imagined. I had my acting career to thank for my dogged determination, work ethic, persistence, and took great solace in knowing I'd take a chance and pursued my dreams; a surprisingly rare accomplishment I discovered.

I also learned to have absolutely no fear of failure. When you're told "No," in one form, or another for ten years, you develop a pretty thick skin which prepares you for more than you realize.

You too possess many talents you haven't begun to recognize. You're not defined by one thing alone.

Master Class

For many years in New York I worked as a casting reader. The projects varied in scope, but invariably I'd be called in to help out with projects every actor dreams of - large-scale Broadway productions reading opposite giants of the theater and occasionally silver screen.

Friends would often pepper me with questions about what so-and-so was like, or what the secret to a great audition was. But mostly, they wanted to know about the career and lives of the stars.

My observations and insights seldom led up to expectation, but I was telling the truth. "They're just people," I'd say. "They get just as nervous before an audition as you or me." But perhaps the most valuable lesson I took away was that you never not have challenges. As you steadily rise higher in your career, you simply trade your old issues for a new set of ones.

Protect Your Time

Years ago my father told me a story about a visit to his dentist's office. My dad had scheduled an appointment to get his teeth cleaned several weeks before, and when the day finally arrived, he showed up on time ready to go.

As he sat patiently in the waiting room, a receptionist poked her head out to ask, "Mr. Maccarone, would you mind waiting another 15 - 20 minutes? The doctor's busy." My father replied, "Absolutely not! My time is just as valuable as his."

He told me his dentist then came running out as if he'd been chased by a pack of wolves. "Great to see you," he said. "Come on back."

It was a lesson I never forgot about the value of time and how we should always make an effort to protect it. It's all we have and its supply is finite. Once it's gone you can never get it back.

A Strange Thing Happened...

A few years after drama school I began to feel a sense of emptiness. I questioned my work as an actor, even its meaning - two events that had never occurred. Telling stories was all I cared to do since I was a little boy. What did it all mean? I wondered. Who was this all for? Why should the world care? 

Like many young actors, I was idealistic and thought I could change the world with a monologue, or a compelling scene. It was why I wanted to be an actor in the first place; to make some small dent in society by influencing or changing the way one thought.

As I seemed to drift further and further away from this disposition, I found myself willing myself to fall back in love with acting. It sounds strange, but I even resented myself for not wanting to do it. After all, I'd worked so hard to get through a conservatory and made sacrifices to give this dream a real go.

In time, I discovered this hollowness was a result of focusing too much on myself. It was all about me. I was tired of hearing my own voice.

Then I decided to volunteer in my community. First, as a mentor at a high school in Queens. Soon after, I was giving resume workshops at Coalition for the Homeless, making beds at a shelter, and delivering speeches on public speaking. A few years later I was doing similar work in South Africa, Nepal, and Haiti.

When I returned I felt rejuvenated. Service to others had also given me perspective on the bigger picture. I no longer lived and died on each audition. And the funny thing is, I actually became a better actor. Go figure.

Caring

Back in drama school, I remember having to rummage through old costumes and hand-me down toys each week with my classmates before putting up a scene for our professors. On occasion you'd run into actors in the same tiny prop closet and get into arguments over who got to use a plastic sword, or a broken sawhorse to bring the pages of Brecht, Ibsen, and Shakespeare to life.

At a quick glance it seems almost comical; just a bunch of kids over-reacting to something that now seems frivolous. But the more I think about it, maybe we were actually on to something. We all wanted to create so badly, to bring a world to life. Caring so much about something can't be a bad thing.  

Start by Starting

Admittedly, it took me several years to figure out something that now seems profoundly simple about my acting career: I didn't need to wait for permission to create.

For years, I'd followed the perceived blueprint of many New York actors. I trained at a rigorous conservatory. I graduated and was signed by a great agent. And before I knew it, I was off to the races, auditioning for feature films, television, and commercials. I was living the dream. It was a truly exhilarating time in my young life.

Eventually, the auditions slowly tapered off, the realities of how challenging a career in the arts would be set in, and I began to question my purpose as an actor. I judged my credibility and success as an artist on the number of auditions I received and the length of my IMDB page.

Thankfully, close friends grew weary of my griping and rightly so. At first they nudged, then practically screamed, "Create your own work!" It took a few years, but I finally got the message.

Today, there are countless resources at our disposal to get you on your way. There are free screenwriting tools like Storywriter on Amazon and the feature film, Tangerine, shot entirely on an iPhone was nominated for an Academy Award. So don't wait for your friends to scream at you. You don't need permission to create. The world needs to hear your point of view now. Start by starting.