This morning I stopped by to visit an old teacher of mine. Earlier in the week I'd forwarded him a one-man show I spent the past several months working on. And after an informal reading of the piece in front of a few friends last month I felt pretty good about what I'd put together.
"If you are getting the desire to do this as a play, why don't we talk about how that might work. I am available and would enjoy a thoughtful conversation," he wrote me.
I sat across from him fully prepared to jot down notes on how to stage the play. What type of lighting would he suggest? Music? Did he think the venue I selected was too big, or small? Then he asked me something that stopped me in my tracks. "Why do you want to perform this?" I didn't have an answer.
We spent the next hour and half talking about how important it is to know why you want to do what you do. And it quickly became clear to the both of us that for many other projects in my life I could answer that question without hesitation. For this particular piece I'd just started without an objective in mind.
"I think it's great you found a creative outlet. And who knows? Maybe this will still become a one-man show. But until you can answer that question of why you absolutely have to do this I can't really help you."
What's funny is I wasn't upset. In fact, I agreed with him. I might have even been a little relieved. This project didn't make me leap out of bed in the morning the way writing a screenplay or TED Talk had. It was something worth paying attention.
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