The Great Lessons of Travel

Shaky WiFi, waiting for water and power to be restored, and a glacial paced immigration line. These are all events I've had to wait for, while traveling. I'm embarrassed to admit I was also impatient throughout much of each ordeal.

But each incident made me take some serious personal inventory and appreciate the world does not work on my timetable. Through cultivating greater patience I also deepened my perspective. How could I complain when these minor hiccups in my journey wouldn't have even cracked the top ten list of challenges many of these communities faced on a daily basis?

Whenever traveling, whether near or far, remember to be endlessly curious, bold, and flexible enough in your thinking to reap the many lessons seeing this world has to offer you.

Go See for Yourself

"When you go to Costa Rica you'll notice that it's all about money there. They're not willing to just help you out."

"I found the people in Nicaragua not very warm. There's a hardness to them."

"You just came from Edinburgh?! We actually help people here in Glasgow. Nobody'll lend you a hand over there."

These were comments people once made to me about Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Edinburgh, Scotland. But after visiting each place I can comfortably say I found none of these proclamations to be true.

I still marvel at how we'll cast some broad and often inaccurate narrative about a community based on our limited experience there. 

Whenever I'd tell people from out of state I was from Oakland, California I'd get an incredulous glance. Invariably, the follow-up was, "Oh, I hear it's dangerous there." And every time I'd think, Come on out and see for yourself. It's a remarkable place with remarkable people doing remarkable things.

The truth is, when we don't take the time to see for ourselves our thinking gets lazy. Our ability to make judgments for ourselves atrophies and we stop bothering to even question what's being said. This is EXTRAORDINARILY dangerous because it leads to division, negative perceptions about people we know little to nothing about, and stifles our ability to thrive as a community.

Don't just take someone else's words for it. 

GO. SEE. FOR. YOURSELF.

Do Away with Ambivalence

"Uncle Ray," stood about 5'7, was sporting a thick flannel shirt, and proudly wore a bright red cap with the Canadian maple leaf sprawled across the crown when I first met him. My friend had put us in touch since I was traveling solo here in Nicaragua.

We got alone swimmingly from the beginning and within minutes we were on our way to a small beach town a few hours west of Granada. "How's your Nicaraguan history?" he asked. "Uh, well Cordoba came in 1524. And Nicaragua gained it's independence in 1821," I tell him. He smiles as if to say, It depends who you ask.

I tell him that his nephew Guillermo informed me Nicaragua is the second-poorest country in the western hemisphere. "That's right," he says. Haiti is the first." I tell him I've been there too. "So you know real poverty," he insists. As much as I can I think to myself.

It's true, this is a beautiful country with remarkable people but there is an intensity to the poverty that is unsettling. I feel guilty for eating at restaurants where I can order a smoothie or some granola when the woman outside the Cathedral of Granada begs for money in the merciless sun. 

While riding on a rented scooter I take winding roads through the lush and striking countryside, while speeding past derelict buildings and children who look like they haven't had three square meals in all their lives. What can I do? I start to wonder.

What I think is important is first having a heightened sense of awareness of the issues beyond our own backyard. It is only through a sense of understanding that we can move forward. This trip has offered some profound insights that I will apply to my life when I return to the states. I will try to avoid taking things for granted particularly the simplest of things -- my ability to have clean water, shower, eat healthy, and find meaningful work.

I'm not suggesting everyone needs to travel to a place where there is exceptional destitution but that we inform ourselves of the challenges that not only we face but people in other parts of the world. 

Through a desire to know more our ambivalence slowly erodes and we can find ways, even small ones, to make things just a little better for people other than ourselves.

Never Again

Years ago I participated in a summer acting program called the Training Congress at A.C.T. in San Francisco. The 9-week course was an introduction to what a 3-year MFA program might look like.  

There were between 60 - 70 young actors divided up into groups noted by color. I was in the Red Group led by an American actor who'd flown in from Rome where he was living.

For weeks we studied voice, Shakespeare, and the Greeks. We critiqued one another's scenes, learned how to break down a scene, and got some helpful tips on auditioning. By the end, I was ready to start applying for the real deal.

On the last day of class I strolled up to my teacher as he wrapped up speaking to a classmate. I remember it clear as day as we stood on the roof of 30 Grant Street with a clear view of downtown San Francisco.

"I'm thinking of applying to MFA programs in the fall. Any advice?" I asked. He thought it over for what seemed like hours before saying, "You have to work a lot harder." I remember being both surprised and embarrassed by his observation. I felt my stomach tighten suddenly compelled to defend myself. But the truth was he was right.

From that point on I promised myself nobody would ever be able to say that to me again. And not just as an actor but in every arena of my life.

I grew to be comfortable with failure as long as I could comfortably walk away and say I'd given it absolutely everything I had. 

Since that day I've been able to say as much and it's made all the difference.

What a Trip to a Small Beach Town in Nicaragua Taught Me

Yesterday, I arrived in a very small beach town known as El Transito. It's the type of place where you take a back road followed by another back road. To say it's a bit off the grid is an understatement.

Last night, I fell asleep on a hammock as a hard rain began to fall drenching both me and my makeshift bed. I tried for hours to fall asleep after finding a dry towel only to be awoken by passing chickens, roosters, and firecrackers. I found myself growing cranky questioning my decision to make the trek so far out of Granada.

But the longer I thought about it  the greater I felt compelled to rein in my discomfort and dial up my gratitude. How many people get to come to a place like this? I thought as a breathtaking show of lightning lit up the evening sky. 

I was exactly where I needed to be and slowly began to appreciate it's the imperfections that make an experience both unique and worthy of a lesson or two.

Lessons from My Father at the Dinner Table

When I was a kid my father loved telling my brother and I a story at the dinner table. Whenever he'd see us add a little salt or pepper to our meal as soon as the plate was placed before us he'd smile before sharing one of his favorite anecdotes.

"Did I ever tell you story of when Henry Ford had to decide between two equally qualified applicants?" he'd ask. We'd nod and my dad would continue. "One night he took them out to an expensive steak dinner to get to know each of them a little better. He wanted to know what made them tick. 

As the story goes, when each of them received their steaks he watched them closely to see what they'd do next. The first man put pepper on his steak then tasted it, while the second gentlemen tried the food first then added pepper. Do you know which one he hired?" he loved to ask. "The guy who tried his food first," I'd say. My dad would smile before saying, "That's right."

Over the years I've certainly been guilty of adding a condiment or two before taking a bite, but the broader lesson my dad was trying to impart, now twenty plus years later, has stuck: never assume you know something until you try. 

Lessons from "Good Will Hunting"

Every few years I'll feel this strange compulsion to watch the film, Good Will Hunting. And though I like the movie a great deal I watch it because of the time it reminds me of. The story is about a young man named Will Hunting who has a genius-level IQ and remarkable talents the world is ready for him to share. 

The protagonist, Will Hunting, played by Matt Damon is in his early twenties. And like Will, when I saw this film, I too felt like everything was out in front. The world was ready for me to take it. I was a senior in high school and about to head out for college. The timing of the film's release could not have been more pertinent. 

I recently came across an interview with Matt Damon where he was asked what he was thinking when he won the Oscar for the film. Mind you, he was 27! His answer really surprised me:

I suddenly had this kind of thing wash over me where I thought, Imagine chasing that and not getting it and getting it finally in your 80s or your 90s with all of life behind you and realizing, what an unbelievable waste. It can't fill you up. If that's a hole that you have that won't fill it. I felt so blessed to have that awareness at 27. 

I hope his words bring great solace to those who postpone happiness and believe their well-being should hinge on some arbitrary form of validation represented through some plated copper stick figure. 

Don't get me wrong, awards are wonderful and we should all strive towards great things, but not at the cost of losing perspective of the bigger picture, and losing out on life experiences to do so. 

Fill yourself up with life first and there will then be an understanding that everything else like awards or recognition will have its place, but not be a means to defining one self. 

Your life is about SO much more.

Lessons from Nicaragua

I arrived in Granada, Nicaragua a couple of days ago. And though I've been very fortunate in my life when it comes to travel, this is my first time setting foot in Central America. I'm glad I made the journey.

My first day in any new city usually consists of walking -- lots of walking. I like to get my bearings, explore the city, and see what makes a community tick. Yesterday, I walked around for about 5 hours before returning to the house I'm staying at for a brief rest.

The people here are warm and hospitable. They take care of one another and seem to move at their own pace. What I admire most is there isn't this frenzy or constant sense of busyness in their movements. Urgency doesn't seem to valued here as much as a focus on what is truly important. 

Since I've been here, I've taken personal inventory of my own habits back in the states and realize there is a ton of movement without always questioning it's utility. I think we can all slow down a hair without sacrificing our productivity. And when we do slow down we're able to be more present, collect our thoughts, and gain clarity on the bigger picture.

In time, our ambitions become less about gaining more and more about becoming more. We can try to BE and not just DO.  

This is the Only Moment that Matters

During my second year of grad school a handful of actors in my class performed Shakespeare sonnets one evening. The assignment was optional and I remember being surprised by how few wanted to do it. Shakespeare felt daunting for a lot of us but I still thought it'd be worth doing even though I was petrified.

I sat in the front row before my performance repeating the words, "This is me," over and over. I must have looked like a mad man to the 10 or so people in the audience. But the words had a calming affect on me. They centered me and reminded me that all that mattered was the moment I was in.

The weeks before one of my most important mentors had been harping on society's inability to be present. We focus on what was, or what one must do in the future and rarely take the time to acknowledge what is happening before us.

Her argument was, presence is the foundation for truthful storytelling. If we don't listen we can't respond. If we can't respond authentically to what is happening right before us the audience tunes out refusing to invest in the actor's artifice.

Admittedly, I've lost touch with that idea over the years. Not always. But from time to time I've felt myself saying, "Go, go, go," rather than "Here, here, here." But those moments I do check back in (which I'm trying to do a great deal more of) are the only truthful moments of my day. 

To check-in with yourself and really take personal inventory of how you're feeling is the most important thing you can do. It's the foundation from which everything else originates. To remind yourself that, THIS is the only moment that matters.

I'd even take my mentor's philosophy that presence is the not only the foundation for truthful storytelling but also for the most authentic of human experiences. 

Leave Your Book Out

I could go on and on about the benefits of diving into a great book but one of the most overlooked reasons is the ease in which it allows for interesting conversations to happen.

Years ago, as I was taking the train home I noticed a woman reading a book I'd just finished. I asked her if she was enjoying it. She seemed a bit taken back at first, almost startled that someone would pull her from the world she'd been inhabiting. "Yes," she finally said. "It's really interesting." 

I asked her if she'd reached a certain part in the book that I'd especially enjoyed and saw her slowly light up. "I just read that part!" she said. "Pretty crazy." 

We spoke for another stop or two before I got off and made my way home. I remember marveling and how I'd had a moment of authentic communication, even connection with a complete stranger in a city often noted for isolation and feigned interest. The power of books, I thought to myself. Of ideas, of possibility. 


Next time you're in line at the check-out counter or sitting on a plane, leave your book out and see what unfolds.  

Say "Yes" to a Little More "No"

NO GOSSIP NO JUDGING NO NEGATIVITY NO COMPLAINING NO WHINING NO EXCUSES NO LYING NO DOGMATISM NO SMALL THINKING NO DOUBTING NO QUITTING What else can you say, "No" to today?

All the World is a Stage

About a year ago I sat beaming in one of the last rows of a church I was once forced to attend weekly as a little boy. Many years had passed since my Catholic school days, but this afternoon all seemed to come full circle. One of my best friends was exchanging vows with the woman he planned to spend the rest of his life with. It was a wonderful day.

Just a few months before I sat in the same church for a very different event. Another classmate was mourning the loss of his father. Both were, in some sense, a celebration of life -- what was and what will be.

Looking back I was struck by how the same place could be used for such distinctly different events. And as things often do, it reminded me of creative expression, more specifically the theater.

A place of worship is in some sense like a theater -- a place where people gather to listen, to reflect, and hopefully be moved in some small way. Enthusiasm isn't unique to one place or event and will hopefully accompany you regardless of your endeavor. It does after all mean, "to be filled with god."

When I think back on my relationship to the theater I reflect on the many different roles it's played in my life. It was the foundation for dreams -- GIANT dreams. Some realized, others that remain dormant. 

It was at times the source of enormous joy and laughter. I recall life lessons expounded on the cold surface of our black box theater as theater giants like Kristin Linklater, Anne Bogart, Andrei Serban, and Niky Wolcz shared their wisdom. 

Finally, the theater could also be the root of great pain -- a mirror in which we were asked to take a deep look into, questioning our most intimate thoughts and the source of our unrealized potential.

What makes these places of gathering, of sacrifice if you will, so special is the breadth of perspective they offer. You can feel so much and so differently depending on the setting. 

It's through that stretching of emotions and thought that our ability for creative expression also widens. We feel more, see more, know more, and as a result are hopefully willing to share more.

The essence of performance is when we bring all those truthful experiences to the stage bringing light to our humanity no matter how beautiful or ugly.

The Essential Work of an Artist

This year at the Sundance Film Festival, screenwriter and director Taylor Sheridan was met with boisterous applause as he came to the stage to discuss his new film, Wind River. "Why you do it," he said.

The life of an artist is seldom filled with such emphatic confirmation of why we do what we do. But when those moments come there is no doubt the life of a storyteller is an essential one. 

I remember two times in particular when either I, or someone in the same theater as me was so moved by a piece of storytelling it was clear it their life had been changed for the better in some small way.

Years ago, I saw one of my favorite stage actors Frank Langella perform in a play called, Frost/Nixon. (later made into a feature film) Just a few months earlier I'd arrived in New York bright-eyed and ready to grace the stages of the Shubert and Barrymore myself. It was a wonderful time in my young life. 

There's a scene in the play where Nixon is going on a drunken rant about how he's misunderstood and how he essentially won't allow the Watergate scandal to destroy him. I remember an elderly woman sitting in front of me absolutely riveted by his words and when Langella's monologue came to a close she whispered under breath, "Beautiful." She hadn't intended for a soul to hear her her. It was almost as though she was keeping a secret but she quite literally could not keep the words to herself. I want to make people feel the way Langella just made her feel," I thought.

A few years later, I went to see a film called, La Mission. The film is about a macho bus driver who can't accept the fact his son his gay. At the conclusion of the film, the director fielded questions to a packed house. The gentlemen sitting behind me was in tears as he muscled out the words, "As the father of a gay Latino son I want to thank you for making this film. It's so important we tell this stories."

There are many more accounts where there was no doubt this is what I put on earth to do. Of course, the moments are fleeting and frequently met with the ambivalence that stories matter. Sometimes I'm all but crushed that our culture doesn't value art the way it should. But all that means is you must double-down and protect your artistry even more.

I encourage you to watch for the next time you're at a BBQ, or delivering a presentation and you begin to tell a compelling story. People will, without knowing it, lean in and make sure they catch every word. 

Why? 

Because we all connect - through the human experience. Through stories. 

Wendell Kim

Growing up an Oakland A's fan I didn't pay a great deal of attention to what was going on across the Bay with the San Francisco Giants. Like many boys in my neighborhood I dreamed of one day playing for my home team and was over the moon when Oakland won the World Series in 1989 against none other than our local rivals.

Over time, one person who did get my attention from that team was a gentlemen named Wendell Kim. He was a professional baseball player, coach, and manager. In his 15 seasons Kim coached four Major League Baseball teams and was once a player himself. He played as an infielder in the minor leagues as well as three years of varsity college ball at California State Polytechnic University. Perhaps most remarkable, he stood just 5'5 inches tall and weighed about 160 pounds.

I never saw Wendell play professionally, but I do recall him coaching third base for the San Francisco Giants. It's a role that's far from glamorous, even thankless at times. Still, I couldn't take my eyes of him. Why? Because every single time he went to his position he ran as if being chased by a pack of crazed wolves. He HUSTLED. 

Conversely, there were players literally making millions of dollars to play a game I'd see "dog it out" to their positions. They almost seemed ambivalent at times. But NEVER Wendell. 

His hustle became so well-known that on occasion I'd even hear people cheer him on as he graced the field. His refusal to never "phone it in" left a profound affect on me. 

Wendell, passed away two years ago. He was only 64 years old. Thankfully, the example he left for a little boy who once dreamed of playing professional baseball still hasn't left. 

I suspect it never will.

The Blame Game

One of the interesting things about riding a cab in New York City is taking note of how your perspective on the world immediately changes the minute the meter starts running.  Suddenly everyone else on the road seems like they're out to get you.  It’s as if everyone in Manhattan with a driver’s license plotted ways to add potholes, broken down cars, and  nonstop gridlock in an effort to make your commute a living nightmare.

Of course, when you're pounding the pavement you think every taxi driver is out of his mind. “Why is he driving so fast?!  Where is he going that’s so important?”  

In other words, you're playing the “Blame Game,” and  It’s one of the most popular games you can play. You only need one person and it’s awfully convenient when you’re frustrated.  

Unfortunately, it’s terribly unproductive and completely liberates you of any personal accountability. And not much good every happens when fail to hold ourselves to a high standard, even amid a challenging landscape where we'd be forgiven for doing so.

If You Can Do It For Joy You Can Do It Forever

In Stephen King's book, On Writing he talks about something we've all heard as artists before: never do it for the dough. 

It's probably a safe bet most of us don't rehearse for hours in drab black box theaters or wake up at that ungodly hour to polish off a screenplay because we think it'll make us rich. Of course, if money, fame, and acclaim come as a byproducts of passion and hard, hard work there's nothing wrong with that as far as I can see. It just can't be the focal point. Why? It's not sustainable.

King's point is our job as storytellers is to bring joy and value to others. By being vulnerable with our pens, voices, and bodies we can lift others up through compelling and bold narrative. 

Do it for the joy -- the UNBRIDLED joy of saying something you simply can't keep to yourself. 

If you can do that, you can do it forever.    

Why You Ultimately Have to do it for You

There's nothing more frustrating that being wildly passionate about a project and not seeing it resonate with others. Over the years I performed in countless little black box theaters only to see 4, or 5 people in attendance. I've spent weeks polishing up an article only to have it read by a handful of people. I have also made films so handedly rejected from festivals it made my head spin. But I keep doing it. Why? 

Because it's important to ME.

Your job as an artist is not to be a molder of consensus but to share your craftsmanship with the world and see what happens. But you can only continue to put good work out if it means something to you first.

The quest for validation by getting up at 4:00 am to work on a screenplay, or bleed on stage for your craft will more than likely go unappreciated. And that's just the people who show up. Most people won't get it and large percentage won't even care. We all lead busy lives and are naturally consumed by our own needs. 

In Haruki Murakami's book South of the Border, West of the Sun there's a terrific line that goes:

“People want to be bowled over by something special.  Nine times out of ten you might strike out, but that tenth time, that peak experience, is what people want.  That’s what can move the world.  That’s art.”

We do it for that one time. But it can't be only for that one time. We have to ultimately do it because we want to. If we don't the blank stares from parents and friends when we describe our latest endeavors will stop us in our tracks. 

It's not for them, it's for YOU. 

JUST. DON'T. QUIT.

Clarity Comes from Action not Theory

There's a great line in Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist that goes “There is only one way to learn. It’s through action.”

It's easy to read all the personal development books, attend the right seminars, and listen to podcasts recommended by colleagues but none of it means a thing if what we learn sits idle. I've learned that knowledge is not power. It is potential power. We learn through doing, not thinking. 

The trouble is often two-fold. Either we're afraid of failure or we don't know where to begin. Sometimes it's both. Again, both are byproducts of over-thinking rather than doing. In time we become over-motivated underachievers. 

I'm not suggesting one be cavalier in their endeavors or be passive about where you invest your time. I'm saying we should stop waiting for permission. 

The truth is nobody ever knows where to start. There is no blueprint for success, or single trajectory for entrepreneurship. Those who succeed stumble, even tumble, but with fortitude a sense of clarity is often revealed. Even then, it's still hazy. We just keep moving.

As far as tackling fear goes you must ask yourself what is the worst that could happen. An endeavor doesn't unfold the way you thought it would? So what? Has anything in your life ever gone according to plan? Probably not. So what's the difference?

Fail fast. Learn fast. Adjust. Rinse. Repeat.