Happy to See You

There's an elderly man that frequents the coffee shop I go to. All the baristas know him by name and seem to beam when he enters. Invariably, they talk about the weather, or reference a conversation they had the last time he came in. 

He always sits near the window. He orders a small coffee and reads the paper until a man, not much younger than him, taps on the window to take him home.

One afternoon as he tried to make his way past me he bumped into my chair. 

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No problem," I told him.

We struck up a conversation before his friend piped up, "You're looking at a WWII vet." 

"Wow," I said.

Sometimes its a few weeks, months, a year at most before I amble back into this little coffee house. I'd come back more often but it's 3,000 miles from where I now hang my hat. I think about the man each time I walk in wondering if he's still around.

And each time I plop myself near the window he wanders in at some point. I try to keep to myself and not disturb him as he turns the pages of the New York Times with his frail hands, but I'm always secretly glad to see him.

Maybe one day I'll muster up the courage to say as much.

                                                                  -----

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No WiFi

Yesterday during a soggy afternoon, I sauntered into a cafe. It was a coffee shop nestled in the heart of downtown I'd driven past many times. From the outside it looked like a great little spot to enjoy a cup of tea and get some work done. I decided to park my car and finally check it out.

When I stepped inside I was not disappointed. The dins of jazz played just loud enough,  I was inspired by the different groups meeting together for projects that looked both interesting and meaningful, and even the temperature of the room was perfect.

I stepped to the counter and glanced at the large black board listing all the food and different drinks they served written in chalk. They even had my favorite tea.

Just as I was about to order I looked up and read a sign that said, "Sorry. No WiFi." That's not gonna work, I thought to myself and left.

I got into my car disappointed searching earnestly for a new place to plop down and type away. But after just a few minutes I felt a gradual shift in my thinking.

I now appreciated how the cafe was committed to creating a very specific type of community. Rather than a place where the first thing you saw upon entering was a flotilla of laptops and plugged-in patrons, this establishment opted for an environment where people would have to connect in person - to talk and take on tasks that required a more personal kind of interaction.

We all have the capacity to change our communities and environments in some small way by making seemingly insignificant choices.

You Gotta Start Somewhere

One of the reasons people never begin a creative endeavor is because the distance between where they are and where they hope to be feels so daunting. What's helped me over the years see a project through from beginning to end is breaking it up into small stages, while trying to infuse a little bit of perspective into the overall goal.

Start small. Whether you're an actor, writer, singer, or visual artist begin by beginning. Set aside a specific time each day where you'll work on your craft, or build your project. It can even be 10 minutes a day until it becomes a discipline. From there you can slowly increase the amount of time you work until it accommodates your schedule and gradually moves the needle forward. Just make it a priority.

And that part about perspective? What's helped me is the realization that every project, whether the screenplay for a critically acclaimed film, or a best-selling novel began at a dimly lit kitchen table, or a noisy coffee shop, with a first word, a stroke of the brush - an idea.

 

Work Where You'll Be Most Happy

Yesterday, at around 6:00 pm, I phoned a friend back in New York. I'd received his text message earlier in the day, which read:

Nick - love to talk to you about LA sometime soon. When might be a good time in the next few days/week?

It seemed only just the other day I was the one frantically texting, emailing, and yes, even phoning mentors and friends to pick their brain about the very same matter.

Anthony and I spoke for about an hour. His concerns and thoughts on leaving the "City of Cities" for Tinsel Town mirrored my own, and presumably every serious actor at one point or another.

"I love New York, but feel like it's hard to get a fair shake out here," I'd hear over and over. It was a sentiment I too felt more often than not.

In the end, I gave Anthony my little spiel, which was based on my experience living in Los Angeles, but drawn more from the heightened sense of self-awareness I had continually tried to hone.

I suggested that if trying his hand in Los Angeles was deeply important to him it was worth going. "There's nothing worse than regret," I told him. "Go out for a year and see if it's for you. If you don't like it you can always return to New York. Only now you'll take solace in knowing you tried."

I could feel his youthful angst slowly wane. If we were sitting across from each other at some busy Manhattan coffee shop I imagined he might be silently nodding.

My last bit of advice was broader in its prose but likely more important for him to hear. "You should also work where you'll be happiest. Even if you're wildly successful but have no joy there's simply no point."

It was a lesson hard won, but one I was glad to pass along. Thankfully it seemed to resonate with him, perhaps striking a chord or two.

"If you have no joy in what you do you have nothing," I concluded.