The Day I Stopped Thinking Vulnerability Was a Weakness

During my second year of grad school my classmates and I were each assigned Chekhov short stories to memorize and perform. Though I was well-versed in plays like, Three Sisters, Uncle Vanya, and the Cherry Orchard I didn't realize the writer and medical doctor had also compiled such a prolific list of short stories. In fact the piece I was assigned, In the Graveyard became, and remains, my favorite short story of all time. 

http://www.online-literature.com/anton_chekhov/1120/

For weeks before our performances I felt incredibly self-conscious about my progress as an actor. It seemed everyone in class was having these remarkable breakthroughs. Their diction had improved, they were more honest on stage, and the work more polished. What did everyone do over the summer? I thought. Just a few weeks before I'd prided myself on being the hardest working actor in school.

When it was finally my time to perform I did something I never do and haven't done this. I "phoned it in." I knew I had a few skills at my disposal and could make it look as though I was invested in the story. I even duped a few but not my mentor. After class she stopped me on the corner of 116th and Broadway and told me, "You were way out of line. I want to see you this evening." My heart sank. I'd not only let myself down but someone I really admired.

That evening in the basement of Schapiro Hall we worked on the piece for over an hour. She tried desperately to get me to understand the people in the story were living breathing human beings who faced insecurities, mortality, fear, and discomfort just like me. She stayed on me like a hawk until out of nowhere I broke down. "Do you want to continue?!" she asked. "Yes," I said. I finished the story when she pulled me aside. "That's what I was looking for. Now, do you see just how great you can be?"

I nodded my head and understood the work suffered because of my fear to be vulnerable. At 26 I thought it was a weakness. That evening I realized it was a strength -- that there's profound courage in being open.

Unfortunately, people, particularly men, are conditioned to believe it's a liability. But I've discovered not only does being vulnerable forge trust but it also gives other people solace, while empowering them to talk be more open about their own fears. When everything is laid out on the table a community of authenticity takes shape and remarkable things can begin to happen. 

What I Talk About When I Talk About Artists

Ever felt like there's a hierarchy on careers? A close friend of mine seems almost consumed by which professions are important and those that aren't. Traditionally admired paths like doctor, or engineer get a 5 star rating in his assessment, but less conventional callings rank lower.

Still, it all comes down to the value you attribute to what you do. If a physician saves a life isn't it then about what that life goes on to do? How he or she influences the community, forges relationships, and leaves a legacy? Don't teachers, artists, and actors have the same capacity? Perhaps we don't save lives in the conventional sense, but maybe we lift a spirit, offer a little hope. Who's to say this isn't an equally worthwhile pursuit?

In his memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami says the following: 

"Even if, seen from the outside, or from some higher vantage point, this sort of life looks pointless or futile, or even extremely inefficient, it doesn't bother me. Maybe it's some pointless act like, as I've said before, pouring water into an old pan that has a hole in the bottom, but at least the effort you put into it remains. Whether it's good for anything or not, cool or totally uncool, in the final analysis what's most important is what you can't see but can feel in your heart." 

If it's important to you it's important enough.