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. 

Opportunity Doesn't Care About Its Timing and Neither Should You

I've talked a great deal about my time as a casting reader. One of the reasons I bring it up so frequently is because I learned so many important lessons that transcend the stage. 

This afternoon I was speaking to a dear friend of mine who was set to give a big presentation in a few days. "I'm so nervous. I just want to get through it without screwing up," she cried. 

I thought back on the scores of actors I read with who allowed their timidity and surprise over being called in to audition overshadow the opportunity itself. The seasoned veterans on the other hand knew they'd been called in for a reason, and mastered the ability to be kind and still claim their space to deliver a terrific audition.

"This is a remarkable chance for you," I tried to convince my friend. "And who knows, nothing may come of your presentation this go around but you might get a phone call down the road for the perfect opportunity.

My point was that if you put your best foot forward and strive toward excellence it will leave an impression. Over the years I saw incredibly talented storytellers deliver amazing performances only to be overlooked for the part. 

But on several occasions I saw actors come in years later for an equally great opportunity, sometimes even better. They had made a conscious decision to spread "good contagion" and leave their calling card. 

As a result, they stayed on the mental rolodex of a person with influence and got another opportunity to showcase their talents.

Plenty of Talent

Last night I went to see a friend perform a few songs in an old bar in an equally old hotel on the corner of a quiet street.

I arrived on time without much fanfare and was immediately greeted by my friend's boyfriend and the doorman. One said hello and embraced me with a hug, while the other promptly asked for $8.

I watched all three acts that night in a cramped little room that reminded me of the many black box theaters I  once performed in, nestled between nondescript bars and corner markets in the East Village.

Each musician was unique, talented, and a real joy to listen to. I was glad I'd made the trek even if it was 8:00 pm on a Sunday night.

During one of the performances, it dawned on me that at a certain point there's little distinction between many of those who supposedly "make it," in the entertainment industry.

I would have had no qualms about stumbling across any one of their songs on the radio, or playing in a coffee shop. They were great.

Still, these musicians would likely argue they hadn't yet reached the success they hoped for.

I suppose once can take great solace in knowing that talent in this world is not in short supply.

Connect

"Really ask!" I can still hear Kristin shouting. One of my most influential mentors at grad school was Kristin Linklater, esteemed vocal coach, actor, teacher, and director. Anytime she caught an ounce of artifice in our performances she'd immediately call us out on it. Merely saying words on a page weren't enough. We had to connect.

What's interesting is her lessons in the classroom transcended the stage. She wanted us to engage with the world outside as well; to speak up when there was wrong, to live boldly, and to take an interest in current events and how we might shape them. She also wanted us to heighten our ability to listen and ask meaningful questions.

The other night while hanging out with a good friend, we began talking about our family histories. I asked him how long his family had lived in California. He beamed as he recounted stories of great-uncles, grandparents, and distant cousins. He explained how they settled in Sacramento and eventually made their way to the Bay Area. I got the sense that nobody had asked him anything in a long time. 

If you get a chance today, strike up a conversation with someone. Take an interest in what they have to say by connecting and REALLY asking.