Why We Need Storytellers Now More than Ever

We need storytellers today more than ever. It seems tolerance has been abandoned out of fear, spirited debate muddied into inflexible waters, and the unfamiliar interpreted as inadequate.

Telling truthful stories demands a rare and delicate vulnerability that encourages questions, introspection, and compassion.

We’ve lost patience with one another, swapped community for touchscreens, starved real connection, and misinterpreted hearing with true listening.

To listen to someone, TRULY listen, is to show a reverence for their soul. We’re saying you MATTER to me.

We tell stories because they inform us about the people who came before — how they thought, felt, and loved.

We tell stories to inform us of who we were and more importantly who we can still become.

We tell stories to ease our loneliness. To remind ourselves that we belong. That no matter what we’re going through someone somewhere understands.

Take Pride in Being Deeply Flawed

An acting teacher once told me, "The pursuit of perfection is the pursuit of vanity." As a young storyteller and young person I wanted everything I worked on to be perfect. 

As I get older I realize what really draws people in is your ability to talk openly and honestly about your flaw and failures. It offers people a tremendous sense of solace, but more importantly it builds trust. 

When you seek courage through vulnerability you shine a light on your humanity and people see that if despite all your setbacks you were still able to achieve great things they can too.

That to me is far more inspiring that simply touting how great we are.

Taking Initiative Emboldens Other to Do the Same

Several years back a close friend of mine decided to start a web series. She had no experience directing, writing, or producing but felt compelled to tell her story. Admittedly, I was a little skeptical at first. I didn't share her vision for the project but after a few months I was a believer.

I marveled at how she figured out how to book space for reasonable rates, surround herself with like-minded artists who believed in her project, and consistently create great content. Within the span of several weeks she'd become a three dimensional storyteller. She suddenly knew a little about a lot and wasn't at the mercy of anyone to get her voice out into the world.

Her example inspired me to do the same. In just 3 months I too wrote, produced, and acted in three short films of my own. In the summer of 2018 I hope to make my first feature. 

Taking bold action to make a dream a reality can be contagious. It emboldens others to do the same. And though the goal is not to emulate the exact trajectory of others, we can help awaken the potential in someone, or even ourselves when we've yet to realize how remarkable we can be. 

The Beauty in Broken Dreams

Several years ago, I sat in the back row of the Bernard Jacobs Theatre taking in the Broadway-hit, Frost Nixon.  The entire auditorium sat in silence, gripped during the play’s most compelling monologue. Just as the speech ended I heard an elderly woman in front of me whisper, “Beautiful,” under her breath. I want to make people feel that way, I thought -- so moved by a piece of expression they literally can’t keep it to themselves.

I followed the blueprint for someone hoping to tell stories for a living. I moved to New York, went to a fancy drama school, and in no time was auditioning for big television, film, and theater productions. I was convinced it’d only be a matter of time before audiences were falling over my Hamlet, or tuning in to my hit series. Since the age of 11 all I ever cared to be was a storyteller. And for the first time it all seemed within reach.

My self-assurance was not misplaced. I spent years improving my craft. Each morning I arrived at the theater so early I’d have to quietly tiptoe past a sleeping guard before practicing monologues and studying plays hours before class even started. I was maniacal about the work, even at a bully at times, reluctant to share warm-up space or end a rehearsal a minute early. There was work to be done and I wanted the dream too much to take any chances.

By the time I’d reached my mid-30s I’d racked up some nice TV appearances, performed in some notable regional theaters, and appeared in a handful of commercials. I even worked as a casting reader, performing opposite the very actors that inspired me to someday grace the stages of the Broadway houses that lined mid-town Manhattan.

But soon it became clear my dreams were falling apart. Nothing was unfolding the way I’d dreamt as a boy, or planned in drama school. Yes, I’d made some progress, even gone further than most, but the harder I worked the more I felt like I was spinning my wheels. So at the age of 37 I decided with a heavy heart it was time to pack it all in.

I moved back to California and spent the next year living in the small guest room of a close friend. Being a good roommate was at times a delicate two-step. I tried desperately to respect his space, while longing for my own. I’d often sit in my car for hours writing, or listening to music because it was the only place I could find any solitude.

For the first few months I struggled to find my footing in my old hometown. I had trouble finding work, feeling a sense of purpose, and grappling with the feeling I’d let down the friends and family who’d supported my dreams all those years. But by far the greatest hurdle was dealing with the loss of identity. If I was no longer an actor then who was I? I spent a lot of time wondering if returning home was the biggest mistake of my life.

Then a shift began to take shape around the time I became more serious about writing. I needed a creative outlet so I swapped the stage for a pen. I wrote every day, some times terribly, other times boldly. I jotted down my thoughts in a daily blog, wrote screenplays, published articles, and even put the finishing touches on a book I’d been working on.

As the year went on I also tried to be of service to my community. I volunteered as a writer coach at a middle school, landed a summer teaching job, started a website devoted to promoting only positive news out of my hometown, and even delivered a TEDx Talk based on the discoveries I made returning home.

I also found time to visit new corners of the globe, read great books, rekindle old friendships and spend time with my family. Most importantly, I was able to be around for my aunt whose health had been fading.

The distance from the bright lights of Times Square had helped me realize acting was not who I was but simply something I did. My self-worth wasn’t defined by the credits on my resume, or the number of commercials I’d booked. For the first time in a long time I understood there was more to life than appearing on Law & Order, or getting the perfect headshot. And in time, my goals became less about achieving more, but rather about becoming more.

In the end failure had saved me. I found grace in my broken dreams and deepened my understanding of the “bigger picture.” I learned I could have high standards and still be kind to myself, that no award or notoriety can fill a void, and that the quality of our lives depends on the quality of our philosophies – how we chose to “show up.”

But most importantly, I was reminded that all those years I spent in voice, movement, and scene study class had little to do with becoming a big successful actor. Instead, we were being taught to speak our minds, take bold risks, do something kind for others, and be lifelong learners. If we were fortunate, we might become great actors along the way. The point was to be open to where life might take us.   

You're in Good Company

As a casting reader I had the good fortune of performing opposite A-list movie stars and Tony-Award Winning actors. There were times I had to pinch myself as I read opposite actors I’d long admired.

Surprisingly, the most poignant lesson I took away was not about acting at all. What I discovered was no matter how successful the storyteller, nobody is beyond getting a little nervous.

Pre-show jitters are an integral part of this industry whoever you are. The only difference is these particular actors didn’t let it stop them from sharing their voice or claiming the real estate they needed to deliver their best audition.

Remember, your challenges don’t suddenly dissipate the higher you rise. You simply trade your old problems for a set of new ones.

So if you get a little nervous before the words, “Whenever you’re ready,” rest assured you’re in good company.

If You Can Learn One Thing It's Worth It

There were times during drama school where many of classmates and I felt as though we were being trained by the Marine Corps. "They break you down so they can build you back up."

As a young actor eager to please his instructors and make strides in developing his craft as a storyteller, I took nearly every critique of my work to heart. And because many of my instructors were well-respected mentors I looked up to and trusted, I treated their words as law.

But as I got older and developed a greater understanding of the world, myself, and myself in the world I realized the importance of sifting through feedback. I learned to hold onto ideas that worked for me, while discarding the ones that didn't. 

In the end, I decided to take criticism without getting defensive. Instead, I convinced myself feedback was worth listening to (from people whose opinion I valued) if I could gain just one new nugget of wisdom. I understood that one new valuable insight could change a great deal for the better.

Invest

Yesterday afternoon, I interviewed an old friend for the, To the Prospective Artist: Lessons from an Unknown Actor podcast. 

https://soundcloud.com/hy9btjy0cxsu/to-the-prospective-artist-interview-with-a-young-actor-reynaldo-piniella

I'd known Reynaldo since he was just a kid at 19 years old. Yet, he always exuded a poise that was not common among most of his colleagues. I certainly didn't possess it when I was his age.

I wanted listeners to gather insights and apply the lessons he'd learned during his journey as an actor over the past 8 years. What I realized while listening to Reynaldo's wise insights and discoveries was he got to where he is by investing in his education. 

He spoke about how building community, pursuing hobbies outside of acting, and traveling had played important roles in his development as a person and not surprisingly as a more compelling storyteller. The student had truly become the teacher. 

Invest in your education then pass on what you know.

Read Widely

By most accounts, I was a pretty good kid growing up. I never had much interest in getting into trouble, sparing my parents a headache or two.

This is not to say I was the perfect son by any stretch. One source of great anxiety for my mom and dad was my refusal to sit still and finish a book. I'd never seen my father come so close to weeping as he tried everything short of a seance to get me to fall in love with literature.

It took some time, but their efforts paid off. Books have become something I can't live without. They also played a very important role in making me a better actor.

By reading widely I was able to consider perspectives wildly different from my own. When taking on new projects, I began to think as a playwright, director, or producer might. Characters now leaped from the page becoming three-dimensional.

Discovering more about science, history, philosophy, and current events enabled me to connect a heightened sense of humanity to the plays and scripts I read. I began to rely less on just my technical training as an actor and get more in touch with what it really meant to be human.

Books pushed, stretched, and nudged me to think bigger.

They've served me well in my pursuit to become a great storyteller and beyond.