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. 

The Art of Language

One of my most influential mentors at Columbia was Anne Bogart. For those who don't know, Anne is an award-winning theater and opera director, the Artistic Director of SITI Company, and a truly gifted teacher. 

I learned a ton from Anne but one of the things I admired most about her was the way she took care of actors. During our weekly Collaboration Class she'd lean forward in her chair the entire 6 hours and never let her focus wane. She listened to each performance as if her life depended on it. And after each play she'd offer feedback that was constructive and energizing. She made you want to be better.

One of the ways she did this was by the language she used. Instead of saying, "That didn't work for me," or "I don't get it," she appreciated the courage it took to stand on a stage and be vulnerable. She'd say things like, "I support that," or "What if we tried this instead?"

Her manner of speaking inspired dialogue and critical thought rather than isolation and ridicule. I learned the way we interact with one another is everything both on and off-stage. 

Letter to a Young Actor

Hey Ross,

Really great speaking with you today my friend. Always good catching up. I just wanted to reiterate how important I think it is to enjoy the moment you're in. Of course, it's always important to do as much, but looking back when I was your age just a few years removed from grad school, I now realize what a remarkable time it was despite what seemed at the time to be insurmountable odds.

When I first graduated from Columbia University almost 7 years ago now, I had the great fortune of being courted by top agents like Abrams and William Morris. I was being called in by all the big casting directors and auditioning for major roles on TV and some interesting pilots. It was an exciting time. 

I was also going through a great deal of personal challenges. I had just left a program that I was in love with and ended a relationship with a girl I loved even more. It took me a long time to get my footing. Still, I kept busy and often didn't even have time to consider the whirlwind I was on.

Despite often carrying a heavy heart and an equally burdensome sense of self-doubt, I forced myself to interact with the world. I stayed as productive as I could trying new things, meeting new folks, and stretching myself. I wrote even if poorly. I got involved with tiny theater companies even if I wouldn't want to be caught dead on some of the stages. I read incessantly about everything from acting to science, to politics, to history. It was a very introspective time and when I look back on it, an incredibly important turning point in my own personal development.

I started to make new friends and move away from some of the ones I had maybe used as a crutch in graduate school. I picked myself up and began dating again, sometimes with people I had nothing in common with but still felt it important. I was hungry for exploration in every conceivable corner of New York, the world, and even my mind; wherever and whenever I could find it responsibly was what motivated me.  

Soon, it became far less about acting then it did about living fully, honestly, openly, and inquisitively. It became about asking more questions of the world and subsequently myself, while being okay with not getting the answer I wanted to hear or often any at all.

When I look back on that time I cannot help but smile. It was a remarkable time. It was profoundly painful, confusing, funny, joyous, difficult, victorious, frustrating, beautiful, sad, and dare I say glorious. Half the time I didn't even know what I was doing even when I was convinced that I did. 

My point is the world is unpredictable and often particularly fragile to the temperament of an artist. We take things more personally, we refuse to wear our heart anywhere but on our sleeves, and we want for whatever crazy reason to share our lives on stage, in front of the camera, and through our voices. None of this is normal. 

But what is normal and universal is the human condition. Nurture it with as many valuable experiences as possible. Don't be afraid to fail big because you will. Don't be afraid to have your heart broken because you will. Don't be afraid to feel like nothing you're doing is working because it often won't. Don't be afraid to not know. In fact, embrace it. I once heard it said, "Knowing everything is the enemy of the human spirit." And to completely contradict all of that advice, don't be afraid to be afraid.

I encourage you to challenge yourself as an actor, but far more importantly in ways that will slowly inch you towards the man you dream of becoming despite it being impossible. It is the pursuit of that goal which is the entire point. Put yourself out there as much as possible. I think the greatest tragedy would be to look back and not say, "I wish I became a movie star, or a Broadway star, or even famous." No, I think the greatest tragedy would actually be looking back and saying, "Damn, I wish I enjoyed all of that a little more. I wish I had more fun."   

In the words of Robert DeNiro, one of my heroes, "Be brave, but not reckless." Be young, be free, be life. I believe in you brother and wish you great luck now and beyond.

Best,

Nick

Excerpt from the book, To the Prospective Artist: Lessons from an Unknown Actor