The road not open

I've talked a lot about the shift in focus over the past couple years away from theater and toward the commercial side of things, and how that's paid off for me with more and better paying gigs.

It all started with this sort of epiphany I had a couple of years ago when I was curled up in the emergency room, alone and sick as a dog, realizing that perhaps the sacrifice of time and the toll on personal relationships involved in pursuing theater were too great compared with the slim prospects for "success."

That was definitely part of it. But it was also because I took a realistic and pragmatic look at the situation. When I did, I concluded that, well ... I'm just not very good at it. I mean, I'm decent, yes, but I wasn't (and wouldn't soon be) burning up the stageboards across Chicago.

Yes, I've only been doing this for a few years, and yes some of my contemporaries have two or three decades of experience under their belts. But I don't have that kind of time. I can't wait until I'm 70 to "blossom." And as I thought about it, several factors, over time, sort of came together in my consciousness and helped propel my decision-making.

First, I didn't seem to be "advancing" -- I was being offered the same kinds of roles by the same kinds of theater companies, and not quite "breaking through" to some of the others I wanted to work with. I see friends who seem to glide almost effortlessly from company to company, production to production, while I'm playing a small supporting role somewhere or starring in a short-run one-act festival. I felt like I was just scuttling sideways instead of moving forward.

Second, I'd be in shows and see other actors receiving invitations to join the ensemble. Sometimes because of the hard "extra" work they were putting in, sometimes because of their talent and, let's face it, sometimes because they just sort of "clicked" with the group. I have no problem with that. In business and in other areas of life, all other things being equal, you hire people who you like and enjoy spending time with. Nobody wants to spend 20, 30, 40, 50 hours a week with an asshole.

I guess I did receive a couple of invites, but they were for start-up companies. And while I've always enjoyed being in on the ground floor and building things, I just felt that with my starting this career so late, it would make more sense to be part of an established group.

Third is recognition. When reviews of shows I was in would call out certain actors, I was less often among those recognized. And when I was I was called a "journeyman," or my skills were labeled "workmanlike." Sometimes I'd have nice things said about me, but usually from the less established, less influential reviewers.

The final, and maybe most important thing, was my experience with a couple of instructors. In classes I would work my ass off, go the extra mile, do whatever it takes. I always thought that my work ethic and discipline could maybe make up for my inexperience. But with a couple of teachers I got a strong sense of ... what? Let's call it "benign neglect." Like I was okay, but not someone whose talents were especially prized and worthy of nurturing.

That was a bit of a kick in the head. In one class it seemed I didn't get nearly the amount of constructive feedback the others received. It definitely was not because my performance was relatively flawless. I'm certain that was not the case. It felt a little like, in the words of an unlamented former president of ours, the "soft bigotry of low expectations." A sense that my limited potential didn't merit a lot of serious attention and effort on the teacher's part.

And what sealed the deal was when I had all these questions in my head about the direction of my career and its potential and I asked one of these instructors if I could buy him a beer and pick his brain sometime about where I was going and what I should be doing. He readily agreed in the moment, but it never happened. I made a couple of polite follow-ups, but it became clear that, well, I wasn't worth the time.

So I never really had a mentor. For the whole time, other than support from friends and family, I really felt I was all alone. Like in that hospital room.

At least I feel I've given it a fair shot. And though I can talk about it pretty analytically, I can still remember that when it all sort of dawned on me that, you know, I just wasn't very good ... it was actually fairly heartbreaking.