“At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear”
― Norman Maclean
At the moment, three shows that I was called back for are in various stages of preparedness, from early rehearsals to beginning their runs. Two of the losses just broke my heart in the regular way, and one callback was the actual worst audition I’ve ever given. (Like, it was months and months ago, and I still cringe any time the memory rears its ugly head.)
This is a funny industry. Faith Prince, veteran Broadway actor and brilliant comedienne, once said, “You know what they call the prize-winning hog the day after county fair? Breakfast.”
Translation: you’re on top of the world one day, all shiny hair + glowing reviews + celebratory champagne, and then the show closes and you’re back stumping for a gig like the next guy. It’s sort of like interviewing for a job, once or twice a month, forever.
It is—in a word—exhausting.
So here I sit, stapling my resume to my headshot and watching some of my dearest friends enjoying the rehearsal process or the press junkets for shows that I got this close to calling mine. If I tried to tell you it wasn’t hard, I’d be all smiles and lies.
I met with a dear friend and fellow actor for coffee last week, and we talked about this, and he said the wisest thing: “I’ve decided that my career is really all about what I do—how hard I work—between the yeses.”
I’ve got a few fishing lines out right now, and a few others already caught, sitting on ice in the cooler next to me. I’ll show them to you soon, but not yet. Not yet. I’m still fishing.
It breaks your heart, every time you cast out and get a nibble and then reel it in, only to find that some smarter/better/younger fish ran off with your bait. But other fish are waiting, swimming, hungry for a meal. So you worm up, cast again, and sit. And wait.
And while you wait, maybe you close your eyes and feel the breeze and listen to the birds. Maybe you hum a song to yourself, a reminder that the fish isn’t always the goal. Sometimes, it’s your feet dangling in the water. Sometimes it’s the patience of the waiting.
Sometimes it’s just the breeze.