The Creative Seed

The time I spent doing that show was some of the most miserable of my life so far. I couldn't sleep, eat, was constantly preoccupied with who would see the show, if they would like it, why the audience didn't laugh in a certain spot the night before. Coaching with Penelope was my only momentary solace, for she was the only one not telling me to try to "shut it off." Penelope was telling me to feel it and stay with it and get to the bottom of it, if for no other reason to know where the bottom is. Because getting the center of that fear, although you never feel so bad, you are granted a kind of consolation -- as terrible as it feels, you are still here, it didn't kill you. After years of practice in my craft, I was perplexed. Why now am I having this incredibly intense (surely the most intense of all time) bout of stage fright? Penelope suggested that it might be something else: a breakdown, not a nervous breakdown, just your regular run of the mill breakdown.

Why now? I seemed to have everything I was working toward for so long. I was acting, being paid for it, recognized by important people. The star. Why am I so miserable?

The core of who we are is undeniable, and sometimes our bodies and spirits revolt and supercede our intellect to jolt us and guide us in our true direction. I remember one particular scene from the movie "Broadcast News" with Holly Hunter and Al Brooks. Al Brooks's character, in hopes proving himself to network brass and securing his career as a broadcast TV journalist, campaigns and wins a spot anchoring the weekend news. He flops -- really flops. Later that night, Brooks's character recounts the embarassing failure he endured with great humor to his friend, Holly Hunter's character, who is confused by his lightness during this upset. He then explains to her that while he was sitting doing the news (sweating more than Nixon), he realized that his central nervous system was telling him something: "YOU DON'T WANT THIS!" He found peace of mind in the revelation that what he really loved to do is research and write the news, but he got caught up in somebody's else's game, someone else's ambition. It's hard not to measure ourselves by other people's measuring sticks -- having your own definition of success takes such strength of self and compassion.

During my crisis, Penelope assured me that this breakdown would end and lead to some kind of breakthrough, and that it wasn't going to be cut and dried, but rather a process, an unfolding. The Off-Broadway show closed and months went by. During those first weeks, I did have to admit to myself that perhaps this wasn't what I wanted to do. You could almost hear the skidding tires as I quickly shook that thought out of my head. I knew I loved to act, to tell stories. The mere suggestion that it was perhaps not my calling threw me instantly into a defensive stance with stiff jaw readiness. However, I did have to admit that perhaps I wasn't the "kind" of actor that I imagined myself.

Knowing what you DON'T want is helpful, but it leaves you a little empty, with a "what now?" problem. If this isn't who I am, then who am I? If this isn't what I should be pursuing, where do I go, where do I look?

For the first time in my life, I let myself "not know". I stayed in the "not knowing" for months. I continued to participate and pursue things that felt right in my gut, that I enjoyed and that sustained me. I contently worked at my pleasant support job, I participated in my theatre company's workshops, I spent time with friends, I wrote, and I read short stories. I stayed away from the self help books this time and formulations for "how to get back on track". This time it was the right thing to do. And, I talked about it... a lot!

O.K., here comes the happy ending. I have to go back a ways first -- stay with me.

Three years ago, in an effort to NOT focus on myself so much, I began to volunteer at the Actors' Fund Homes in New Jersey, a retirement community for veteran entertainers. I interviewed there with the full expectation of driving folks to shows, or helping clean up after events, however, Rose Aster, the Homes' Programs Director, looked at my background and asked me if I would help her start an intergenerational theatre group -- a long time dream of hers. I agreed and started to come every Sunday with short scenes for our small group of interested residents to read and discuss. I didn't know where this would lead, nor did I give it much thought -- I was enjoying it and so were they.

After a year, I think the group was getting restless, so I decided to bring in my theatre company, ASSEMBLY, to make the project truly intergenerational. Much to my surprise, members of my company were excited. For 18 months we met, our writers wrote for the group, we proposed ideas for possible shows, yet nothing ever seemed to gel, and at times things were quite challenging, if not disappointing.

OK, now the good stuff. On Sunday, September 9, 2001, (after 18 months of "figuring it out") our intergenerational theatre group premiered LIVES OF THE TIMES (six true tales of unforgettable encounters) for an invited audience at the Actors' Fund Home. I adapted six short stories that I had discovered in the LIVES column of The New York Times Magazine, and we performed them with 6 actors from the Home and 3 actors, our director and a designer from my theatre company.

As we rehearsed over 3 months, we had many obstacles. Memorization is now an issue for many of our older actors and even turning the pages of a script can pose problems. Music stands and plastic page covers did the trick, but there were a thousand subtle adjustments we made for each other in order to make this happen. Along with overcoming obstacles, there were great moments of kismet. The younger of us were held rivoted by first hand accounts of working with Orson Welles (on the original production of "Cradle Will Rock"). We humbly discovered that all the agility in the world can fail to move an audience in the way that true presence and the ability to hold spectators in the palm of one's hand can. Those things only come with a lifetime of practice. During the process, certain doors seemed to fly open and people seemed to come out of the woodwork to help or express interest. The NY Waterway gave us free tickets so that our actors could travel from NYC to NJ after work. Ideas seemed to fly into my head out of nowhere. I forged a great new relationship with one of my new favorite directors through all the time we spent in the car travelling, and we are now working on another project together. In contacting the authors of the original stories, I was met with unexpected support and enthusiasm for adapting their work and for the project.

I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, it was a huge HIT! So much so we are doing it again in November in Manhattan. As a group we now have success and the momentum it inevitably brings. I was happy. I never had the destructive doubts of my former experience, that an audience member maybe not like the show or that my shoes were the wrong color. It didn't matter. I knew why we were doing it. I felt fulfilled.

After LIVES OF THE TIMES, I came to a startling and difficult revelation: yes, I am an actor, but not just for hire. To be truly fulfilled, I need to create, collaborate with inspiring others, be woven into the whole creative process, and...it has to mean something.

This revelation of purpose doesn't limit me to rejecting all other projects. I still can and will do work in commercial theatre, TV and film when it is lucrative and productive to do so, but I won't be looking for my heart in it, and, therefore I won't be continually disappointed. I will know why I'm there, and that will give me the freedom to enjoy it for what it is. Also, this doesn't mean that I'll never earn a living wage at the projects that are fueled by my passion -- it's just a tougher road. Now I see it's a choice, my choice, and within choice there is freedom, and within freedom we can find truth and beauty. Now that's success.

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