I overheard the following exchange between two performers recently:
“Hey, how was your show?”
“It was fine. Just another show…”
Maybe I look at this differently but I didn’t spend my childhood dreaming of being onstage so I could just do “another show”. I didn’t spend my twenties sleeping on couches and pounding the pavement so I could just do “another show”. And I refuse to take the obvious path towards “another show” in my thirties.
I want more.
I want people to view what I do differently and I want them to talk about it for weeks after. I want them to leave the show feeling differently than when they arrived.
When I was younger I remember seeing a production of “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe” that left me transfixed. It was one of the earliest memories I have of watching a show and saying to myself “I have to do that.”
After the performance I tracked down all of the performers - local high schoolers - in the lobby and had them sign my program. I’ve been a collector of playbills, autographs, ticket stubs, and theatre mementos ever since.
I was only 7 years old but I still remember that show. Why?
It was perfect timing, I guess. I was young and seeking inspiration. I was encouraged to try new things. And I had a vivid imagination.
And now, nearly 25 years later, I have an incredible opportunity to take the stage on a nightly basis and do the same for someone else.
Maybe there’s a youngster in the crowd who has always wanted to perform but didn’t know how to get started. I could be the spark of inspiration that sets them down their personal path to success.
Maybe someone hates magic because of how it’s presented in pop culture. I have the chance to do something different and change their mind.
Maybe someone is having a bad day or needs an escape. Maybe someone is a big fan or seeing me for the first time. Maybe they’re on a date or celebrating a birthday. I have an opportunity to create something special that they’ll always remember.
I have a chance to be their “Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe” moment.
I hear the naysayers now:
“You’re just an entertainer. This is a little over-the-top, isn’t it?”
No, it’s not. Not for me.
That’s why you’ll never hear me demean what I do. You’ll never hear me call it “silly” or shrug it off like it doesn’t matter.
It does matter. It matters to me.
You can take what you do seriously without taking yourself seriously. You can demand respect for your profession and refuse to fall into the same patterns that other people do.
What do you do best?
For me, it’s mystery and amazement. I’m in the business of blowing minds. My show is funny, yes, and hopefully entertaining. But the real point is to amaze. The real point is to show someone something truly impossible.
Comedians have jokes and singers make music, but I work in the medium of jaw-dropping, pure, unadulterated wonder. That’s what I always return to. And I refuse to give it any less than my best.
If you treat what you do with respect then people will take notice. They’ll do a double-take and sense that what you do is just a little different. They’ll get it.
Before I take the stage, before I say my opening words, before the host finishes their introduction and my walk-on music plays, before I walk through the curtain and start the show, I remind myself that I’m about to take a roomful of strangers on a journey. I’m about to show them something special.
I don’t want to be another line in their calendar. I don’t want to be an easily forgotten night or exactly what they expected.
I refuse to be just another show.
Photo by Neseman Creative