Elevate

Whatever you do in life, whatever your career or hobby or part-time job might be, promise me one thing: Promise me that you will never trivialize what you do. It’s disrespectful to yourself, your colleagues, and people that might be interested in your endeavors.

Don't get me wrong - you don’t have to take yourself seriously, but you should take what you do very seriously. You should always be aiming to elevate what you do so that people will respect it and appreciate it on a higher level. Diminishing what you do with self-deprecation or lame jokes creates a negative stereotype of your craft that you should work hard to avoid.

My only examples of this are from within the entertainment world where I spend the majority of my time. I have a magician friend who thinks it’s clever to make self-deprecating jokes about what he does, such as “I don’t really tell jokes…because being a magician is already a joke” or (after doing an obviously difficult demonstration of skill) “Are you surprised that I don’t have a girlfriend?”.

I’m not trying to call out a friend here. In fact, you could attribute those jokes to many magicians and they would still apply. And that’s the problem. Making those sorts of jokes creates a negative impression of magic in the minds of the audience. And if there are multiple performers out there doing it then not only is it unoriginal but it’s reinforcing the childish opinion of magic that many audience members may already have.

When I go to another performer’s show I always watch the audience. I’m always trying to learn, so I watch to see how engaged they are and if they’re enjoying the performance. Are they leaning forwards? Or are they on their phones? Are they whispering to each other in amazement or out of boredom? Are they rolling their eyes or fully immersed in the performance? Are they enjoying the show?

If you casually watched my friend’s performance you might think the audience was enjoying those jokes. After all, they’re laughing and smiling so it’s all good, right?

Wrong.

Upon closer inspection you’d notice sections of the audience starting to shift uncomfortably. I can tell the audience members are thinking to themselves “Wait, I paid $100 a ticket to see some guy feel sorry for himself and tell me how dumb this is?”

This kind of performance gives our art a bad name. It makes people view it as a distraction or something trivial. And it makes it harder for someone that takes it seriously (like I do) to get other people to do the same.

What I wish my friend would do is to ELEVATE our craft. I wish instead of diminishing the time he spent learning something by admitting he “doesn’t have a girlfriend” that he would explain to the audience that they’re about to see something “so wondrous that you’ll remember it for the rest of your life”. I don’t want him to say that his career is “a joke” because that implies that mine is, too. Yeah, they’re laughing but those are easy laughs. Work harder, man.

I don't for a second believe that magic or mentalism is the most important thing in the world. I’m not fighting fires or curing diseases. I’m just an entertainer, that’s all. But that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t take what I do seriously. Entertainment is still important. We need entertainers to transport us, if only for an hour, so we can get away from the struggles we all go through on a daily basis. That’s the joy of what I do and why I do my best not to trivialize it.

Years ago I heard a magician share this poem on an old VHS tape. It’s stuck with me ever since:

I saw them tearing a building down,
a gang of men in my home town.
With a heave, and a ho and a “yes yes” yell,
they swung a beam and a side wall fell.
I asked the foreman, “Are these men skilled?
Like those you would use if you had to build?”
He laughed and replied “Oh no, indeed!
The most common labor is all I need.
You see I can destroy in a day or two,
what it would take a builder 10 years to do!”
I thought to myself as I went on my way,
which of these roles am I willing to to play?
Am I the one that is tearing down?
As I carelessly make my way around?
Or am I the one that builds with care?
So that my craft and community are better because I was there?
- Anonymous

Whether I’m performing for 15 people or 15,000, I always use my show as an opportunity to elevate what I do in the minds of the audience and give them a night to remember. I’m cognizant that I’m a representative of my industry and what I do will affect other people that do it, too.

So, my question for you is this: Are you elevating what you do? No matter your field, please find ways to share your passion and get others to respect it, too.

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Other Thoughts:

• I finally made it out to Morton Arboretum to see the Troll Hunt. It was so fun! You only have through June to see it, so don’t miss out.

• A busy week ahead of travel and shows for private events, but you can catch me LIVE at The Magic Penthouse and The Lincoln Lodge.

The Worst Bomb Of My Career

It was one of the worst shows of my career.

It just happened. Just within the past few weeks.

I bombed onstage so hard that you might have thought I’d never done this before. It was ROUGH.

I should have known that it was going to be a disaster from the moment I arrived at the venue. The sound system was broken, so there would be no microphone. The room originally planned for the show had a double booking, so my act was moved elsewhere. The organizers of the event seemed busy and distracted. All signs pointed to a horrible outcome.

The new room was full of distractions. Smoothies being made loudly opposite my performance area, multiple people coming in and out of the room, and large windows behind me with no blinds to shield the sun pouring in from outside.

But, the show must go on. So with no mic and no other choice, I started the show.

Fifteen minutes in and everything was going off the rails. No one was paying attention. People couldn’t hear me or they had an obstructed view. Try as I might, my theatrically trained voice just wasn’t loud enough to command the attention I so desperately needed. I was dying a slow and painful death in front of a room of strangers and still had 45 minutes to go.

I went through my set list in my mind, quietly crossing pieces out that just wouldn’t work in this scenario. “Nope, can’t do that one. Or that one. That won’t work. Oh man, this isn’t good…” I thought to myself, as I realized that I was very nearly out of options.

I looked up at the room. A handful of people were scattered around the area, none of them paying me any mind. And I thought to myself: “Wow, I’m bombing.”

Suddenly, everything changed. The second I thought those words to myself: “Wow, I’m bombing” I knew that it was all okay.

Ask any professional entertainer and they’ll tell you they’ve bombed dozens (maybe hundreds) of times. It happens to the best of us. You don’t want it to happen, but it’s inevitable. It’s going to happen eventually and forcing myself to acknowledge it made me realize that everything was going to be all right.

In that moment, I decided to lean into it and “take the L”. I didn’t have another option, so I figured I would just make the most of it. So I started heckling myself…

“Well, this is going about as well as I thought it would!” I shouted into the void, hoping one of the 12 people in the room might respond. One guy snickered from the back, so I called out to him.

“This is the only guy laughing at my jokes…what’s your name, sir?”

“I’m Mike, but shouldn’t you know that since I’m your agent?” he joked.

Without missing a beat, I responded, “Mike, you need to get me some better gigs.”

Two other students laughed from the other corner. One of them yelled out, “Tough crowd!”

“Tough crowd?” I yelled back, “I don’t see a crowd anywhere.”

In that moment, I started to feel in control of the situation. I was still bombing, it was still embarrassing and painful to go through, but I was owning it. I was so aware of the moment that I was able to laugh at my predicament and not let it bother me.

“I’m glad to see my agent agreed to my demands to be here today. I said the only way I would do a show here was if it was in the middle of the day, on a Monday, with no microphone, and that at least 80% of the students had to be facing away from me and on their laptops.”

I almost lost my voice yelling that joke, but it was worth it. Over half the room looked up and laughed in unison. They could see that I was aware of what was happening and we were all in on the joke together.

I made a few more jokes, improvised some different material to finish my hour, then called it a day. I turned to pack up my gear and couldn’t stop laughing. I had bombed but I was still alive. I felt invincible.

As I turned back to grab some props, a student asked to take a picture. I agreed. Then I noticed a small line had formed. People wanted a photo or a poster or had a question for me. All things considered, they had actually enjoyed the show and wanted to let me know. Somehow, I had made a positive out of a negative.

If that show had happened ten years ago I would have spiraled into a deep depression for weeks, regretting my life choices and questioning my abilities as an entertainer. I wouldn’t have been able to laugh it off or find any positive things about it. It might have ended my career.

But now, one decade and hundreds of shows later, I’m glad it happened. I’m glad I bombed gracefully and it didn’t keep me up at night. In fact, once I drove away from that show I wasn’t even thinking about it. It was just another gig on the road to my final destination.

Twenty-four hours later, I was back in Chicago waiting to go onstage. I wasn’t thinking about bombing the day before or questioning my life choices. I was just there, lost in the moment, concentrating on my script and hoping to really connect with that night’s audience.

It was one of the best shows of my career.

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Other Thoughts:

• I love this story of the worst time Bill Burr ever bombed. I couldn’t help but think of it as I was going through it myself.

• Starting tonight you can catch me at the Chicago Magic Lounge all weekend! Get your tickets here.

• I’m thinking about starting a podcast. More info on that soon!

• I spent two miles on my run last weekend wondering how mirrors are made. If you can make it through this stupid video intro, it’s actually pretty interesting.

• Here’s a clip from a recent show at The Second City in Chicago. Check it out:

What's Next?

When I first moved to Chicago in 2011 I didn’t know anyone here. I spent the first year struggling to get my name out there and find gigs. It was a year of trial and error, with way more failures than successes.

For some reason, that autumn I decided to put together a run of shows at a small theatre near my apartment. I would be self-producing and performing four shows over four weeks. I spent hours canvassing the surrounding neighborhoods with posters and flyers, inviting strangers, and trying my best to get the word out.

But on opening night we only had 7 people in the audience. It was a massive disappointment. I was embarrassed and discouraged and began questioning everything that had led me to that point.

The next day, I got an email from WGN TV wanting to feature me on their morning show the following week. As a result, the next three shows were packed and I felt like I had gotten my first small break in Chicago.

It was also the first experience of many that taught me to push through a discouraging situation. From that moment on I’ve always remembered that when things get challenging there’s usually something positive waiting around the corner.

Since that first show I’ve produced a different run of shows every year since. Always a new show, always a new venue, always a learning experience. I’ve done shows in wine bars, gymnasiums, basements, restaurants, small rooms, and bigger theaters. I even put an international tour together, formed out of my favorite pieces from those shows.

This year, against my better judgement, I decided to do my longest run yet. Every Wednesday for the past six months I’ve been performing in Lincoln Park here in the city. It’s always a challenge to build buzz for a show and keep that momentum going, but I can easily say that this has been my most successful run yet.

We sold out for much of the summer, got featured on Windy City Live, WGN, multiple times on WGN Radio, and reviewed by nearly every major publication in Chicago. The show received rave reviews and even won a Chicago Theatre Award, perhaps one of my proudest accomplishments to date.

Every run of shows has been building up to this point. Every small audience, every misstep, every frustrating producer or theatre staff I’ve worked with. Venues have closed or changed management mid-run. There’s no guidebook to this, especially when you’re producing the show yourself. As a result, I’ve made more mistakes along the way than you could possibly imagine.

I’ve never been the kind of person to let failures stop me. If anything, they just make me work harder and keep moving forward. Each show has taught me something new and I can see a noticeable improvement in my ability as a live performer.

Next Wednesday will be the final performance of this run of shows. I couldn’t think of a better end to the run than having closing night on Halloween. If you haven’t seen the show yet, there are still a few tickets available here.

After next week I’ll never do this show again, so don’t miss your chance to experience it for yourself. In the meantime, I’ve already started writing the next show and I can’t wait for you to see what’s next.

Connection

Something I struggle with a lot is where my chosen profession fits in the world. At best it seems entertaining and at worst it feels silly and trite. But there’s one thing I keep coming back to that keeps me from quitting. 

Connection.

The key to my success as an entertainer has been finding a way to connect with my audiences. I’m not talking about laughter or applause. That’s definitely important and I want those things, too, but I’m talking about something more specific.

When I connect with an audience member it means that they saw themselves in my work. It means they found some kind of underlying message or truth that resonated with them more than any mind reading demonstration ever could.

It’s taken me years to realize this, but once I did I’ve felt more fulfilled and more successful in my career than I ever did before.

Think about it. I bet that your favorite movie or book or song probably connects with you in an utterly profound and personal way. It may have a beautiful melody or a hilarious plot, but the truth is you probably found yourself saying “That is so true!” or “I thought I was the only person who felt that way!”

That’s what connection is all about.

The best inspiration for what I do never comes from within the confines of my art. Rather, I look outside my discipline to find people (much smarter than myself) with ideas that apply to my chosen art form, too. The great thing about seeking inspiration is that the answers you seek are already there - you just have to keep looking.

And I’ve been looking in some really unique places.

Legendary choreographer and dancer Martha Graham has a great interview where she talks about connection. It’s worth a watch just to hear her perfectly sum up why art matters and is so important.

“There is always one person to whom you speak in the audience. One.” she says.

In an interview with Seth Meyers, tennis icon Billie Jean King compares being on the tennis court to being onstage in a theatre. I’d never thought about it that way before.

“It’s about the audience,” she comments. “My job is to connect with them, so they go home at night and say ’That was unbelievable!' They connected and they want to go back.”

When I feel especially low or wonder if what I do really matters, it always helps to think of those quotes and remind myself that it can be very important, as long as I connect with others.

Anything I do onstage has one main set of criteria: it has to be about other people. It’s all about the audience. When your work is in service to other people you can’t go wrong.

When I set out to write this blog I wasn’t sure what shape it would take. Originally, I had two goals - to be positive and to post every week - but, over time, a third goal emerged. 

Somehow I found a way to make the experiences of being a mind reader about more than just performing. Now my main goal is to take what I do and find a way to connect it with you.

I can’t even begin to tell you how many people have written me to say “Wow, I read your blog post today and it really spoke to me! I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately and really appreciated your thoughts.”

That’s the connection I seek and, I feel, the secret to being successful in anything you do.

Don't Panic

There were ten minutes left before the curtain would go up, ten minutes before my opening lines, ten minutes before the show would begin and I couldn’t look back. And that’s when I heard it.

Sitting in the dressing room, with ten minutes to go, I heard glass shatter out on stage. I raced around the corner, down the hall, and past the curtain to discover that a stagehand had tripped over my table and a prop (made mostly of glass) had shattered into a hundred pieces on the floor.

It doesn’t matter what the prop was, what matters is that you understand that it was essential to my performance. I had been working on a new part of the show for weeks and that prop played a pivotal role in that part of my act.

I was instantly disappointed. All of my work was for naught, my new idea wouldn’t get onstage after all, and I didn’t have a backup plan for that part of the show. I was furious.

My first impulse was to panic. I wanted to scream or throw something or place blame somewhere. Anywhere. I needed somewhere to direct my frustrations. I needed an external place to direct my rising temper. The pressure of the looming performance was getting to me and, now that my new idea was destroyed, it was all I could do to not tear my props down, pack it all up, and head home.

I almost panicked. Almost.

But then, I forced myself to take a deep breath and surveyed the scene. The audience would be here in ten minutes, the show was going to start whether I was ready or not. Freaking out wasn’t going to solve anything. If nothing else, it would just make it worse.

I sat down for a moment and tried to work out a solution. I couldn’t repair it, I didn’t have time to run to my studio for a replacement, and I didn’t really have anything to replace it with.

What to do?

And then, as I sat motionless in the dark, I had a moment of inspiration. It started small, as all ideas do, then grew bigger and bigger, until it had replaced any other idea I’d had up until that point. In that moment of near-panic I found the solution. 

I had created something even better than my original plan.

I raced back to the dressing room, grabbing whatever miscellaneous props I could find. Everything was right in front of me, just waiting for me to put the pieces together. I swept the stage, placed the new props in place, and went back to the dressing room to get focused.

There were five minutes left before the curtain would go up, five minutes before my opening lines, five minutes before the show would begin and I couldn’t look back. And that’s when I knew that this would be one of my best shows yet.

All because I didn’t panic.

Giving Thanks

I will never get used to the idea that I get paid to travel the world and blow people’s minds. As a three-year-old in my small hometown, my dream was to do just that. And somehow I grew up and found a way to make it happen.

My first homemade business card circa 1993. I never wanted to do anything else.

I’m on a quest, in pursuit of my best show and my best self onstage. I’m working on secret projects and posting public essays, all while traveling from city to city reading people’s minds.

I’m doing what I always wanted…but I will never get used to it.

I value each moment onstage, each early morning flight or late night commute. I treasure the jet lag and limited legroom. I live for it. It’s what I’ve always dreamt of and I can’t get enough of it.

You won’t find me phoning it in next week, next year, or three decades from now. I will never take this for granted.

So as we enjoy another annual feast, while counting down to the impeachment, I have a lot to be thankful for this year:

• The Mystery Tour
• My family
• My cats (especially the one that almost died)
• New friends from the fringe
• Seeing some of the best shows I’ve ever seen
• Seeing some of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been
• Meeting my heroes
• Persisting and resisting

But mostly, I’m thankful for YOU.

If you’ve ever read one of my posts…

If you’ve ever purchased a ticket to my show…

If you’ve ever sent me a message to discuss my work…

If you ever told me I was good enough (you know who you are!) when I didn’t believe it myself…

If you’ve ever booked me for your event…

If you’ve ever sat in the audience and given me a small fraction of your valuable time on this planet…

Thank you.

Being Bad

I get my best ideas when I’m running.

For the first couple miles…nothing. It takes me a while to find my groove. So I count my steps and listen to the sound of Lake Michigan crashing against the path.

And I run farther.

I watch the other runners and imagine what their morning has been like. We’re out here together, but we keep to ourselves. That’s how we like it.

And I keep going.

Then, a breakthrough. My music fades away. Everything is a blur. I’m running, but my mind is elsewhere. 

Now I’m working.

I’m mentally rehearsing or writing my next Thursday Thoughts. I’m memorizing a list or dreaming up new bits for the show. I’m more creative than I’ve ever been.

I don’t look at my phone on a run. E-mail and Twitter can wait. I turn on Do Not Disturb and nothing gets in the way.

I have to run far away from my condo to get in the right mind set. I need to leave the dull pounding of construction and traffic behind so I can free my mind. If nothing else, I need an escape from those Washington Post notification alerts, each more scary than the last, that warn of the impending deterioration of the very foundation of modern American democracy.

So I run.

Or at least I used to.

But sometime last year I woke up and I couldn’t walk. I could barely stand. It was all I could do to get moving, let alone head to the airport and fly to my next show.

I had suffered an extreme injury in both feet and I had to stop running altogether. As a result, my daily routine changed dramatically. I had to learn to work differently. It was rough.

My physical therapist broke the news to me: “Your feet aren’t really built for running.” He promised me we could change that but that it would take a long time.

He wasn’t lying.

I’ve been trying to get back out there off and on all year long. Sometimes it feels good, but most of the time it’s agonizing. I’m still in pain and my new orthotics aren’t quite right. And even worse, I lost all my progress. I’m a horrible runner now.

I miss the open air and the silent camaraderie of my fellow runners. I miss the moment when I stop counting my steps and start feeling creative.

I miss running.

In the past few days I’ve noticed some slight progress. Slowly I’m feeling more positive about my training again. Will this be the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for?

I hate being bad at something. Especially something I know I was decent at once before. But I’m learning to let go of my expectations and enjoy the process. I’m starting over but this time I’m able to approach it with more experience than I did before. I’m doing it the right way this time.

It occurred to me this week that to have a career in a creative field you must be able to be bad at many things. At least for a while.

When I was starting out onstage I had no mentor or guidebook. I just knew I wanted to be a performer. So I copied other performers, hoping I’d find my own voice somewhere in the process. 

I stole their jokes and their style and wore it like a loose glove. Eventually I dropped the jokes that didn’t fit me and made changes to the ones that did. I stopped trying to be someone else and started accentuating the things I’m good at. I was constantly aware of what was unique to me and what wasn’t.

I still am.

But slowly, my imitation has turned to emulation. But it took years of struggle to get there. I had to give myself permission to question and fail and rediscover and progress on my own terms.

And that’s what I’m trying to do with my running now. As hard as it is, I know that getting good starts with being bad.

Assume The Best

It’s 2014. I’m on a rooftop in NYC, surrounded by 8 or 9 strangers. I silently write a name on the back of my business card then slide it across the table to the lady in the white dress.

“Who are you thinking of?” I ask mysteriously.

“My husband, Kevin.” she says.

I gesture to the card. She turns it over.

Everyone loses their shit.

It’s this past summer in Orlando. I’m working a trade show. A young man nervously asks me to read his mind.

I stare into his eyes and say “Does the number 13 mean anything to you?”

He stays quiet and stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Then, almost imperceptibly, he mutters under his breath.

“No fucking way.”

It’s 2016. I’m on a small stage in a hot room in Connecticut. A roomful of adults look on.

My volunteer is dressed to the nines. A New Yorker, she is clearly cynical about the proceedings. She keeps a poker face and refuses to give anything away. I’m sweating.

I pace the stage, doing my best to stay in control. Then I lean in and whisper something into her ear.

And she breaks down. Tears roll down her cheeks and she shakes from pure joy. She gives me a hug and the audience breaks into spontaneous applause.

I nix my finale. Nothing will top that moment.

A friend approached me after a show recently and said “Man, that one guy was a jerk!”

I had no idea who they were talking about. Yes, some volunteers hadn’t reacted as well as others and some were more cooperative than most, but they all seemed to enjoy it.

My friend thought the volunteer in question was being rude, but I just thought they were being themself.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from my job it’s that amazement means something different for different people in different places. Whether I’m doing a small cocktail party or a huge theater full of people, it’s something I always try to remember.

Some people react internally. Some people scream and run. And some people don’t react at all. They just stare back, completely blown away.

My job has taught me to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the barista is being impatient because they had a flat tire this morning. Maybe the man on the street just had a family member pass away. Maybe the valet is an introvert and the bellhop is a morning person.

No matter who it is, I just assume they’re giving me their best.

Rave Reviews At Chicago Fringe

I’m in the middle of a run of seven shows at the Chicago Fringe Festival and have already received some rave reviews. So far, I’ve had packed houses and attentive fringe-goers. 

You can catch my remaining two performances next weekend. The shows are Saturday, September 9th at 8:30 pm and Sunday, September 10th at 4 pm.

I’m still waiting on some reviews to come out but for now here are a few of the quotes I’ve received so far:

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“Mark Toland’s skills as a mentalist bring together fascination, awe and immersion in mystery — with humor and rapid-fire quips and stories. It’s an irresistible wild ride, especially for skeptics.”

— Picture This Post

(Read Review)

“At the very end of the show, one audience member has her “mind read” in a very detailed manner. Her response was “Holy Shit!”. And that sums it up perfectly.”

— Playlist HQ

(Read Review)

“How does he do it? That’s the mystery. You will have to see the show for yourself to decide.”

— DADaPalooza

(Read Review)

“Toland blends psychic feats with accomplished storytelling.”

— TimeOut Chicago

(Read Story)

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Here are some great shots of the fringe shows courtesy of Sarah Elizabeth Larson Photography.

My show was also listed as a "Best Bet" for the festival by TimeOut Chicago and one of the "Best Plays In Chicago" right now by Picture This Post. Two more chances to see the show! Tickets still available here: