A Room With Four Walls

The walls of my childhood bedroom were covered with inspiration. A Houdini poster hung to the left of my bed, directly opposite from a picture of the Blue Angels. My baseball cards and valuable coins were in a box two feet under my pillow.

A complete set of Hardy Boys books, chess pieces, yo-yo's, and decks of cards lined a small shelf in the corner. Everything was within arm's reach. I didn't even have to leave my bed.

Most days were spent reading or learning a new skill. The bed became a stage, with sheets draped around me like a lavish Broadway proscenium. Without complaint, a row of stuffed animals patiently watched my mediocre performances ad infinitum.

I found a ship porthole at a flea market, modified into a stylish clock. The porthole became a portal - to a dream world. I wished to climb inside and leave my small town life behind. The hustle and bustle of the big city could almost be heard through the opening, much like the ocean in a sea shell.

I was Steve McQueen making a "great escape" from a small Kansas town. My shovels were books, my motorcycle was a train ticket to Los Angeles. No matter what, I was going to break through those four walls and out of that room.

The Hardy Boys stayed behind, shoved carelessly into a storage bin. Tangled and broken, the yo-yo's never saw the light of day again. My forgiving audience of Beanie Babies and Teddy Bears never flinched as I hugged them goodbye.

I kept the Houdini poster.

But I wasn't ready.

I'd get to the stage and run back to the dressing room sick to my stomach. Throwing up before a show became routine. It got so bad that I had to cancel one night because I was shaking and feeling so ill.

All the dreaming and wishing hadn't fully prepared me for being a small fish in such a big pond. I was terrified. I thought about giving up.

The audience was so big. The room was so huge. It was intimidating and scary. I couldn't control my nerves. I didn't think it would ever change.

That's when it hit me.

It didn't matter who was in the audience. It didn't matter where I was performing. The audience may number in the thousands or be fifty people packed into a small space. It doesn't matter.

It was just like my bedroom. It was just another room with four walls.

Suddenly, I wasn't nervous any more.

And I haven't been nervous since.

Being Alive

This Saturday is special for two reasons:

First, I'm the headlining act at the Chicago Magic Lounge. (Tickets available here.)

And second, when I wake up on October 1st, I will have been alive for 30 years.

30. FREAKING. YEARS.

Age has always terrified me. The thought of getting older and not achieving my dreams keeps me up at night. There's always the faint ticking of my biological clock to keep me focused and working at a frantic pace.

Being alive for 30 years hasn't been easy. I've faced heartache and heartbreak, loss and uncertainty. But I've seen myself slowly grow into the person I've always wanted to be.

I see myself as many things...

I'm an artist. I don't particularly care for magic any more. Fooling people doesn't interest me. But I am fascinated in how I can use mind reading to connect with people and tell a story. Which means...

I'm a writer. I love telling stories, whether through words or onstage soliloquies or video. Everything I do revolves around story. My favorite story is the one where...

I'm a husband. My wife is a wonderful, enchanting woman who is constantly inspiring me to be a better man. She supports me in all I do and believes in me, even when I don't believe in myself. But that doesn't keep me from knowing deep down that...

I'm a dreamer. I have big, lofty goals and I'm not afraid to shout them from the rooftops. My goals haven't changed since I was very young. They've only been refined over time. My biggest dream is the one about how...

I'm more alive than ever.

I take the stage and a crowd silently waits in anticipation. My voice booms loudly over the crowd and people lean in to better understand me. The dream fades out as I share my deepest thoughts with the audience.

Then I wake up.

And I realize that's not a dream any more. It's really happening to me. I'm getting to do what I always wanted and I love every second of it.

With every ounce of my being...I'm alive.

Chaos

I make my living figuring out what other people are thinking. But sometimes I struggle to figure out what I'm thinking myself. It's nothing but chaos in here.

It's a labyrinth of my current to do list, projects I'm working on, and everything in between. Plus I have a super good memory so I have a hard time forgetting things.

Like once I was at an event in LA and saw one of my heroes across the room. And I said to myself "I'll never forgive myself if I don't go say hi".

So I did. 

I walked across the room and said "I just wanted to say hello and thank you for being such an inspiration in my life."

And he turned to me and said "Can't you see I'm busy?" And turned away again.

I'll never forget that. My mind won't let me.

I remember being bullied in first grade because of what I was wearing. I can still hear the shouts and jeers from the other kids on the bus. I wish I could forget it but my mind won't let me.

I was raised in a religious household but became an atheist in college. That was almost ten years ago. And even though I haven't looked at a bible in years I can still remember the books of the bible.

Now there's something I would love to forget.

Having a good memory means arguing with me is the worst. When my wife gets mad at me I hold everything over her head. I remember everything she's ever said and use it to win every single fight. It's unfair, but it's not up to me. If it were, I'd let it go...but I can't do that yet.

Memories are all we have, right? They're what define us. They are the building blocks of every action and decision we make today.

Better be careful crossing the street...remember what happened last time?

Maybe don't eat so many cookies tonight, you always feel terrible the next day.

Be kind to others, that's what dad always said. Like when you were feeling down and wanted to scream at classmates about how mean they were. But dad said to "kill them with kindness." 

(I did, even though I really just wanted to kill them and end there.)

My dad died of cancer in 2006 and all I have of him are memories. He was a father, a coach, and my biggest fan. When he was fighting cancer, it destroyed me. When a family member has cancer, everything you do revolves around that disease.

The night he died I was standing in the hospital room with my family as he took his last breath. Then I walked outside with my brothers to try to calm down. It was a chilly night...around 2 or 3 in the morning.

And I calmed my brothers down and helped them understand the situation. I told them everything was going to be okay.

I didn't know if that was true because I didn't believe it myself. It just felt like the right thing to say. I wasn't sure, though, because I couldn't calm myself down. So how was I supposed to comfort them?

My dad had this wristwatch that was the fixture of my childhood. The watch was an award for being valedictorian of his high school class. I found that out when I was five years old. And I told myself I was going to get my own valedictorian watch, too, so I could be just like my dad.

That watch meant everything to me. So I worked my ass off to be top of my class.

I got my own watch. I was just like my dad. 

The strangest thing happened that night. A few hours after my dad died, so did his watch. The battery just stopped working.

It just stopped and I haven't had the heart to put in a new battery yet. I probably never will.

I don't believe in anything supernatural. I'm not religious, I don't read my horoscope. I can't really read your mind - I'm just an entertainer, trying my best to tell you what you're thinking while trying to figure it out myself.

So I don't think anything divine stopped that watch. I think it...

Just...

Stopped.

But what an amazing thing.

Sometimes when my mind can't rest I try to do the same thing. I try desperately to stop time and live in the moment, between my last memory and the next.

And sometimes, just for a second, it's not so chaotic up here.

Real Magic

It was hot. Super hot.

The building was old so the only air conditioning we had were open windows around the room. It was fine for the guests but I was under the lights.

So I was hot. Super hot.

But I'd forgotten how hot it was. I was working. I was in my element - in the moment - on stage. 

For months I've been working on a piece for the end of my show. The routine has several strong moments throughout but those little moments are only there to build up to a huge climax. And that's where I was now.

Magic only exists in the minds of the audience, so getting a volunteer to react properly is a must. If their reaction is strong then the audience will react strongly, too.

The pieces were in place. During the earlier moments, I had gently conditioned the volunteer on where to stand and how to react. The time was now.

She was thinking of a memory and I gently steered her to a point where I thought I could get the best reaction. I looked her in the eyes and said the magic words - the exact memory she was thinking.

And she lost it. Her eyes welled up and she said "I'm going to cry."

I jotted down one last thing on a pad and showed it to her. And that was it.

With tears rolling down her cheeks she hugged me and thanked me as she left the stage.

It was still the same group of people in the same hot room we'd been in all night. But something was different now. The room had shifted. The applause wasn't because I'd asked for it. It wasn't because I was taking a bow. This applause was different. Everyone was clapping because they knew they'd just witnessed something special.

As people rose to their feet, I thought back to all the writing and rehearsing I'd been doing this year. It had all paid off.

For just a moment, I had been an artist. I had taken a small idea and pushed it to its limits. I had shown a small group of people something they may never see again.

I had shown them real magic.

Letting Go

The floor creaked under my feet as I walked across the empty room.

Moments before an audience had risen with thunderous applause, but for what reason?

Papers, pencils, rubber bands, and paper clips made their way back into my messenger bag. The satchel was all I needed for my show and my filmmaking hobby. There was space left over for other things but I didn't have anything else with me.

For once, I had all I needed.

"Please don't tell anyone what this says," I told her before leaving the stage.

My finale was meant to leave the audience with a mystery instead of an answer. A private message enjoyed by one person, while everyone else enjoyed her enjoyment.

Instead, she revealed all. Overcome with emotion, she broke down and told the audience what she was feeling. A strong moment that was met with laughter and applause, but not the moment I desired.

I stood backstage fuming.

Why hadn't she listened to me? She was destroying the moment I had worked hard to create. She was ruining the ending. She was erasing the mystery.

But seconds later, I stopped worrying about it. I was offstage now and there wasn't anything I could do. It wasn't up to me.

If she wanted to read my message out loud, then so be it. If she wanted to cry, then go right ahead. In that moment, I realized I could only give her a suggestion but, in the end, it wasn't my choice.

And I stood in the wings, learning to let go.

It's never come easily to me - learning to let go, I mean. But now I understand.

I took one last look at the room and smiled to myself. Something magical had happened in here tonight. Yes, this was a gymnasium by day but tonight I had transformed it into a theater. I had really connected with people. I had been more than just an entertainer. I was becoming an artist.

But did they get what I was trying to say? Did they truly understand the real meaning of the show?

I don't know. It's not up to me. It's out of my control.

I flipped off the lights and whistled softly to myself as I walked to my car. I wasn't even thinking about the show anymore. I had already let it go.

My Friend Jacob

This is my friend Jacob.

He was the first friend I made after my dad passed away in 2006. I burst into his dorm room and said “Can I throw water balloons out your window?”

And he said, “Can I help?”

Simple as that. We were pranksters and comedians and dreamers and best of friends. We wore masks around the dorms and knocked on doors to scare other students. We made silly videos and threw parties. Everything we did was to put a smile on other people’s faces.

That was Jake.

A carefree, selfless dude with a contagious enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but be happy when Jake was around.

Sometimes before I go onstage I have to psyche myself up and get in the right mindset to really give a good performance. But Jake was that guy all the time. He was always in a good mood. He’d had some hard knocks and some tough times, but through it all he kept smiling and kept moving forward.

Of all my friends, Jake was the one with the biggest dreams. At least, he was the one talking about them. He wanted to do more and see more and be more. He talked about it constantly.

He’d help me with video projects and set up backstage at my show. He was a groomsman at my wedding and made sure everything went off without a hitch. He had a magical way of cracking a joke or telling a story that would make you forget everything else that was bothering you in that moment.

That was Jake.

Fun, loving, caring, funny, outgoing, crazy, and friendly. Jake was all of those things and more.

I know it doesn’t really mean anything but our friendship on Facebook listed us as “Brothers”. He was always more than a friend to me. He was family.

In a time when a lot of people weren't supporting me or my wife, Jake did. He always put others first. Always.

He was one of a kind.

And he’s been on my mind this morning, because I just found out he died by suicide this week.

I haven’t been this sad in a really long time.

The last time I spoke to Jake was in January of this year. He sent me a text about a video I had made. He had made a brief appearance in it.

I said “We love you, man. So glad you were part of that story.”

And he replied “Thanks man! Love you guys!!! So glad to be a part of your guys’ life.”

I’m so glad he was a part of it, too.

---

Look, I’ve battled depression, too. I know a lot of my friends have. But suicide isn’t the answer.

So if you’re depressed, just know that I’m here for you. Your friends are here for you. Your family is here for you.

You can also go here: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Or here: https://www.betterhelp.com/

If you aren’t depressed, then hug your loved ones a little closer today. Reach out to someone you haven’t talked to in a while. Look up from your phone and actually listen to the people you’re with. 

Life can change in an instant, so we should all strive to be a little more selfless and put others first - just like Jake would have.

My Career In One Photo

My career can be summed up in one photo. It's a photo from a recent event in Chicago during a short show I gave at the end of the evening. Take a look:

What makes this photo so special?

My goal with my entertainment has always been to make it about the audience. I love how everyone in this group is smiling and enjoying my entertainment - but most importantly I love how they aren't looking at me.

They're looking at something amazing that just happened off camera. It doesn't matter what it is, because you need to be there to understand.

Also - and I'm giving away a HUGE SECRET here - I'm looking down while everyone else is reacting. The truth is, I always have to look down or away or left or right when I show people something amazing. I just have to look somewhere else, because people need permission to freak out without being scrutinized. When I look away they react without fear of being judged by me. For a split second, their true self appears, reacts, then disappears again behind the facade of everyday life. But it won't show up unless I look away.

What you can understand from this photo is that I'm not a performer with a huge ego. It's not all about me and what I can do. It's about sharing an experience with a group of people they will never forget. I'm their tour guide on a personal journey. And the journey leads to something unforgettable.

That's why I do what I do. And that's why this photo sums up my life's work as an entertainer. 

Pretty cool, right?