Words

The words were there. Crisp and rhythmic, chosen carefully for this moment. I’d spent years crafting them, scribbling ideas on coffeeshop napkins and talking through my script in the shower. Hundreds of onstage attempts had forced a rewrite.

Move this word here and replace it with that word.

Words matter. Big words, small words. Pauses and breaths. The unplanned is planned, the accidents are purposeful. Every word matters. And those words take time.

It takes time to find the right words. You’ve said them before - maybe not in the right order - but they are part of your vernacular. The right words are standing by, ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice.

What seems simple to an outside observer is anything but. A simple joke or slogan takes work. Obvious ideas are hard to create.  As Martin Scorsese says, “There’s no such thing as simple. Simple is hard.”

Simple is hard. And hard things take time.

And this time, the words were there. They were echoing out of the speakers and the audience was listening. Laughter and applause were a byproduct of those properly configured words.

My words.

Except I wasn’t saying them this time. I was standing in the back, watching from afar. I was in the darkness and someone else was up there. Someone else was using my words.

Ideas are personal. It takes courage to work on an idea. The crippling self-doubt that comes with working on a creative project will break you. You’ll fear that nothing you have to say will ever live up to what other artists are doing. You’ll lose sleep and lose friends. You’ll think about giving up and forget why you started doing this in the first place.

Sometimes you’ll have to abandon everything else so you can find a couple more words to move you closer to your goal. But just give it time - the words will come. And then it’s up to you to put them in the right order.

When you finally find the words and get a chance to use them it’s cathartic. You know their intention. You know how long it took to get them to cooperate. The subtext will be understood by all - because those are your words.

When someone else uses your words it will not do them justice. Sure, they may succeed briefly. They may work for a short while. But chances are, your words will let them down in the end. The words don’t fit them like they fit you.

You’ll sit in the dark and for a brief second struggle to find the words to truly express how you feel. But don’t worry, the words will come. They always do.

All 454 of them.

Something

I made something today - a new piece for my show. I had a burst of inspiration and scrawled down the ideas in my notebook before I would forget them.

Then I brainstormed. I paced my office and stared out the windows. Coffee distracted me for a while then I came back full force with everything I needed. So I sat down to write.

I like to write on my MacBook. A clean canvas of white, with no other open tabs or background music. I need to see the words falling into place in front of my eyes so I can picture the end result. 

The end is the beginning. The final image the audience will see is the place I start from. I picture the finale, then take tiny creative steps backwards and finish at the start. That’s when I know I’ve reached the end. (Or is it the beginning?)

I pulled books off shelves, consulted my notebook, and started to picture the process. But I needed some stuff. I needed to see how it would look. A trip to the art store was in order.

In the city, a trip to the store is a minimum thirty minutes. I have to wait for the garage to pull down the car, hit every red light on the way over, sit in traffic, and find parking. It can be a real pain in the ass.

But I had to have the stuff. So I made the trip. Blasting Spotify in my earbuds and unaware of anyone else, I raced the aisles frantically searching for the perfect answer to my creative problem.

There it was. Sitting at the back of the shelf. The only one left in the store. The only one in Chicago? Maybe. It’s possible.

And it was all mine.

Home I went. Back through the traffic and red lights, the garage and the elevator. Back for another cup of coffee and an arts and crafts session.

Finally, I was finished. My idea was sitting in front of me, in tangible form. 

Hours of writing and reading and searching and thinking and creating had passed and I’d wasted twenty dollars on a piece of shit idea that I’ll never use.

It’s terrible.

But it was an idea. It was something. And you never know if it will be any good until you actually go out and try it. Otherwise it’s just a line in your notebook that you were too lazy to pursue.

Most of the time your ideas will be awful half-baked pipe dreams that aren’t worth doing. But when you hit on something great, you’ll know it and you won’t look back. Just keep creating, keep making stuff, keep pursuing your ideas. The more you create the more ideas you’ll have.

I can’t tell you how to create good stuff. But I can tell you what to create.

Something. 

Speaking The Language

I took two years of Spanish in high school. I got A’s in all four semesters but I didn’t really learn the language. I could answer questions on tests, count to diez, and remember simple phrases. But, try with all my might, I couldn’t truly express myself.

My childhood was full of music. We had instruments everywhere. A drum set, two clarinets, two saxophones, and two pianos. My brother and I played in the jazz ensemble and sang in choir. My sister was a remarkably talented pianist. (She played at the freakin’ White House in college!) I practiced and played but I just never got quite that good at any of my instruments.

I liked singing more. So I listened to Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. I danced to “West Side Story” and “Singin’ In The Rain” in my bedroom, pretending to be the leading man. In college I got my BFA in Musical Theater. Basically I had two degrees: one in Acting and one in Vocal Performance. 

I took Music Theory and Voice Lessons. I worked hard. But it never quite came together. I don’t think I ever fully grasped the technique that would take me to the next level. I never understood the language of vocal performance, thus I never could fully let go and truly express myself.

But I’ve noticed a change in my performances lately that wasn’t there before. I’m starting to get a hang of this mind reading thing.

Fluency feels good. Being a “master of your domain” gives you a confidence that is hard to describe.

Imagine being trapped in your childhood home. Except there’s no light. It’s completely dark and you can’t see a thing. Could you find the door and get out? Of course! Because you know your childhood home like the back of your hand. It’s embedded so deep in your memory that you don’t even have to think about it.

It’s just there.

That’s what it feels like to know your craft so well that you can fully speak the language. That’s what mastery feels like.

I’m not saying I’m an expert at what I do. There are books I will never read and techniques that I will never fully master. But being a performer is the skill in which I am most well-versed. I understand it like no other skill I’ve ever attempted.

I know what it feels like to control a roomful of strangers. I know when to raise or lower my voice for extra impact. I understand where to stand and can anticipate what unplanned event is about to take place.

It’s not psychic or intuition. It’s having such a strong grasp of what I do that I’m prepared for nearly every eventuality that will occur. And when something new happens that I didn’t see coming, I don’t panic. I know that I have the skills to handle it and get back on track.

It’s taken two decades, but I finally speak the language.

Advice

I once drove over five hours to watch a show because I had heard good things and wanted to introduce myself to the performer. We’re about the same age, have a similar approach to the mystery arts, and I wanted to connect on a professional level.

The show was mediocre at best. My wife - my ever patient, infinite amount of magic shows audience member of a wife - leaned over to me ten minutes in and mouthed the words “I’m bored.”

I was, too.

It just wasn’t a good show. It didn’t captivate me and I didn’t leave feeling differently about anything than when I walked in. In fact, until I started writing this post this week I hadn’t thought about that show since we attended.

But the show wasn’t the part that bothered me. It was the way the performer treated me afterwards. I viewed us as mutual performers - colleagues, if you will. I wasn’t putting either one of us on a pedestal. We both had our credits and respective projects. We were equals.

So I introduced myself and he said he knew me and had heard good things. All cordial, all good. And I said I would send him my number so we could connect and I would show him around Chicago the next time he passed through.

The day after, I shot off a thank you message for the show and my cell number so we could connect down the road. 

I never got a response back. I still haven’t.

That’s what really bugged me.

It seems these days that everyone has advice they want to offer. I have friends in their early twenties posting words of wisdom on Twitter, as if they already have it all figured out. Social media gives everyone a platform to be an expert.

As a performer I receive a ton of advice - good and bad - from other performers, teachers, parents, friends, and even audience members. I keep a folder on my hard drive of the quotes and ideas people have shared with me and all I’ve learned from the advice I’ve collected is that nobody has a fucking clue.

Everyone likes to pretend they have it all figured out. They post quotes and share deep thoughts like it’s an epiphany that will connect the dots for everyone else in the world. Those quotes may look really good on a greeting card but most of them are dead wrong. It’s just a way of looking busy, of posturing so you can seem important.

I try to take the opposite route. I rarely give advice. If people ask me about something I don’t know, then I tell them I don’t know. If people ask me about how to become a mind reader then I tell them the basics and that I’m still figuring it out myself. I tell them it takes time and it’s a lifelong pursuit. I don’t pretend to be a prodigy or a “self-proclaimed expert”.

So let’s break it down. Here’s some of the worst advice I’ve ever received:

• Do What You Love And You’ll Never Work A Day In Your Life - Not true. If you do what you love, you’ll end up working more than you ever thought possible. You’ll work 80 hours a week, weekends, and evenings. Not because you love it but because there’s no other option. And yes, it will be work. You’ll balance the books and design websites. You’ll send invoices and chase clients for money they owe you. And occasionally you’ll get to do the thing you’re passionate about. But don’t pretend you’ll never work a day in your life. That’s simply not true.

• Have A Backup Plan So You Have Something To Fall Back On - A lot of people told me a theater degree was a waste and I should double major in something. The suggestion was usually Business or Entrepreneurship. But I didn’t want to be a businessman. I wanted to be an artist. I realized that if I had a fall back plan then I would most likely fall back on it. So I didn’t give myself a safety net. I decided to set my sights on one thing and never wavered.

• You’re Only As Good As Your Last Show - Some performers I know like to say this phrase as a reminder that you need to give a good show each and every time. I don’t agree. I think you’re only as good as the sum total of all of your shows. There will be bad shows and good shows, but it’s the impact you leave over the breadth of a career that matters. You can’t give a bad show on Thursday and suddenly say that the standing ovation you got on Wednesday night is moot. One show can’t make or break a career.

Those are just a few pieces of advice I’ve heard over and over again. The best way to handle those moments was summed up perfectly by Robert Downey, Jr. when he said “Listen. Smile. Agree. And then do whatever the fuck you were going to do anyway.”

The best thing I’ve learned about advice is that you don’t need it. If you want something badly enough, you’ll figure it out. Yes, people will give you really useful tips on doing your taxes or buying the right car. But when they get into all that over-the-top “hustle-mentality”, “create-your-best-life”, “you-can-do-anything-you-want-if-you-set-your-mind-to-it” mumbo jumbo, they have no idea what they’re talking about.

Just do you. And know that they’re just as scared as you are.

Oh yeah, I guess there is one piece of advice I can give you.

Always return people’s messages. You never know when you’re going to need something from that person in return. And if you don’t, they just might write a blog about you someday.

Thanks, Obama

I watched President Obama’s farewell address in my hotel room in Illinois the other night. Like many, I have been a longtime Obama supporter and have followed his presidency closely over the past eight years. I can say unequivocally that he is one of the few living people I consider a hero.

Our current President is a beautiful example of what a leader should be and there is no doubt in my mind that he will be the greatest President of my lifetime.  As we say farewell to the Obamas and move into a new era of fear and uncertainty, we say goodbye to everything that the past eight years stood for.

Goodbye compassion and eloquence. Farewell dignity and humility. Love of family and country must take a backseat now to greed and narcissism - but only at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. It’s up to us to hold our heads high and not let go of the virtues that Obama clung to. It's up to us to carry his torch and move forward with purpose. We can't leave the responsibility of patriotism to anyone else any longer - it's up to us, and us alone.

“Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

— Barack Obama

That’s what I learned from Obama - one of many things we have to be thankful for. Just to name a few…
 
Thanks, Obama - for helping my wife and me afford health insurance as self-employed artists.

Thanks, Obama - for pushing for equality for all people. I’ll never forget when all people were given the freedom to marry the person they love. Days later, the Chicago Pride Parade was more joyous and hopeful than anything I’d ever been a part of.

Thanks, Obama - for caring about our planet and trying to fight climate change amidst a wave of people who are unwilling to accept scientific facts.

Thanks, Obama - for embracing change, progress, new technology, and innovation. Thanks for never being afraid of the future and always looking ahead with optimism and confidence.

Thanks, Obama - for your poise and grace. Thank you for being a kind, hard working family man that never wavered in his commitment to being a leader for all Americans. I’m sorry you were met with such hatred and resistance but thank you for standing tall in the face of unbelievable cruelty. 

Thank you, Mr. President, for your compassionate and dignified leadership over the past eight years. I have a feeling we won’t be fully aware of your incredible impact for generations to come.

Consistency

One of the best decisions I made last year was to only work during business hours. Up until 2016 I was making business decisions 24/7. I took pride in keeping my inbox empty and responding to all inquiries in a prompt and professional manner.

But not any more.

You see, I never got into performing to be a businessman. I just wanted to be onstage. But as more time passed, I became a workaholic. I would work 18 hour days every day of the week. My hours were filled with mundane tasks that kept me busy. And “busy” is a clever buzzword that people like to use to pretend they’re successful.

The truth is, you’re never going to accomplish everything you need to in one day. Yes, there will be days that are wildly more successful than other days but not every day will be that way. There’s no sense in treating every moment like it needs to be incredibly productive.

Opening up my evening and weekend hours left time for other pursuits. I started writing and reading more. Sometimes those projects were work-related (I spend a lot of time writing new show ideas, for instance) but most of the time they were just for fun. By the end of the year I had not only booked more shows than any previous year but I had also written a new show, a dozen or so essays I’m proud of, started to write my first book, and read some classic literature.

In the early years of being self-employed I almost never had time for creative pursuits. When you have a career in the arts it’s easy to lose sight of why you got into it in the first place. You get so wrapped up in learning new business skills that you forget to work on your real passions, too.

Lately, my focus has been to do one small thing daily. I try to do something business-related and something creative. Finishing a single task is a big deal. It usually leads to several other tasks, too. But staying small and staying focused keeps me sane and happy.

There’s a difference between overworking yourself and being consistent. It’s like training for a marathon - you have to work at it in small steps, every single day for months. Usually it feels like you aren’t getting anywhere but then, out of nowhere, you have a huge breakthrough.

When months of small progress have passed I’m always amazed to look back and see the results. Consistency always pays off but you have to be patient - you have to push through and not give up when things get challenging.

For the second year in a row, I just uploaded my 2016 Second Every Day Year In Review video. For the past year I’ve been filming a second of video each and every day. Then, I compile them all into a video, add the dates, and set it to music. The result is always astonishing.

I look back at each second and I can tell you everything I did on any particular day. I have clips with my favorite people, places I’ve been, and special memories of cats, coffee, food, hugs, sunrises, sunsets, and more.

The video is a testament to being consistent. It’s a true encapsulation of life as a whole. Some days were boring, some days were failures. Other days were full of big shows and big achievements. But no matter what, I still shot a brief video clip on a daily basis.

Together the trivial and boring, combined with the successful and silly make up my life. A life of consistent, incremental progress in a forward direction.

Year In Review

2016 was my busiest year yet!

The year started with shows in Rhode Island, Florida, NYC, Iowa, Houston, Boston, Lubbock, South Dakota, Kansas, and Illinois. After that, I took my lovely wife to my show at the National Museum of Wildlife Art. Our road trip led us through Utah, Idaho, and into Wyoming where Stephie fell in love with everything about Jackson Hole.

Up early to take photos of the sun rising over the Grand Tetons.

Shows kept me busy. I performed in an airplane hanger, on the rooftops of New York City, a barn full of neon signs, giant conference rooms, small meeting rooms, casinos, large theaters, small stages, and more. Plus, I headlined at The Chicago Magic Lounge once a month. It's been great to be a small part of such a cool project and to help magic flourish in Chicago once again.

In May, Stephie graduated from Columbia College in Chicago with her Masters of Arts Management. (She had a full-ride scholarship and graduated with top marks!) She came with me to a gig in Vegas a few days later to celebrate. The gig went so well that the client got me drunk in the bar at The Cosmopolitan. I came back to our room upstairs and woke Stephanie up. You'll have to ask her for the rest of the story...

Stephie said, "I got to be on that stage before you!" BURN.

Then, I spent a couple days in Los Angeles with my best friend Frank Fogg. We went to the beach, spent a night at the Magic Castle, and saw Derek Delgaudio's fantastic one-man show "In & Of Itself." It was a great trip.

If you've enjoyed any part of my show then Frank probably had a part in it. He's easily the most creative magician I know.

After a gig in NYC I slept two hours then woke up to get to the airport. An hour later my Uber dropped me off at LaGuardia. I was tired but I was on time with my bags in tow. Everything was perfect - except my flight was out of Newark. I always fly in and out of LaGuardia but had booked this last-minute trip into LGA and out of EWR. Oops! One hour and $100 later I walked through security and straight onto my flight in Jersey. You learn not to panic on the road. It may be terrible in the moment but nothing's ever as bad as it seems.

Laugh it off, learn from it, and move on.

In July, Stephie and I took a week off for a trip to London. We were there right after Brexit, which was quite interesting to say the least. We did the usual touristy things - museums, Big Ben, the London Eye, the Tower of London, Sherlock Holmes Museum, and more - then went on to Blackpool to see the last night of Derren Brown's "Miracle" tour.

The show was fantastic. Derren is the reason I got into mentalism so I was thrilled to finally be able to see him live. Stephie patiently waited with me at the stage door following the show and after an hour, Derren emerged to say hi to the ten of us who were still waiting. It was a perfect night!

With Derren Brown after his show "Miracle" in Blackpool.

By the end of the summer, I had made a few new friends in the theatre community and lost another friend to suicide. I logged a couple hundred miles training for a marathon, then injured my feet and lost all of my progress. In the midst of it all, I wrote a new show and performed it three times at the Chicago Fringe Festival.

In the fall I performed in Utah, Nevada, Napa Valley, Seattle, Ontario, Buffalo, Albany, Houston, South Carolina, Cleveland, and of course Chicago. We went back to Rhode Island for a show in Watch Hill. It was just down the street from Taylor Swift's house! We saw the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Pier 39, the Space Needle, the Grand Tetons, the St. Louis Arch, Niagara Falls, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and Zion National Park.

It's way better from the Canadian side.

At the start of October I turned 30. THIRTY! My only request this year was to be able to perform on my birthday. I remember mentioning that I could "think of no better place to spend my birthday than onstage" and having a fellow performer say "I can think of a dozen better places."

Well, I disagree. So I spent my birthday blowing minds onstage at the Chicago Magic Lounge.

Best gift ever.

At the start of November I watched the Cubs win the World Series alone in my hotel room after a gig in Las Vegas. After the election I produced the "Be Happy Variety Show" to raise money for the ACLU. We raised over $1500. I also joined with my friends Nick and Sin and started performing at their monthly private event in downtown Chicago known as The Magic Penthouse.

Taking a final bow at the "Be Happy" variety show.

In December I had an extremely busy schedule of holiday shows and private appearances. My final flight out of Chicago was cancelled due to snow, so Stephie and I loaded the car and drove 6 hours over to Cleveland to make it happen. I never miss a show.

After losing my friend Jacob I started writing more. I needed an outlet to express the thoughts I was feeling. I've stuck with it and now I publish my thoughts here on my website every Thursday. I call it: Thursday Thoughts. Original, I know.

It took going halfway around the world to see Derren Brown's show for me to have an artistic breakthrough and ascend to the next plateau of my art. I've taken my work in a completely new direction and am truly excited for the months ahead. I already have bookings in three countries next year, so it's shaping up to be pretty incredible. (Stephie's looking forward to going to Cancun in March. For some reason I can't convince her to come to Omaha in January, though.)

2016 was hard. There was loss and pain. The election sucked, great icons passed away, and I spent much of the summer in physical therapy. But I spent the year looking ahead. I went to as many shows as I could and the best ones I've mentioned here. I studied Stoicism and became obsessed with figuring out how to be truly happy. I read and watched and studied and practiced and dreamt about everything that's important to me. It was time well spent.

Blowing minds at The Magic Penthouse.

I don't know what 2017 has in store but here's what I plan to do:

1. Travel even more. (Hopefully Stephie can come, too.)

2. Write every day. (Currently I write 1,000 words a day. I'm going to stick with it.)

3. My name was just drawn for the 2017 Chicago Marathon. Let the training commence!

4. Get off the Internet. Read more, create more, make more eye contact, take more pictures.

5. Make more videos.

One last thing.

I love telling stories through video. For three years now, I've been recording every moment of every day. A few months ago my Canon S120 stopped working. That's the second S120 I've busted. When you use it as much as I do it wears out pretty quickly.

For Christmas I asked for some gift cards to put towards replacing my camera. Thanks to some generous family members and some extra savings I just ordered a new camera. I've been filming everything I did in 2016 - good or bad - but for the past few months I've had to use my iPhone and GoPros to capture those moments. It's just not the same so I can hardly wait for my new camera to arrive!

For now, in the spirit of making more vidoes, may I present to you my newest project: My 2016 Year In Review Video. If you're looking for me in 2017 I'll probably be onstage somewhere in North America. Maybe you'll be in the audience.

See you next year.

Happy Holidays

In a small apartment in Chicago, two best friends are huddled over their keyboards. The soft glow of the screen casts a shadow as their fingers type away in rhythmic patterns. Words flow, forming into ideas, and the ideas lead to the end of a path where dreams come true.

Down the street an old Asian lady quietly tends to her dry cleaning business while the sound of Christmas carolers echoes out of the church across the intersection.

A block away, a sex shop prominently displays this year’s line of electronics in their window, proudly flying a rainbow flag above the streets of Boystown. 

A pack of Cubs fans hoop and holler as they wait on the 152 bus. It’s been weeks since the playoffs but you can still feel the excitement. When you wait a hundred years to win the world series, every day feels like Christmas.

Christians, Muslims, and Jews wait in line to buy coffee as a gentle snow begins to fall outside. People are nicer somehow, holding the door for each other and giving a friendly hello as they pass on the sidewalk.

The holidays are here.

Ever since last month’s election, people have been telling me I live in a bubble. They say the “liberal elites” are out-of-touch with real people and have no idea about life in small town, rural America.

The truth is, I grew up in small town America. I was raised in the middle-of-nowhere Kansas in a four-stoplight-one-high-school-eighty-person-graduating-class-mostly-white county seat.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted more. I wanted to be where the action was, surrounded by people and excitement. I was a big city kid trapped in my small rural hometown.

I didn’t turn my back on my upbringing - I learned from it.

A small town often feels like Christmas in the big city. People are always friendly. You see someone you know everywhere you go and everyone always has time to talk. 

You leave your windows down and keep your front doors unlocked. You don’t have to chain your bicycle and it takes weeks to go through a tank of gas.

Small town life is full of perks.

But living in a small town has its downside, too. The community often attracts similar people - ethnically, politically, religiously, and so on. Only surrounding yourself with like-minded people sounds a lot like a bubble to me.

That’s why I dreamt of leaving. I wanted to know what else existed outside my two mile square hometown.

I’ll never forget my first day of college at USC in Los Angeles. I went from having five thousand people in my hometown to having five thousand people on my side of campus. Everywhere I went I was met with an idea that opposed the first eighteen years of my childhood. Some were good and some were bad, but they taught me to understand why I felt the way I did. 

If I could defend my point-of-view, then I stood my ground and clung to that idea. If someone challenged me and I didn’t have a decent response then I realized I had to change my way of thinking.

Surrounding yourself with different people makes you realize you don’t have all the answers and the ones you do have probably aren’t the best.

I moved to Chicago to be around forward-thinking people from all walks of life. I share train cars with all sorts of people - black, white, gay, straight, old, and young.

We rarely make eye contact and bike thieves are rampant. Most people just put their heads down and get where they’re trying to go. And we always lock our doors. (That’s the simple reality of living somewhere with more people: there are plenty of good people doing good things, but there are also plenty of bad people doing bad things.) If I do live in a bubble, at least it covers all of life’s experiences and not just the good ones.

That’s what most of the year is like in Chicago. You keep your head down and try to avoid people so you can get to work. You have to filter out the distractions from the main attractions, just so you can get through the day.

Except for December.

Something magical happens right after Thanksgiving. I get to walk through my neighborhood and smile at people as they walk by. We all take an extra second to make sure everyone is in high spirits.

I’ve always loved Christmas. The food, the weather, the music, the memories. Everything about it.

But this year, more than ever, I’m so thankful to live in a city where I can share the season with all kinds of people. I’m glad we can all come together to be merry and wish each other well.

I keep mentioning Christmas because that’s how I was raised, but the “liberal elite” in me knows I should be saying “Happy Holidays”.

At a gig several years ago I made the rookie mistake of wishing children “Merry Christmas” as they gave me high-fives after my show. A small girl looked up at me and said “We don’t celebrate Christmas. We’re Jewish.”

I had no idea. I was new to the big city. I’d never met someone who didn’t celebrate Christmas before.

But now I know.  

No matter what you believe or where you’re from, Happy Holidays from this optimistic, overly enthusiastic husband, friend, student, writer, mind reader, artist, and atheist.

In this bubble, all are welcome.

Fun

Being onstage is my favorite thing to do for fun.

Mind reading shows are inherently interactive. The show is not about me, it's about you - the audience. Without you there are no minds to read, no thoughts to gather, no laughter, no applause.

My show is improvisational by design. The script has peaks and valleys that lead to an inexplicable dénouement.

The peaks are set-in-stone. Exposition and dialogue, crafted to move the narrative forward. The words must be clear and concise, engaging and interesting. And, in the process, a character must emerge. A fully-formed, three dimensional, onstage persona. Self-deprecating but smart, funny without trying too hard. In control, but not intimidating. Easier said than done.

Then we reach the mountaintop. The next peak is visible, mere minutes of dialogue away, but I have to cross the valley of improvisation to get there. 

Going downhill isn't bad in this scenario. Going downhill means building momentum. Every word and action that brought us here has led us to this place. And that's when it gets fun.

I don't know what I'll say in this moment. It's based on audience responses. The thoughts and ideas brought onstage each night are different, with each leading to a new path through my "Choose-Your-Own-Mind-Reading-Adventure" show.

Sometimes, when I'm rehearsing, I think of the valleys and they scare me. There's a big, intimidating gap in the script that never gets filled in until that exact moment onstage.

Will I remember their name? Will they be helpful? Will I respond with something clever? Or will I fall flat on my face and stumble over my words? Will I completely blank and fail to come up with a witty ad-lib?

I watch other performers improvising onstage and think to myself "Wow, they're good. That was such a fast response. I'm no where near that quick."

Then the show comes and something happens. I'm in the moment, listening and responding in real-time, but it feels like I'm on auto-pilot. It's as if all of my years of theatre and improv training take over for a few seconds, saying "Don't worry. We've got this!"

The words are there. The jokes are crafted in the moment, like last week: 

"Name a city in the world that you've been to before and would like to return to again."

"Tampa."

"Who would want to go back to Tampa?"

Or the night before, when a middle-aged woman kept voicing her thoughts (unprompted) from the front row:

"You don't have to say every single thing that comes to mind! You're like a typical boomer on Facebook, oversharing and unaware. Am I right, Millenials?!"

Those may not read as good as they sounded but believe me, after winning an audience over for the first 20 minutes of my show - those ad-libbed responses brought the house down.

The goal is to encourage this interaction, not squash it. There's no fourth wall. The audience is the cast, the thoughts are my props, and your mind is my stage. It's not a one-man show. We're all in this together.

When volunteers come onstage I have a series of three questions I ask to get to know them a little better.

• Where are you from?

• What do you do for a living?

• What's your favorite thing to do for fun?

Knowing where someone is from is very telling and a career choice is certain to reveal something about a person that wasn't obvious before, but my favorite question is the final one: What's your favorite thing to do for fun?

95% of my volunteers don't have an answer for that question. They hesitate, unsure of how to respond, then awkwardly say the first thing they think of. Typically, it's answers like "Drink", "Go out with friends", "Party", and so on.

If my participants had a script, this moment would be their "valley of improvisation". This is the one question that gives them the biggest chance to express themself, to open up and say something personal. Yet, so few ever know how to respond.

It's as if the things that define us today are no longer our passions. The things that should take priority - our interests, frivolous pursuits, and more - have taken the backseat to the things that society deems more important. We have become defined by where we're from and what we do, not where we're headed and what we want to be doing.

However, every once in a while I do get an interesting answer onstage.

"Rock climbing."

"Skydiving."

"Sewing."

This is the 5% of the audience that interests me the most. These people have a clear idea of what defines them and how they choose to spend their time. They aren't boxed in by anyone else's presuppositions about modern-day life. They are fully themselves and not ashamed to admit it in front of a roomful of strangers. These are my people.

I was watching a documentary recently called "Particle Fever". It's about a group of scientists working on the Hadron Collider and studying the Higgs boson particle. (It's a fascinating documentary if you're into that sort of thing.) The closing line stuck with me:

“Why do humans do science? Why do they do art? The things that are least important for our survival are the very things that make us human.”

— Particle Fever

It's not where you're from and it's not what you do for a living that defines you. It's not what people tell you to say and how you say it. Staying on script can be awfully boring. The fun begins when you set off on your own, into uncharted territory. The fun starts when you give yourself permission to do what you've always wanted. The fun starts when you want it to.

So...what's your favorite thing to do for fun?