Whatever It Takes

This time of year is always my busy season. Corporations hold their holiday events in November and December, so after Thanksgiving I pack my bags and hit the road for a dozen shows around the US before Christmas arrives.

Thanks to the snow and cold, flying and driving around the country this month is always an adventure. And this past weekend was no different.

Last Saturday was what has become over the past five years a typical December travel day. I was traveling from Colorado to Ohio for my show that night, so my plan was as follows:

• 90 minute drive to Denver
• Flight from Denver to Chicago
• Flight from Chicago to Columbus
• 35 minute drive to my event

To the uninitiated that looks like a brutal day but all of my friends are “road warriors”. THIS IS WHAT WE DO.

I had to hit the road at 2:30 am, since I had a 6:00 am flight out of Denver. Hell is having to wait in an airport security line before the sun comes up.

Everything was going smoothly until my flight out of Chicago was cancelled minutes before we were supposed to board. Suddenly, all flights to Ohio and neighboring locations were cancelled, too.

I called my client and told her the news, assuring her I would do everything I could to make the show. But I wasn’t sure I’d actually make it.

In 10+ years of professional performances I have never cancelled a show. NEVER. I’ve gone out of my way to make shows happen, including last-minute flights, all nighters, and absurd travel plans.

One time there was a fire at Chicago’s airports and cancellations were announced the night before. Without a second thought I loaded up the car and drove 17 hours overnight to the East Coast to make my show.

I haven’t had to cancel a show yet, so I really didn’t want to break that streak last weekend.

Luckily, after several hours, I was the last person called for a standby flight. I landed in Columbus with a little over an hour to go until showtime.

The only problem? My bags were on a later flight.

That’s right. My microphone, props, toiletries, shoes, and more stayed in Chicago while I went ahead. I did the math and realized that if everything was on schedule then my bags would arrive 45 minutes before showtime and I might be able to pull it off.

I raced to my hotel and got ready, hoping I wouldn’t have to wear these shoes to my gig:

Then, I raced back to the airport and realized I was going to pull this off:

Bags in hand, I drove to the venue, set up, and took the stage on time. My client was the only person at the gig who knew what a crazy day I’d had. To everyone else, nothing was out of the ordinary. They simply got to enjoy a show and be amazed.

When I tell people about life on the road - especially days like last Saturday -  they always look mortified. They say “Wow, that sounds horrible!” or “I could never do that!” However, I don’t feel that way at all.

Some people say that if you do what you love you’ll never work a day in your life. But that’s not true. You’ll actually end up working harder - but when you have a dream that keeps you up at night you’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.

Repetition

I had a music teacher growing up that used to say “Repetition is the key to success.”

He’d wait five seconds then say, “Repetition is the key to success” and keep repeating it until we caught on.

I love jokes like that, where you have to pay attention to the clever (albeit silly) word play to understand. As a result, I’ve never forgotten it.

I’m not sure that it’s the only “key to success” but I think repetition is an important component. I think he was mostly trying to remind us to practice our instruments when we weren’t in class but I still never did. That explains why I’m reading minds for a living now and not playing tenor sax...

When you perform for a living it can start to feel a little pointless. The days start to blur together because of the repetitive nature of life on the road. Usually it goes something like this:

Wake up early (I have alarms for 3:30 am and 3:45 am that I use every week) to head to the airport. I take the same bags, packed the same way, through security on my way to the first flight out. Then comes sleep, baggage claim, rental car, coffee, hotel, venue, set up, soundcheck, show. Then I re-pack everything in the same way and head back to my room for a few hours of sleep before I get up the next morning to do it all over again.

I will follow those steps today and tomorrow and the next day indefinitely for as long as I continue the current trajectory of my career. I keep setting my alarm and boarding the planes. I keep testing my microphone and saying the same words onstage every night. I keep hoping that putting in 10,000 hours will lead to mastery and mastery will lead to nothing but beautiful, theatrically resonant performances.

Over time you start to enjoy the repetition. An early flight means fewer delays and more time once you arrive. A good sound check puts my mind at ease and usually means I’ll have a good show. And packing my stuff the same way each time means I never leave anything behind.

Repetition provides the framework to the rest of the day so I can be in the moment onstage. Since everything else is the same during the day, I can set my mind to autopilot. I’ve been through airport security so many times now, that I could probably do it completely blindfolded. (Maybe I will for a future show…)

Once I take the stage, I’m in search of new discoveries in hopes of truly connecting with tonight’s group. Maybe something exciting will happen. Maybe I’ll have a creative breakthrough or reach a new level of proficiency. Maybe tonight will be my best show ever. Maybe I’ll be even better tomorrow.

That’s why I keep doing the same thing day after day, show after show. Rise early, read minds, rinse, repeat. Repetition is (one of) the keys to success.

There’s that old adage that says “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" is the definition of insanity...but I prefer to call it a “career in the arts”.

Failure

My first big performance was a huge disappointment.

I was in first grade when I found out they were holding auditions for the school talent show. They shouldn’t have made the announcement in the morning because I couldn’t focus for the rest of the day. All I could think about was getting to do magic in front of the whole school.

I remember bursting through my front door and calling to my dad, “I’m going to try out for the talent show! Will you help me practice?”

He helped me read the rules for the audition, then we pulled some tricks from my shelf of magic props and headed downstairs. He plopped down on the couch and patiently watched me as I stumbled through my makeshift performance.

I had asked my friend Tim to perform with me. He was the only other person I knew who liked magic as much as I did. So we worked on our tricks nonstop, hoping we would get a spot in the talent show.

A week later, I packed my props into my backpack and left for school. The big day had arrived. I was more nervous than I’d ever been before.

All of the hopeful performers were ushered into the gymnasium. We sat in clusters around the room as each of our names were called. People sang and danced and hula-hooped and did skits. I heard the other students playing outside and wondered what my friends were doing. For a split second I zoned out - and then:

“Up next are Mark and Tim, the magicians!”

I heard my name and suddenly I couldn’t stop shaking. Luckily, I had my friend Tim to back me up. We walked to the front and began our performance.

Our showstopper was a numbers trick. I wish I could remember the exact trick but I’ve mostly forgotten. All I know is that when I went to reveal our prediction, my principal just looked up at us with complete disappointment.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my number.”

We were crushed.

Something had gone wrong with the trick. I had failed in front a hundred other students and embarassed myself. When they called the final acts, our names weren’t on the list.

When I got home, I shoved my props on the shelf and swore I hated magic. I told my dad I didn’t want to do any tricks ever again. When I calmed down and wiped the tears away, I went outside and shot some hoops to calm down.

Then I heard a voice. It was my dad saying I had a phone call.

I walked inside, said hello, and was surprised to hear my principal’s voice on the other end.

“Mark, I have an apology to make. I messed up your trick. When I got home from school I tried it again and realized I made a mistake. You were right and I don’t know how you did it!”

I didn’t know what to say.

“We want you and Tim to be in the talent show. Can you guys do that?”

Of course I said yes, then hung up. I’m sure I screamed at the top of my lungs or something of the sort. All of our practice had paid off.

Not only did we get to be part of the talent show, but we actually ended up getting to be a featured act at the entrance of the school. As everyone entered for the show Tim and I were there in the lobby doing tricks for anyone who would watch. It was easily the greatest night of the first six years of my life.

If it wasn’t for my dad’s encouragement or my principal’s phone call, I might not be writing this essay. You might not be reading this post. And I might not be a professional mind reader.

Some of life’s lessons are intuitive, some are learned, and some are just downright lucky. I’m not sure where this one falls, but what I do know is that it’s impossible to fail if you never quit.

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.

Courtesy

I love theatre.

I love the moment when the curtain goes up and a hush goes over the room. I love being transported to another place, escaping my fears and anxieties for a few hours. I love sharing a moment of catharsis with several hundred strangers whom I may never share a moment with ever again.

I love the work that goes into a show - the lighting and scenery and sound and choreography. I love the marquee and the proscenium and the playbill. I love my ticket stubs, all neatly filed away in a box of keepsakes.

I absolutely love theatre.

To me, the theatre is a sacred place. The world sucks a lot of the time but theatre can help us forget about that, if only for a moment. A beautiful performance can transcend barriers and cultural divides. Theatre brings us all together.

I dress up when I go to the theatre. Usually a suit and tie. I block out the night of the show on my calendar and count down the days to the big event. 

I make it my mission to see as much live theatre as possible. I drive to neighboring cities or extend my trips when possible to catch a performance. I even flew to Europe once just to see a show. I don’t want to grow old regretting that I never saw such-and-such actor or singer or comedian or show in person. So I keep buying tickets and I keep going because the theatre is a big freaking deal.

Or at least that’s how it used to be. But lately, I’ve noticed a different trend.

I saw Hamilton last week. Yes, THAT Hamilton. And yes, it was as magical and extraordinary and moving and enchanting as everyone says. It was INCREDIBLE.

I paid $500 a ticket to attend, too. I put a bunch of money aside just for those tickets and turned down work just so I could stay in Chicago to see it. I waited two freaking years to see that show and I freaking LOVED it.

But, there was a young lady next to me who kept looking at her phone and smartwatch during the show. Every few minutes she’d sneak a glance at her phone and I’d notice the glow out of the corner of my eye. It’s really hard to get transported back to 1776 when someone next to you is deciding between emojis.

Why would you pay over $500 for a ticket, only to spend half of the time on your phone?

Are the actors not trying hard enough for you? Is the award-winning score not good enough for you? Are the rave reviews and Tony Awards not enough? Were you not moved by the relevancy of the subject matter and how it connects to our current political climate? Were you not entranced by the use of modern sounds to tell the story of the American Revolution?

What will it take to get you to put your phone down for a couple hours? What will it take for you to be here - in this moment - living for the now?

Nearly every time I see a show someone in the audience ends up being disrespectful. I’m tired of late arrivals and loud talking and people on their phones and people dressing down. I’m tired of other people ruining my experience at the theatre. If nothing else, shut up and let everyone else have a good time.

Look, I’m as connected as they come. In my office I have an iPod, iPhone, iPad, MacBook, and iMac all next to my windows. I spend all day working online so I can spend my evenings doing something I love.

And what I love most is to be in the theatre, either onstage or off. So when I’m there I turn off my smartwatch and silence my phone because I’m there to get lost for a while. I’m there to be part of a one-of-a-kind experience that will never happen the same way again.

I love everything about the theatre. Please don’t ruin that for me.

Numb

It’s easy to think that what you do doesn’t matter…especially when you get paid to tell jokes and read minds onstage. It’s tempting to trivialize it, especially when other people are doing such important work around the world.

But I think that what I do does matter…especially now. I’d argue it may matter more now than ever before. I’ve seen a shift in my audiences lately and it all started last November.

A year ago I muted the TV and stared out my apartment window in total silence. If you’ve followed me for any amount of time it should be obvious that I’m a progressive liberal atheist artist and I didn’t handle the results of the 2016 election well. 

For the past 365 days I’ve woken up fearful of what I’d find on the news or read on twitter. Most days, the alerts are too many and the negative actions of this administration are too much to handle. I’ve done my best to stay informed and take action but after a while I started to grow numb to what’s happening in the world.

When terrible things happen but you can’t do anything about them, it makes you feel helpless. It seems pointless to sign petitions or protest or raise awareness when it feels as if nothing ever changes.

After the most recent mass shooting (in Texas at the time of this post) I found myself silencing my phone and ignoring updates. I couldn’t bring myself to read about it for fear of feeling the crushing weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders. When things get really bad you have to step away for a while. We aren’t programmed to handle this much sorrow.

That’s why my shows are more relevant than they’ve ever been. People need a respite from the tweets. They need relief from everyday life. It may sound cliché, but I have a chance to give people that escape. I have a chance to let them step away for a second, then get back to the real world. And giving other people an escape is my way of escaping, too.

A woman approached me after a recent show to let me know that her son had died a year ago and she was looking for a way to get out of the house around the anniversary to forget about things. Somehow she ended up at my show.

She told me she hadn’t laughed that hard in a really long time and thanked me for a fun show. Then she turned and walked away before I could say anything else.

I was flabbergasted.

It’s easy to forget that what you do matters. But it does. And we should all remember that when things are too hard to bear. 

Things may seem bad at the moment but that doesn’t mean they won’t get better. They already are and it’s up to us to keep the momentum going. There’s so much you can do and it all matters, no matter how small it may seem.

Stay informed. Stay involved. Donate. Volunteer. Run for office. VOTE.

And find an escape when you need one, whatever that means for you.

Just whatever you do, don’t let yourself grow numb.

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.

Stand Your Ground

I used to think I needed to do more. 

Offer more, provide more, be more, do more. I assumed having a career as a performer meant I would need to be a jack-of-all-trades. To be a full-time entertainer I would provide entertainment for children’s parties, corporate events, and everything in between.

And that’s what I did. For years.

I’d go from doing a suit and tie corporate event one day to doing a show about books at a public library the next. Once I even dressed as a magical Peter Pan for a birthday party just so I could pay my rent that month. (You can hear me tell the full story on this episode of the WBEZ “It’s All True” podcast.)

The general advice I received was that you needed to be willing “to do it all” if you wanted to do this at all. So that’s what I believed.

Need a birthday party magician? Check.

Balloon animals? I’ll watch a few tutorials and make it happen.

A show themed around educational initiatives? You got it.

And on and on and on.

Being a full-time performer has always been my dream. It’s the first thing I think about every morning and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep each night. It’s been that way since I learned my first trick when I was 3 years old.

I’m not exaggerating.

So if you told me I needed to sacrifice my social life to do this or that I could only do shows if I lived with 17 roommates in a one bedroom, then I’d stop hanging out with friends and sign the lease. And thinking that doing “whatever it takes” was the best way to do this meant that I really did whatever it took. I bent over backwards for clients for years. It sucked big time but it taught me everything.

I learned how to talk about myself. I’ve spent countless hours per day for twenty plus years telling people from all places what I do and why it matters. I know how to speak the language.

I learned how to get along with all people. From coast to coast, no matter the event, I had to get along with everyone I worked for.

I learned how to perform anywhere and everywhere.  I’ve done bar mitzvahs and summer camps, rooftop shows and back porches. I’ve had some real doozies.

I learned all of that and more, mainly because of one reason. When a client asked “Can you do XXX?” I always replied with my go-to magic word: “YES”. Then I hung up the phone and figured out how to make it happen.

But several years ago I learned that I don’t have to do that any more. I don’t have to be everything for all the people all of the time. I don’t have to do more than what I do.

The truth is, you don’t have to do it all. You don’t have to be more or do more or give more. Just do one thing and do it well. Less is really more.

Even so, I still get strange requests.

People want a certain costume or a custom idea or a different concept. They want to contort and twist and alter what I do. They want to haggle and negotiate and see if I’ll do things that don’t align with my vision.

And when I realize that the event in question isn’t a good fit I start to get nostalgic. I think back to being Peter Pan or getting locked in a room full of screaming children. I think about the bad gigs and the good. I think about how many skills I’ve had to learn to get here and how many sacrifices I made to say I was a full-time entertainer.

Then I smile and politely say my new magic word. 

“NO.”

When you stand your ground people sense that you know who you are. They can tell you’ve paid your dues and know where you’re going. They appreciate your candor.

And quite often, they end up doing it your way. You just had to convince them that was what they wanted all along.

There are many paths to take to get where you want to be. But if you’re trying to be too much for too many people, then you’ll lose sight of your final destination.

You have to learn to limit yourself and say no and be willing to walk away. 

You have to learn to stand your ground.