Out Of My Mind

I’m excited to finally announce my 2018 summer tour dates!

This summer I’m taking my show to Ontario, San Diego, Kansas City, Alberta, and New York City for the “Out Of My Mind” tour.

I’ll be performing shows at the following festivals:
• London Fringe
• San Diego International Fringe Festival
• Kansas City Fringe
• Edmonton Fringe Festival
• United Solo

You can buy tickets to my shows at each of the above links. For the specific dates and times at each festival, check out the tour page!

Clearly, this summer is shaping up to be busier than ever. One of the best parts about doing fringe festivals is taking risks and pushing yourself to improve your work. So over the past four months I wrote a new show and set some new goals for myself. And now, it’s time to set the plan into action and hit the road.

Don’t worry, though! I’ll still be making trips back to Chicago for MIND READER every Wednesday at 8pm at The Greenhouse Theater Center in Lincoln Park. (Shameless, I know.)

But if you aren’t in Chicago I’d love to see you on tour! To stay up to date on my travels follow me on Instagram or subscribe on YouTube for a behind-the-scenes look at where I’m performing and the process of taking a new show from the page to the stage.

The new show is all about positivity, connections, and hope. I can't wait to get it out of my mind and into yours.

That’s it for this week’s Thursday Thoughts. See you on tour!

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.

Setbacks

I was out for a run last week, counting my steps like always.

One. Two. Three. Four.

It was cold, about to rain, but nice enough to get in a few miles.

Get to that tree. No the next. Catch that guy. You’ve got this.

I rounded the curve next to the golf course in Lincoln Park, just hitting my stride, when I came down on the side of my foot and sharply rolled my ankle.

I winced in pain and collapsed on the side of the path. I’ve rolled my ankle before but this was worse. The run was over and I hobbled a mile back home, my foot throbbing with every step.

Another setback.

See, the past couple of years have been all about getting back on my feet. Custom orthotics, physical therapy, special shoes, and so on.

I’ve been a runner most of my life but a few injuries here and there have left me discouraged and stagnant.

This year was supposed to be different.

But then I rolled my ankle and over the weekend I’d wondered if I might have ruined my chances at getting back to marathon pace this year.

Another freakin’ setback.

I’ve had a lot of setbacks over the course of my career. Both big and little things that made me put stuff on hold or go a different direction.

I’ve had so many setbacks.

I moved to Los Angeles after I graduated and slept on couches for a while. I only had $500 to my name and worked tirelessly to find gigs and get my name out there. I’d take the bus two hours to a show then back again several days a week, just to afford my tiny room and a few groceries to get by. After a year, I had made progress with gigs and gotten better - but I was still broke.

Our first year living in Chicago was miserable. My wife and I spent all of our savings just to afford our first apartment. We maxed out a credit card just so I could travel to gigs. I even got in a car wreck and totaled our car. It was rough.

I self-represented myself for a few years, convinced I would meet an agent who would want to work with me. And I did! An agency offered me a spot and promised me big things. Two years later, I had no gigs to show for it and the agency went bankrupt. I was back where I started.

I’ve had so many attempts at weekly shows in Chicago. (Including my current show MIND READER running right now in Lincoln Park.) This will be my seventh year doing a long-running show in the city. I’ve had venues close in the middle of a run, producers not hold up their end of the bargain, and shows have to close due to unforeseen circumstances. It often felt like the shows would come to a screeching halt, without any warning.

So many setbacks.

But you know what’s great?

Looking back I don’t view any of those moments as “setbacks” because every one of them ended up leading to something better.

Failing in L.A. didn’t mean giving up. It gave me the focus I needed to know how I could make this a success. I realized I didn’t want to sleep on couches forever but that I had what it takes to get gigs and be successful. I just knew it would take time. So I took a step back to reassess, get better, and make a plan.

The first year in Chicago might have been a disaster but it led to a year-long job doing my show at Disney World. When I totaled the car, we made a stupid decision to put the insurance money towards a new camera. My wife taught herself to take photos so we could promote the show. It worked. And now she’s opening her own photography studio in Chicago.

Having a failed experience with an agent made me realize to never rely on someone else. I had a fantasy in my mind that an agent meant I had “made it” and would suddenly be successful. But that’s simply not true. If anything, getting an agent just means you have to work even harder, only on different things. I found out that no one can work as hard on my behalf as I can. I’ll get back to you if that ever changes.

And my experiments with weekly shows has culminated in a current run right now. Every run has gotten better. Every performance was been an education. This year will be my longest run yet and hopefully we’ll keep it going for a while this time.

And as for my ankle…it’s luckily not a fracture. Just a sprain. My doctor tells me I’ll be running again by the end of the month. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. You’d better believe I’m going to conquer the Chicago Marathon again this year.

Every single moment of disappointment has led to something better. Sometimes the better moment happened within a week. Sometimes I didn’t realize it for years. But after I got through the initial phase of being “incredibly bummed out” I got over it and made the most of it. And that has always meant that I was better off than when I started.

Another setback…so that means something great is on the way.

Listen

Listen to your audience. They’ll show you the way.

Are they laughing or cringing? Are they invested or distracted? If you can’t tell the difference just listen and they’ll let you know.

Listen to the critics. They’ll say what no one else will.

Savor the positive and learn from the negative. Don’t be defensive and don’t make excuses. This is how you get better.

Listen to the masses. Read the comments and respond in kind.

Sometimes it takes a small remark to help you make a big discovery. Sometimes you need a little reminder that you’re going in the right direction.

Listen to the experts. The answers are there for your taking.

They already made those mistake so you can make new ones. They already forged the path to make it a little easier for you.

Listen to yourself. Be honest, be open, be positive.

You’ll find out what’s best for you. You just have to be willing to listen.

My Roots

I grew up in a small town in the southeast corner of Kansas. Iola was the kind of town where everyone knew each other and you could get anywhere in town in five minutes.

Our claim to fame was the “largest downtown courthouse square in the US”, a beautifully cultivated center to the town, lined with local shops and restaurants. My father’s law firm was there, too, which meant I spent much of my childhood wandering around the town square.

A block from the town square was my favorite location in Iola: the Bowlus Fine Arts Center. In the 1960’s our little town (two hours away from any major city in Kansas) had been gifted an incredible performing arts center by a local banker. His will gave instructions that the center be used for the local school district’s arts education programs.

We may have only had a handful of fast food restaurants and shops to visit, along with just a few hangout spots to spend our time, but we did have the Bowlus. And it is magnificent.

I’m talking a state-of-the-art theater that seats 750 people (when I lived there the population of my hometown was 5900), along with smaller spaces, rehearsal rooms, and classrooms. And before I even started kindergarten, the Bowlus had changed my life.

I remember watching a plethora of musicals and plays on that stage before I even knew that the people onstage were actors. I was so hypnotized by what I saw that I was convinced that it was real. My parents explained to me that those people in the community theater productions were the same people I saw in our local restaurants and churches and schools and shops. They were the people we sat next to at sporting events and greeted on the way to work.

That was the moment that I knew I would spend my life onstage.

In elementary school we would trek over to the Bowlus to watch performances. There are too many to name, but each excited me more than the last. Sitting in the dark inside our beautiful fine arts center filled me with excitement. We may have been a simple town in the middle of the country but when those lights went down I was in another world: I was in ancient times with Shakespeare or the magical land of Oz or walking through a wardrobe into the unknown land of Narnia.

It was incredible.

In kindergarten my dad told me a great story. Sometime in the 1970’s a famous magician - Harry Blackstone, Jr. - had come to town and performed his show at the Bowlus.

(You may not know who Blackstone was but take it from me - he is a legend amongst magicians. His father was a famous magician, too, and Jr. had continued the family tradition of classical magic in large theaters around the country. When I was five or six and just getting interested in magic I would raid our local library for anything I could find on the matter. There were just a few books and one VHS tape. That tape was a recording of Harry Blackstone, Jr.’s live show. I must have watched that tape a thousand times. 

So now that you understand my adoration of Blackstone, here is the remarkable story my dad told me.)

He explained how in the middle of the show Blackstone had called for several people to join him onstage, including my dad! My dad stood in line with a row of volunteers as Blackstone walked back and forth across the stage, his voice booming to the far corners of the room. Over the course of several minutes, the legendary magician demonstrated the skills of a master pickpocket.

Coins, pens, watches, neckties, belts, wallets, and more were all magically removed from the volunteers’ pockets and - to their surprise - returned with a flourish by Blackstone himself. But! My dad explained how Blackstone had kept him under his spell that night.

“You see, Mark,” my Dad explained, “As he was walking past me on the stage he looked right at me and whispered ‘The next time I walk past give me your watch!’ Then he just kept walking and talking like nothing happened.”

My dad didn’t want the show to fail so he quietly removed his watch and handed it to Blackstone as he crossed the stage. Moments later Blackstone dramatically turned to my father, winked in his direction, and said “And sir, here is your watch!” Everyone in the audience laughed in amazement and my dad returned to his seat.

That was one of the earliest memories I have of understanding what it was like to be a magician. And it was all thanks to the Bowlus.

When I was 8 years old, a mentalist named Craig Karges came to the Bowlus. I’d never seen a mentalist before but it was a life-changing moment. He performed feats so inexplicable that I was convinced he was the real deal. After the show, I somehow got the chance to say hello and he sent someone backstage just to retrieve a business card for me. I kept that card forever, even modeling my first business card off of his.

I saw Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, Grease, Shakespeare, and more on that stage. People flew around the stage and witches rose from trap doors. I watched silent films, the symphony, dance concerts, and lectures. Once I even fell asleep at intermission of a show (I was quite young) and woke up with chickenpox.

I performed on the stage numerous times growing up, including as part of the children’s chorus in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat in fifth grade. Then came Bye Bye Birdie, The Pajama Game, Aladdin, Kiss Me Kate, and more.

In middle and high school I began taking classes there. I was part of concert band, the jazz ensemble, choir, art, speech, and drama. I competed at state levels in music and acting. We practiced instruments, studied improv, and rehearsed our shows inside those walls.

Speaking of those walls… The hallways between classrooms in the Bowlus were lined with the artwork of past students. A piece was selected each year to join the collection forevermore. The literal legacy of those walls was held in place by decades of students who had come before us.

A few years ago I even achieved a childhood dream and got to perform my show at the Bowlus. I’ll never forget it.

My high school drama teacher encouraged me to pursue theater. I went to Chicago to audition for the University of Southern California’s acting program halfway through my senior year. I got accepted and moved to Los Angeles the following year.

I stuck with my theater degree and eventually settled in Chicago with my wife (also a performer and artist) where I live now. My work is 100% arts-related and my success can be traced directly back to the time spent at the Bowlus Fine Arts Center.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past few days because I just learned that the school board back in my hometown decided to stop holding arts classes at the Bowlus beginning next fall. I’m heartbroken.

From what I read the decision seems to come down to several factors: safety concerns, educational needs, budgeting, etc. Although the board says otherwise I can’t help but think that the arts is always lacking in support.

You don’t need to hear about the impact the Bowlus Fine Arts Center has on an individual from a full-time entertainer like myself. That should be obvious.

Instead, ask the person who moves to a small town for a new job and gets to see their child perform on a huge stage. Ask the shy kid who, thanks to drama classes, spent their after-school hours being onstage instead of being an outcast. Ask my former classmates who are lawyers and doctors and writers and teachers, but owe their empathy and creativity to that space.

As Thomas H. Bowlus wrote in his will, "I have always been dedicated to the proposition that the best tool with which to equip our youth to confront the future is an education, and that such education should include an appreciation of things artistic, musical, and cultural, as well as things academic and scientific. It is to this end that and for such purposes that I dedicate the aforedescribed premises."

I didn’t learn about life from science or math. I learned about life through Shakespearean sonnets and choral music. I found myself in classical texts and theatrical productions. Being exposed to culture inside the Bowlus allowed me to travel to places far from the midwest in my imagination. It’s a hard thing to understand unless you’ve experienced it, but the way I see it is this: the more art you experience the closer you feel to everyone else in the world. 

I know those classes will continue at the high school and people back home will still participate in the arts. However, I’m sad to know that those students won’t get to walk those hallways like I did, dreaming of one day being on a stage like that myself. When you get to be that close to the dream it’s much easier to make it a reality.

Make Them Care

MAKE THEM CARE.

Those three words are written on the wall in my office. I put them in the inside cover of my notebooks and scrawl them on my hand in sharpie when I’m on the road.

Everything I work on starts with those three words.

I’m not naive, I know that people don’t come to my shows to see me. They’re on a date night or a work event, they got a free ticket or just wanted a fun night out. Rarely are they a fan of me, or even a fan of mind reading.

It’s my job to MAKE THEM CARE.

Think about it: those people could literally be anywhere else. They have instant access to millions of videos and movies on YouTube and Netflix, Hamilton is playing downtown, the Chicago zoo has free admission. They could have been anywhere.

So why would I waste their time when they made the choice to spend an hour with me? 

It’s up to me to MAKE THEM CARE.

When I perform I have to shove aside my ego and think about the audience’s experience first and foremost. I don’t want to pander but I also can’t let myself be too didactic. They don’t want a lecture or a history lesson, they just want to be entertained.

Want to know the real secret to making people care?

The trick is to make everything about them. Whatever you do, put other people first. Share wisdom and inspire others. Lead by example and be positive. Demonstrate through your actions that hard work, enthusiasm, and kindness always pay off. Be the kind of person that people want to emulate, not imitate.

I’m on a mission this year to be more positive and encouraging to everyone I meet. I’m looking to make meaningful connections both on and off stage. I’m trying to be more supportive and thoughtful and helpful as much as I possibly can.

It turns out that making other people happy for no reason makes you tremendously happy in return. And when you care about others it makes them care about you. 

Exciting News

I’m thrilled to announce that starting on May 2nd I will be performing my show “MIND READER” every Wednesday at The Greenhouse Theater Center in Lincoln Park. The show will be at 8 pm for an intimate audience of 50 people. You can read more about the show here. Tickets just went on sale!

Here’s what people are saying about the show:

“Mark Toland is MIND BLOWING!”
- The Chicago Tribune

“He must be THE DEVIL!”
- WGN TV

"A truly magical experience."
- Theatre Is Easy

“An irresistible, wild ride!”
- Picture This Post

“Mark Toland has created a performance that delights and astounds
even the most die-hard skeptic, and is well worth seeing.”
- The Hawk Chicago

“Mark Toland just might freak you out!”
- Orlando Sentinel

“A celebration of mystery!”
- M-Dash

The goal of the show - and really my year in general - is to make positive connections with as many people as possible. The show isn’t about me - it’s about you. The audience is the cast, your thoughts are my props, and your mind is my stage.

I’ve been working on putting up a long-running show for a very long time but there was always something standing in my way. A busy travel schedule, lack of time to fully prepare, a new tour on the horizon - you name it.

It finally occurred to me that there will never be the perfect time to follow your dreams, there will never be the right time to make your move - but there is a best time. The best time to do what you want is right now.

And so, on the eve of my newest tour (full details coming soon), shooting a new web series, writing a book, and still leaving the city each week for corporate gigs, I’ve decided that the time has come to take the stage each week in Chicago and blow some minds.

I look forward to seeing you at the show! For now, check out the new show trailer, just released today:

To stay up to date on show announcements and special events, be sure to join my mailing list below.

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Lean Into It

I have very specific tastes. I only like certain kinds of art or music or books or movies. I prefer things to be done one way over another. And the more stuff I see, the pickier I get.

But - and this is a big BUT - there is always an exception.

For instance, I was never really into rap but I can’t get enough Kendrick Lamar. And I don’t really seek out many musicals but Hamilton is the best thing I’ve ever seen. For every thing I don’t like there is an example that proves me wrong, urging me to rethink my opinions.

The exception isn’t the craft - the exception is the work that goes into it. The exception is the people who fully committed to their craft and worked hard to make it the best it could possibly be.

My favorite artists are the ones who are so full of enthusiasm for what they do that by the time I’m done watching them they make me want to learn more about it. When I watch Neil DeGrasse Tyson most of what he says goes right over my head, but his love for his work is so contagious that it makes me want to dive headfirst into a pile of science textbooks.

It seems to me that you don’t need to cater to the diehard fans of what you do. The musical theater junkies will be camping out for tickets like always and the science nuts will be first in line for the lectures.

It’s not the true fans you have to worry about. If you want to transcend and get people to appreciate your work on a different level, then you have to think about the people who don’t care about what you do at all. Those are the people that matter most.

The best way to get those people to care is to lean into your craft so hard that you can’t be ignored. It doesn’t matter if what you do is silly or serious, cheesy or complicated - it only matters that you work at it so hard that the people who never noticed your genre before can’t look away.

Convincing the cynics to appreciate your work is no easy task. Doing what’s been done before is out of the question. You can’t go halfway, you can’t pander, you can’t patronize. Every ounce of your work has to silently scream “HEY! THIS MATTERS TO ME AND IT SHOULD MATTER TO YOU!”

When I see a cringe-worthy performance the cringe comes from the performer not going far enough. You can sense they want to cringe, too. Instead of leaning into their schtick, they shy away from the moment they’re trying to create. They are ashamed or uncomfortable with what they do and it shows.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.

Either go down a different path or f*cking OWN IT. Embrace the absurd, own the over-the-top, commit to your choices, and force me to care about what you do. Make me become a fan of something I never knew I liked before. I want to, but you’ve got to show me why I should. And there’s only one way to do that.

You’ve got to lean into it.

Take A Break

At the end of last year I was feeling pretty burnt out.

I had just finished The Mystery Tour, finished one of my busiest stretches of Holiday shows in November and December, and was going through a bit of an existential crisis. Plus, I wasn’t feeling inspired with any of my creative projects. I felt like they were all starting to blend together and the work was suffering because I couldn’t give any of them the attention they deserved.

I needed a break.

So I gave myself some time off from #ThursdayThoughts. I took that time to work on other things.

I made preparations for my AFSP Fundraiser Show, wrote a couple (soon-to-be-published) books, made some videos, worked on my new show, and did a lot of yoga. I read some books and changed gyms. I forgot about my blog completely so I could give myself time to feel inspired again.

Originally, I had planned to take all of January off but one night I looked at the calendar and realized it was Wednesday.

“Man, I really miss Thursday Thoughts,” I said to myself.

So I sat down and wrote out the first post of the year. I was back at it again.

It just took a few weeks away to feel reinvigorated and more creative than ever.

The same goes for my workouts, my show, and any other goals I tackle each year. I give myself rest days, time off, and vacations to self-reflect and recharge before I get after it again.

I’ve been training for the Chicago Marathon since January, working out five days a week and logging a ton of miles. The last time I trained I tried to do too much. I was running while I was traveling, barely sleeping, and not giving myself time to recover. And my body paid the price.

I spent the last two years in physical therapy, stretching, and learning to run all over again. I’m not going to make that mistake again.

So I’m taking it slow this time. I’m running slower paces, shorter distances and gradually working myself up to marathon speeds. If all goes well, I should reach my goal mid-summer with a couple months left to keep improving.

Thanks to my newfound approach, I’m making great progress. I feel great and I’ve lost 15 pounds since the new year even though I’m only running a few days a week.

Instead of pushing myself to get out every day and keep the streak going, I take the weekends off. I can still enjoy brunch and keep making progress. Taking a break doesn’t have to mean you’re giving up.

I’ve never liked the “unbroken streak” mentality. I prefer to think of my goals as a giant bucket of water. Each run or workout or blog entry or rehearsal is a drop in the bucket. By the end of the year, I may have taken a few days off each week but overall that bucket is pretty damn full.

You don’t have to do everything at once and you don’t have to do things how other people do them. You just need to learn to do things the best way for you. And if that means rest days in between meetings and long runs then so be it.

If you takeaway anything from this, just remember that before you can take action you need to take the time to take control of your situation. Take a moment to take care of yourself before you take flight again. Take it from me, sometimes the best way to make progress is to take a break.