I'm Ready

In college I used to drive to the outskirts of the city just so I could stare up at the stars. I’d put the top down and sprawl out in the back seat, just to enjoy the peaceful sounds of autumn in Kansas.

Sometimes I’d write in a journal or read a book. It was my way of passing the time and getting away from the demands of school.

One night I was sitting in the back seat dreaming about life after college. I was shuffling cards and thinking about doing a big show one day. I must have been there for hours.

Later, I got back to the dorms, parked the car, and headed inside. As I passed the car I noticed I had dropped a card on the back seat. My hands were full so I thought to myself, “No problem, I’ll grab it tomorrow.”

I walked upstairs and forgot about it.

A week later, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find two basketball players standing in the hallway.

“Show us a trick,” they demanded.

They were huge - easily 6’ 6” or more - and towered over me in the doorway.

“Um, okay,” I said, grabbing a deck of cards from my nightstand.

“Pick a card,” I said.

“No. I just want to think of it,” the taller player demanded.

“Okay, whatever you want.”

I knew there was no getting around it, I had to show them something amazing.

Word had spread around the dorms that the guy on the second floor would blow your mind. Guests showed up unannounced at all hours of the day and I would happily oblige them with quick impromptu performances.

When you’re a mind reader or magician, you have to be ready at a moment’s notice. No one would ask Yo-Yo Ma to prove his skills in an elevator. But, for some reason, if I don’t show you a trick before we get to the first floor then I’m not a real magician.

“I want the 3 of Spades,” he said.

As soon as he said it, I froze in place. “Holy shit,” I thought to myself. I remembered a week ago, walking inside and seeing a card - the FREAKING THREE OF SPADES - staring me in the face from the back seat of my car.

I remained calm and handed him the deck.

“Would you be impressed if I could make your card disappear…” I asked slowly, “and reappear in my car?”

They looked at me like I was crazy.

“The 3 of Spades, right?”

They nodded.

I motioned for them to open the box and let them look through the deck themselves. The 3 of Spades was missing.

“It’s in my car,” I said.

“No way in hell,” they said in disbelief.

We went downstairs and walked out to the parking lot. I let them get a few steps ahead of me so they would see it first.

And they did.

They went crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was all anyone talked about for weeks.

That moment may sound lucky but I don’t think it was. I think I had been planning for it my whole life up to that point. I was ready and took advantage of a great opportunity to give some people a truly wonderful moment.

Zig Ziglar once said that “Success occurs when opportunity meets preparation.”

With the tour, my residency in Chicago, and some big shows, this has been a fairly successful year for me - but I can trace that success back to years of working and learning. It’s funny how every insignificant thing I was working on years ago is starting to come together now in ways that I couldn’t even have fathomed back then.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve been paying my dues for years and wonder if I’ll ever get where I want to be. But then, out of nowhere, an opportunity presents itself and I feel more prepared than I’ve ever been.

Be Kind

I found out that a member of my building’s custodial staff passed away sometime this week.

I only interacted with him a handful of times but he was always kind in those brief encounters. He was a decent, caring man who was always working hard to ensure the building was clean and up to standards.

I couldn’t help but think that he passed away while he was still employed here, probably to support his family and make ends meet. He didn’t get to retire and enjoy the later years of his life with his loved ones. He spent his final months serving others to make their lives easier. To make my life easier.

My building isn’t that fancy. It’s nice and secure, but I don’t live in one of the most luxurious towers in Chicago. Still, there are benefits to living here. We pay for security, parking, and more. The staff helps ensure our safety and quality of life. It always gives me peace of mind to know that my wife will be safe and secure while I’m on the road for weeks at a time.

It may not be the fanciest building, but it is a nice place to live and I’m thankful for it every day. I’m grateful for the staff and the neighborhood and the proximity to local destinations.

I found it hard to write something meaningful this week, for many reasons. Mostly, I think the highly politicized news cycle made it difficult for me to find purpose in my ideas. The weight of the world can sometimes make my daily struggles seem very trivial.

I read this story last week that really broke my heart. It made me want to be nicer to everyone around me - the remaining staff in my building, strangers on the bus, my friends, my wife. It was a stark reminder that my life is pretty great and I’m very, very fortunate.

All I want this week is to be grateful for my place in the world and the fact that I get to travel for a job and entertain people everywhere I go. I get plenty of days off, have a beautiful and talented wife, and a lovely apartment where I spend the majority of my time. I don’t take it for granted.

Be grateful for the people around your that make your life easier. Go out of your way to thank them. And remember the oft-quoted phrase “Be kind, for everyone you know is fighting a hard battle.”

Have a good week. Do your best. I’ll see you next Thursday.

Do The Work

The answer you’re looking for is in the work.

Want to be a better performer? Do a hundred shows. Then do a hundred more.

Want to be a better writer? Read and write every single day.

Want to excel at your craft? Work at it, every chance you can.

The answer you’re looking for is in the work.

But you knew that already, right? You know what it takes to get better because you’ve heard it before. The secret to getting better has been there all along, staring you in the face.

You can only ignore it for so long, until you admit that it’s up to you to bite the bullet and do the work.

There’s no secret shortcut or magic pill for getting from Point A to Point B. There’s no life hack or pro-tip that will take you from amateur to expert. There’s no substitute for hard work.

But I don’t have to tell you that. Deep down you already have all the answers you need. Deep down you know what needs to be done. Deep down you’re ready to do whatever it takes to get to the next level.

You don’t need fancy new gear or the latest and greatest tech. You don’t need everything to be perfect. You don’t need someone else’s permission. You have everything you need.

It’s time to stop waiting for the perfect moment. It’s time to stop holding yourself back from what you know needs to be done. It’s time to do what you’ve been waiting for.

It’s time to do the work.

Meant To Be

“Does it ever go wrong?”

People ask me that all the time. They want to know if I’m ever wrong onstage or if something ever backfires. Of all the questions I receive on a daily basis this is one of my favorites.

The answer, of course, is yes.

The more shows I do the more likely I am to have a mishap. Sometimes they’re huge dilemmas that derail my performance: I’ve had props break mid-show, batteries die in my mic pack, left my pants unzipped for the entire show, and more. When something obvious goes awry you have to comment on it, fix it to the best of your ability, and try to move on.

But most of the time they’re tiny mistakes that I deal with in the moment. For me, the little things that go wrong on a nightly basis are a fascinating part of my work. Things happen all the time that are completely unexpected. While I’m doing the show I’m simultaneously thinking ahead and problem-solving. Typically, I invent a new path forward during the show and, if all goes well, the audience is none the wiser.

Once I did a show at a mansion in Beverly Hills. I arrived early to set up, with plenty of time to schmooze with the guests. When the show began, I realized I’d forgotten a very important prop in my car which was parked two blocks away. I’d had so much time on my hands early in the night that I got too comfortable and forgot to do a thorough once-over of my gear. On the spot, I created a brand new ten minute piece that didn’t rely on the forgotten prop. Needless to say, that was an interesting night.

The great thing about my work is that the audience doesn’t know what to expect. What lies ahead is a mystery. If something goes wrong and I’m forced to change direction the audiences thinks that’s where we were meant to be all along. What’s funny is that sometimes the new path I take during a show ends up being even more exciting than the path I originally intended.

The same holds true for my career…

Ten years ago, if you had asked me what I would be doing now, I probably would have pictured a completely different path forward.

I didn’t even know about fringe festivals back then, corporate gigs seemed untouchable, and I was just barely starting to zero in on my work as a mentalist. Honestly, I never even considered moving to Chicago.

Over time, I was open to new options and new directions for my craft. I embraced new opportunities and pursued any work that presented itself. We moved to Chicago on a whim and it ended up being a perfect fit for what I do.

It’s easy to feel like a failure when you end up somewhere you never planned to be. It’s easy to feel like you let yourself down and gave up somewhere along the way. But don’t let yourself fall into that trap.

Maybe you’re choosing the path less travelled or making a sudden switch in careers. Maybe you moved to the big city but decided it wasn’t for you. Or maybe you set out to achieve a goal, got burned out, and now you’re searching for something new. None of that makes you a failure.

Remember: no one knows where you’re going except for you. So wherever you end up is the place you’re meant to be.

Connection

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

Connection.

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

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

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

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

That’s what connection is all about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Move On

Fact: The more you put yourself out there, the more criticism you will receive.

Some of that criticism will be useful. It will be helpful and needed. It will make you think and make you work harder. It will make you better.

But the other criticism? That will be nothing but negativity. It will be from people who don’t get what you’re doing and make no attempts to try. Call them haters, naysayers, your parents, whatever. They will knock you down because they can and nothing you do will ever please them.

Not all criticism is useful. I’ve had bad reviews, poor feedback, and negative comments that bothered me for days.  I didn’t learn anything from them. They didn’t help me improve my craft. They didn’t inspire me to better myself. If anything, they just made me feel horrible.

Once I was even greeted by a reviewer before the show who was very clearly not excited to be attending.

“I hate magic shows,” they told me.

I was on edge for the entire performance, worried they were going to give me a horrible review. Luckily they were kind with the write-up, but it doesn’t always work out that way.

One reviewer wrote that “Mark Toland is at the top of his game” and my show is a “MUST SEE” only to give me 4 out of 5 stars. It was good to know that when I’m at my best, it’s still only an 80%.

Honestly, I don’t care about the reviews. It’s nice to have a pull-quote or an award or a five star rating to add to the poster, but that’s not why I’m onstage.

I’m doing a show for other people. It’s entertainment. I want people to be completely enthralled for my entire performance. I don’t want them looking at their watch or texting their friends. I don’t want them coughing or shifting in their seats. I want their undivided attention so I can transport them somewhere else for an hour.

That’s not to say that a below-average review doesn’t affect me. It absolutely does! But I’ve learned how to deal with criticism so I can move forward and keep progressing in my career.

Negative feedback is expected and uncontrollable. The more you put yourself out there, the more you forge your own path; the more criticism you should expect to receive.

If you’re doing it right then you’re going to stir the pot. You’re going to provoke a wide range of reactions. The best thing you can do is to not respond.

No matter what happens, don’t acknowledge your criticism. Don’t complain, don’t argue, don’t fight fire with fire. There’s no need to go on a tweetstorm or write a long rant on your fan page. That looks petty and unprofessional.

I’ve faced more rejections than I can remember, been turned down on more projects than I can name. For every gig I’m booked for, another 20 events go in a different direction. But I refuse to let those failures keep me from succeeding.

Ignore the criticism. Shake it off or find someone you can vent to in private. Then move on and get back to work.

Keep Trying

I spent six months writing and pitching a TV show last year. I met with agents who connected me with a production company, then we sat down with networks to discuss the show.

Last month I found out the show didn’t get picked up.

If you knew me in kindergarten and asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said “I want to be a famous magician on television.”

That’s always been one of my biggest goals.

I never wanted to do a reality show like AGT. I wanted to do my own thing - a show of my own design. So I poured all of my time and money into creating the best show I could and working to bring it to fruition.

Just because the show didn’t get picked up doesn’t mean I’ve lost my chance. If anything, this is better. This is the closest I’ve ever been to one of my biggest dreams. So now I can taste it. Now I know I have what it takes to get where I want to be. I just need to find the point where my hard work meets luck and creates a big opportunity.

It can be easy to get discouraged by a “No”. When someone turns you down you can either let it affect you or let it motivate you. I choose the latter.

A negative review, a bad show, a roadblock - you name it. Those only end up inspiring me to create something better and prove someone wrong.

I’m working on a new show now. Writing, shooting, pitching, and more.

I can’t wait to show it to you.

The Final Festival

I just arrived in Alberta for the Edmonton International Fringe Festival!

Edmonton is the oldest and largest fringe theatre festival in North America and I’m thrilled to be one of the 230 amazing shows being performed here this year.

Two years ago I started working on the skeleton of this show. It started as a small idea in the margin of a notebook, then turned into a single monologue, and later morphed into a full-blown show. If it wasn’t for my lovely wife Stephanie and brilliant collaborator, Frank Fogg, this show wouldn’t be what it is today.

My venue in Edmonton, the Old Strathcona Performing Arts Centre.

The summer tour has been full of ups and downs this year. For the first 12 performances I changed the show every night. I was tweaking the script and removing other pieces entirely. It just didn’t feel right - but that’s why you do fringe.

In the midst of it all, I’ve still been traveling back and forth from the tour to Chicago for my weekly performances of MIND READER. (I won’t be doing that during Edmonton, though.) Sometimes I’ve been so exhausted from travel that I’d start doing my weekly show at fringe or vice versa. I’d realize it part way through and have to adjust accordingly!

But now, after three months of touring, rewriting, rehearsing, and preparing…I feel like it’s ready. It’s still not exactly where I want it to be - but I ran out of time. You can’t be a perfectionist about a show like this or it’ll never get onstage. Done is better than perfect.

For now, it’s a fireworks show with a hidden meaning. I lull the audience into a sense of complacency with rapid-fire demonstrations and only then do I sneak in the philosophical ideas that matter most to me.

The more festivals I do the more I realize that I’m less of a mentalist and more of a storyteller. I love telling stories, it just happens that mind reading is the vehicle with which I tell them.

I’ve written more about this on other posts, but my goal with the fringe tours was always to work on an edgier, riskier show. I wanted to take chances and push myself as an artist. And, I feel like that’s exactly what I’ve done.

Eleven fringes in two years has been a life-changing experience. I like stacking my show up against other shows - storytellers, musicals, plays, comedians, and more - and seeing how it compares. I’ve enjoyed listening to feedback (positive and negative) and learning how to get better quickly.

And, I’ve learned to ignore the critics and the naysayers who don’t get what I’m doing. Sometimes they’re other know-it-all artists who think they’ve found the only way to do art correctly. Sometimes it’s a journalist who doesn’t care for your genre. And sometimes it’s yourself.

The more you put yourself out there, the more negativity you invite. So I’ve learned to ignore it, keep working, and believe in what I’m doing.

This will be my last festival for awhile. There are a few other projects that I have lined up, so I probably won’t go on tour next summer. But there are seven chances to see me live in Edmonton before I stop doing this version of the show and start working on something new.

Stay tuned! The tour may be ending but I’m only getting started.

Mystery

I can pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with mystery.

It was entirely unrelated to theatre or performance or mind reading. It wasn’t a movie or a book or a play. It was much simpler than that.

It was a game.

A favorite childhood game in my family was “Hide The Thimble” where you take a thimble and, well, hide it. The object of the game was to keep the bright, shiny thimble in plain sight so that you could easily see it from anywhere in the room.

We had dozens of favorite hiding spots. The thimble easily balanced on a picture frame or fit over a lamp switch. You could sit it between piano keys or rest it high atop a ceiling fan. The possibilities were endless.

We mostly played “Hide The Thimble” when visiting family, so we were full of anticipation upon arrival. We’d take turns hiding and finding the thimble, without a care in the world. There were no iPhones or internet back then so we were content to play as long as our relatives would put up with us.

On one occasion, someone (I can’t quite remember who) hid the thimble while the rest of us waited in the other room. Then the seeker (I wish I could remember) led the rest of us into the target area.

Minutes passed and the thimble had yet to be found. We were all stumped and excitedly waited for the “seeker” to discover its whereabouts.

Another ten minutes had passed and still no thimble.

“Show us!” we begged, but the person who hid it had forgotten where it was.

We were a patient family. It was in our blood. We would play chess and tennis and board games for hours. We would design extravagant scavenger hunts for each other and organize massive rounds of Capture The Flag.

What I’m trying to say is that we would have looked for that thimble for hours. We would have stayed in that room and kept looking if my dad hadn’t told us it was time to head home.

“But we haven’t found the thimble yet!” someone said.

“Well, we’ll have to find it next time then,” my dad said, as we followed him to the driveway.

There was no next time.

Time passed, and so did relatives. Things changed and we grew older. 

The thimble was never found.

I think about that thimble often. I wonder where it was hidden and what might have happened to it.

Did it fall off a light switch and roll under a shelf? Was it resting just above our eyeline and we had forgotten to look up? Did the future owners renovate that room and discover a small, shiny object underneath the floorboards?

Or maybe it was never meant to be found?

Over the years I’ve learned to be okay with not knowing. I like it that way.