Читать книгу 10,000 NOs - Matthew Del Negro - Страница 10

Most people can trace their why back to some pain, rejection, or perceived loss in childhood that they are now trying to fix. I am no different. For me, my why was forged in the pain of my parents' marriage, which looked one way to my immediate family and another to the rest of the world. As the youngest member of the family, and the peacekeeper, I was constantly interpreting one family member's actions to another. Socially, my role was similar. I could always relate to most people so I'd find myself explaining one person to another, even if they were part of vastly different social subsets. The price I paid for keeping the peace was that I internalized everything and carried it around with me. Looking back now, it is easier to see that my career choice did not really come out of nowhere, the way I previously viewed it, as my job now is to interpret the words of writers and the experiences of the characters I play. But I had zero awareness of this link back then.

On top of carrying other people's secrets around, as well as my own pain and frustration, I could never to seem to attain the things I wanted the most. As far back as the fifth grade, I'd pursue a girl I liked, get close to her, and muster up the courage to ask her out. But, one way or another, I'd end up alone after it fell apart due to a change of heart or some other obstacle I never saw coming until it was too late. Rejection is defined as the dismissing of an idea or the spurning of a person's affections, and I had plenty of both. I feel bad for a certain girl I “loved” in fifth grade because, while I've only run into her on rare occasions since we graduated high school, I never miss the opportunity to remind her of our date that never happened. I had charmed her enough to eventually elicit a “yes” when I asked her to the year-end town carnival, but on the night of the event, she stood me up. Two friends of mine still love to laugh about the memory of me riding The Whip alone in the rain. And while I can laugh at myself about it now, back then it added to the feeling that I was not where I wanted to be emotionally, and not sure I'd ever get there.

While I was not a child actor, I still managed to get a “no” when I auditioned for the role of the Cowardly Lion in an elementary school production of The Wizard of Oz. I had forgotten this story for a long time because it occurred long before I thought of acting as a viable career. It's only been in recent years, as I've reflected about the lessons I've learned in the course of my career, that I've remembered it. It was a play in which the kids in my class were required to participate. I really thought I could get the role of the Cowardly Lion until the new girl, upon whom I had a massive crush, completely outshined me with her audition. (Side note: this was a different crush. I moved on from the carnival stander-upper. But I screwed this one up, too—it wasn't until eighth or ninth grade, when I admitted to liking her three years prior, that she revealed she had a crush on me when she first moved to our school. Talk about missed opportunities. More on self-dispensed “no”s later.)

In the present day, I motivate myself by the thought that there is always someone out there more talented than me ready to take my roles. Perhaps it started back then, with my grade-school crush. She could sing and dance, and she had what people might call “it.” My talent, on the other hand, was rewarded with the consolation prize of playing Uncle Henry. I still remember my sole line, telling Auntie Em I had to fix the incubator. It was an illustrious beginning to my career, I assure you. This “no” was thrown onto the ever-increasing pile of rejections, but I didn't think much of it, at least consciously, because I didn't care about acting back then.

Sports, on the other hand, felt like my life when I was growing up. Unfortunately, my desire to be good at them was not matched by my talent. I'd work my butt off obsessively only to remain skinny, weak, and slow. The fact that I made it as far as I did in athletics is a sheer reflection of a burning desire in me to be accepted and valued. On my own, despite the many things I had going for me and the many great friends and family members who surrounded me, I largely felt like I was not enough.

No matter which “no” I credit as the origin of my career, it was somehow forged in the pain of rejection and the desire to overcome it.

Obviously, all of those childhood “no”s didn't kill me and neither did the “no” of my emotionally harrowing experience in Italy over the summer of 1992. Perhaps the expression “That which does not kill you will make you stronger” is popular because it reflects a truth. The breakup in Italy is what forced me to dig deeper and find something more fully satisfying than being a member of my college lacrosse team. Confusing feelings had been percolating inside me prior to my trip to Italy, inducing a full-blown panic attack long before I had ever heard that term. But, like many people, rather than examine the origins of my unrest, I chose to ignore my anxiety because I was too scared to take the first step.

On the surface, things were looking good for me by the spring of my sophomore year in Chestnut Hill. I had a beautiful girlfriend, a spot on the varsity team, grades that kept me on the Dean's List, and a lot of friends. But beneath the surface lurked a different story. Despite the fact that I thought I was in love for the first time, the panic attacks were brought on by the fact that I had been questioning the relationship subconsciously. I was just too scared to do anything to jeopardize it because I thought it was everything I wanted. There was a chasm deep within me that I had been avoiding and it created a gap between my inner self and the facade I presented to the world. That facade began to crumble in Italy when my girlfriend had the courage to do what I had feared by breaking off our relationship.

The truth inside me rose up, grabbed me by the throat, and got my attention. Uncharacteristically, I skipped out of all the classes I was supposed to be taking and, instead, found a patch of grass in front of a small church in Perugia where I dumped all of my jagged thoughts into the journal my sister had given to me prior to my trip. It was as though there was an angry artist inside of me, no longer allowing me to put a muzzle on him, writing it. He told me that I couldn't continue to go down the path upon which I was traveling. It was an exhilarating yet frightening experience. That journal contains the first traces of my desire to act and write. I look back on this period as fortunate now, but it is no exaggeration to say that, at the time, I feared I was going to die in Italy with no friends or family around to witness it.

“I went back to my room, pulled my pistol out and put it in my mouth and was getting ready to blow my head off. Thankfully, I had a picture of my wife and kids on the desk across from me. I saw that as I was sitting there with a gun in my mouth and thought, ‘What're you doing?’ So I put my gun away and I went and sought help for the first time. And I'd love to say that I woke up. I didn't. I stayed on the X for a while. I still played the victim. I tried to convince myself, ‘You're being thrown under the bus. You're doing the right thing.’ But it literally took me about five months. I hadn't hit rock bottom yet.”

Jason Redman, Retired Navy SEAL, New York Times Best-Selling Author

The result of this breakdown/breakthrough was that the following spring at Boston College, after a brief period of going back to lacrosse and the beaten path I had traveled for so long, I quit the team, stepped out of my comfort zone, and auditioned for a play. After losing out to my roommate, who was also auditioning for the first time, I gave it another shot and scored the lead in a one-act play. It was performed in a lecture hall, rather than an actual theater. But despite the humble venue, I enjoyed the experience so much that I told anyone who would listen that I was going to be an actor. While this may sound dramatic and grand, over a year later, after that one-act play, I had not done any more plays.

Upon graduating, I moved back home with the plan to save enough money to move to New York City and pursue a career in acting. I had taken an acting class my senior year and added a Film Studies minor to my English Literature major, but I had not acted aside from that lecture-hall production. On top of this, after 27 years of marriage, my parents decided to split that summer, so moving back into the house where I grew up without my Dad living there was an adjustment. There were many thoughts swimming through my head, but the primary one was how I could turn my new dream into a reality.

There is no standard how-to manual containing a list of the first steps in becoming an actor, because the how is unique for each individual. Classes can be attended, mentors can be sought out, and the skills required to excel can be attained through training. But the why is the fuel that will propel you. A strong why will obliterate all of the inevitable blockades and barriers you will undoubtedly face no matter what field you choose. If your why is not aligned with your innermost joy and your biggest dreams, you may find success, but eventually you will experience some version of the breakdown I had in Italy. It may not crumble your life or turn you 180 degrees the way it did me. It may not cause you panic attacks. But there will be cracks in your facade. Eventually, if you're not careful, you'll look back wondering whose life you lived.

“I drove a cab for years, I proofread in law firms, I worked in a factory when I kind of dropped it all out and went out to Colorado. I cleaned Greyhound buses on Eleventh Avenue from eleven at night ‘til seven in the morning in summers while I went to school. No, I didn't start making a living for real until my son was born.”

—Richard Schiff, Actor, Emmy Award Winner, The West Wing

That experience in Italy, when everything bubbled out of me, made me certain that I wanted to pursue something that required all of my faculties. I wanted to somehow relieve the knot of emotions and unfulfilled desires tangled in my gut. Thus, my why was a desire to express myself psychologically, spiritually, physically, and mentally and the way I guessed I could do that was through acting. But just because I'd found my why, did not mean I knew exactly how to start.